The innkeeper son
Poverty and disorder spread inevitable thought the kingdom by imposition of laws and rules that turned half of the population into slaves. Only the same half that had been slave before in history. If the majority of tyranny acts started to be an apology to attract ancient enemies, in that time, became a common act. Alliances and betrayals. Rumors and myths never became so fashionable.
One of the heroes was brutally murderer in one of the rooms. Keen knew him as the miller, a tormented but kind man, which family had deserted him, for he lost every possession in game and vice in the nearest cities. He had not had a single heroic thing in him, at all; Keen could not imagine that some day that man had been a true hero. At least not a hero as he understood. In a certain way, Keen agreed with the storyteller, there were no heroes left. How villainous they had been. By turning their back to a needed king, let Evar face his death by his own people’s hand, so they too deserved to die.
He kept that thought to him. The twins face by his feet hunted him every night they also wanted revenge. What motivation could the storyteller had started by killing his friends if Soren did not even know them?
Keen stood up from his bed, the room, darkened by a moonless night brought some pacifying silence.
The old professor Morlar. The twin’s father. The children whose lives harvested in that unfortunate night… They actually have been the only children murdered. With all the commotion, he did not paid attention to all around him. He became blind as soon as he saw Gellie lying dead on the floor. The flowers fragility crushed. He did not have to raise his eyes to the corner of the room, he was certain to find her, staring in her pale tone, begging him to avenge her. Whatever he knew the visions of the twins over him while he slept were not only a fruit of his imagination, he could not refrain from shiver. He lighted a candle to scare away the images, but in that instant he saw them both, sited by his bed, hollowed eyes dark and despair.
The hot candle fell on his skin and the candle on the floor. He ignored the pain from the bruise. He stood there quietly, only his heart beating fast and heavy breathing in the darkest night, when he heard the bed cracking, steps towards the door, and the door closing when it did not moved at all.
Keen stood motionless. His imagination was beyond the limit, it was worse during isonomy, when nightmares come true. The door opened slowly, squeaked until light from the corridor shown completely. There was no draught able to open his closed door. He walked to close it but the door closed again with force, by his side was Esian´s face.
Keen hold his breath, left the room in a hurry and tripped at the stairs. He did not intend to return upstairs right away. He would not speak of nightmares or visions to his father, for it would upset him, especially if he told him he could see the twins since that night.
If the storyteller’s aim was Soren, why did he murder the twins also? There were no warriors by that time in the village, no one to stand against him. He remembered his courage at the time. He had hit him, for sure, but for some reason survived when his friends did not. Gellie showed again, this time, at the top of the stairs, even in the light. She crouched to hold her knees. Keen ran down the stairs where he had been seating to conquer some peace.
He crossed the room; he needed to breathe some icy fresh air that night. He was dizzy, so dizzy that he did not foresee his father was not alone.
Even when he closed his eyes, he could see them.
His body was feverish with resolution. He was the only one to reply the attack; even as a seven-year-old boy, he had plenty of determination, more than any man from that village did. Ten years later, there was not only a single word about the assassin or any kind of retaliation.
The king’s troops spread through the kingdom harvesting every man or woman able to make a stand against the capital laws. Fear turned the villages into deserts until the kingdom frontiers.
As time went by, Keen could not forget, nor the twin’s ghost made it easier. Silence over the matter became unbearable to him.
No one would talk about the happening, it was like the children and even Soren never existed. If only they could see them as he could. Keen opened his eyes and quickly closed the window shutter as he seen Esian´s hand reaching out to him.
His father punished him badly every time he mentioned the twins name, and even more if he asked what really happened that night, because when he woke up, his mind was something between the storyteller’s tale and the real facts. As if, the story was the same. As for the teachers behaviors it only had one explanation. Resolution had awakened the heroes by killing their children. However, the twin’s father never took that feeling. Morlar never awakened a thing in him beside dullness.
“What are you doing?” Keen jumped. His heart could not stand for more anxiety in that night.
“I can’t sleep!”
“Go to your room! Sleep will come sooner than you think!
Keen stared at the sitting man by the table, leaning over another empty glass.
Resolution had never had anything to do with that drunken man; on the contrary, it grew in a child, inside his chest, all those years, corroding his soul. Sometimes was so unbearable just to remember. That evening, rage and vengeance filled with resolution searched the village but did not find its target, because Keen took it all to him. Wrath lived within every since the children’s death.
“Don’t you have practice in the morning?” he nodded, pale, suet came down his face when he saw Gellie embrace the man by the table, the teachers expression became more sorrowfully, as if he couldn’t bare the girl’s touch.
There was so much light in that room, how could he still imagine them with such strength. Was he going mad?
“Don’t you hear me boy?”
Since that day he gave himself to sword training, even when his father forbidden it, even when no one offered to teach him, he started to learn by himself. He wanted to chase the assassin as soon as he woke up that day, with a wood sword in hand, strength and the will of a true hero; he thought that was enough to take him down. Was he the enemy, king or demon, as those who devour the warriors at the boundary and the gravel woods, leaving only dirty feather by its passing. He would take a stand against any single one.
He remembered being the only seven years old child to make a move when no one did. His mind wondered. Why was he still alive? The answer tormented him every night with tumults dreams. He survived because he was no hero’s son, for not damaging enough his enemy, for being so ordinary as any one of the villagers that survived, for being not a true hero.
“Keen!” his father was mad. He squeezed his face to get his attention from the trance, his voice sounded deep but concerned. “You’re frozen. It’s like you saw a ghost. Aren´t you feeling ok? Go as your mother to
“don’t have to wake her! It was only a nightmare!” he looked the other way not to face his father. “And I aint a kid anymore!”
It took ten years to Keen convince him self that he was a man able to take his revenge the way thought. He was yearning for that moment year after year. Time had come.
There was not a single trace of that night’s tragedy at the inn, but Keen could still fell the blood stench near the fireplace. By the evenings, that place was taken by Damne Morlar. Every night the teacher sat peacefully by the fire with preys as his companion. Usually when the room was already empty, his father kept him company as well.
Keen could not understand how he could let that crime go by. He had a theory, though. Cowardice! That was the only reason that could justify such dullness act, bigger than his desire to avenge his murdered children.
Keen swept the floor trying to hear the conversation. He had to do something, anything that did not make him look; he did not wish to see the twins all over their father.
The alarm echoed. The broom fell on the floor. It was the alarm from the tower over the well in the middle of the square. The watching man from the highest tree urged to let the message though with a second blow, than silence. It was time to ignore the senses. Keen covered his ears, closed firmly his eyes because his father did not had the time to close every window. They did it for their sanity, while the creatures could pass through the village with no interest in them, or as a locust plague. There was no way to tell. If so, nothing would remain. However, the teacher did not reacted at all.
The inn shook, as a flight of mad birds flew through the tight streets against the walls. Windows and shuts vibrated. The sound became unbearable, like snake’s tail scales driven them insane. Keen shrugged. There would be much more to sweep on the floor in a second and out side, if he had the courage to lurk, the bloody curdle feathers.
He was not yet the man he wished to show. Nor did he have the strength of a value warrior. He thought of himself as a brave man, and he would face the first to doubt that certainty, but to say the truth even his currently teacher gave up any hope to see a progress in his sword skills.
Resolution, as the storyteller spoken of, had no reason to come for him. He had nothing precious, or so he thought. Nor did he have any value to fear loosing. No flaws, but his enemies were not aware of his existence at all. However, his choice was to take his vengeance. He felt chosen by destiny to fulfill that mission. Years gone by and he still kept his determination to win, to become such a hero able to reach his enemy, and fulfill his vow. As for the storyteller, he would chase him to infinitive and beyond.
Silence.
The creatures had crossed the village away from the inn.
“Finish your chores and go upstairs, its late. You don’t seem to well” the innkeeper smoothed Keen`s face with concern when he looked at Damne, the twins were gone. Maybe the fear from the Strangers made his mind come back to reality for instance.
“I always thought time would make me understand him a little better but”
Keen saw the way his father looked at the professor, since he had came to town with his children he could never had a pacifying conversation with no one beside his father they had some strange friendship.
They called him the professor, for he had a school build with his own hands, few parents allowed their children to waste their time with books. Keen even visited the polished wood building for a few times, he had the time of his life, the studying part been not as pleasurable as skinning his knees in no end of fun with his friends. Since their death, school ended.
Damne became harder to deal than usually.
His father looked at him, not with disregard, but with compassion.
The innkeeper swept the table and filled the jar before him at the same moment that made Keen a sign to go upstairs that instant. The man was worn-out, he was mere a shadow of this own memory. Of course, Vangard made a mistake when he murdered his sons, that man was nothing. He could not have been a hero.
“Go on! Up you go…”
“Why does he stay there staring at the floor? Can he still see the bloodstains? I can’t accept such behavior dad, its morbid and
“You should be thankful. He pays enough to keep the business going. After the incident no one dare to climb the stairs anymore, as much as coming over to. He saved us back there. With time people stopped thinking this was a damned house.”
“Danmed all right! Saved us?” he growled like the dog that used to follow him over the back yard. “The man stays every night, why does he need to remember if he doesn’t have the intention to take the action about it?”
“Leave him alone. If he hovers back, there it’s because he didn’t see his children die! That’s why. Now go!” The innkeeper thrust him forward to the stairs. It was closing time; however, it was that man’s gold that kept the business going so well, that was the reason for their politeness and no way would they drive him away from his memories.
Keen felt annoyed, what was the reason for such reverence? He looked back and saw his father lower his head in a subtle bow before the professor. He was not teaching anymore, he was always drunk. If he was really a true hero… but that man was nothing, resolution was wrong about him. There was no memory whatsoever of a heroic exploit from him, not even when he found the vandalized school building by the road at the end of the village.
“Stop that nonsense father, he doesn’t deserve it,” he returned down stairs but his father expression turn him in to stone.
“That’s enough!! Go away right now! I won’t say it again, climb those damned stairs and don’t leave until morning, or you’ll never see a real sword in your entire life!”
Keen run upstairs but did it against his will.
“Is it closing time already? You are closing this den every day sooner and sooner.”
“There’s no one to attend for hours, it should be morning soon. Today was a bad day, that’s all.”
“Am I not a good costumer? Will you not serve me?”
“I will always serve you my” Damne silenced him with a reproving stare. “I will serve you Morlar.
Keen could not understand what they were saying but his father was standing expecting some reaction from the professor that reached for his glassed and drank a taste towards him.
“Well then, I am a costumer. Are you trying to run away from your work? Never saw you as a lazy man. You are old. We all are… but I am still here, and my glass is empty, what are you waiting for? Bring one for you too.”
“It’s getting late.”
“That’s good. Bring the bottle also. It will become sooner in a few hours, its almost dawning – he moved his hand in circles as he was thinking, “and the younglings shall be full of dreams and hope.” His speech was slow with sorrow. “That is an angry boy you have upstairs. Do not now if you are lucky or not.”
“He didn’t mean to offend you; the truth is that he doesn’t now what he’s saying. Don’t mention him, he’s a fool.”
“He´s just a boy. That is all there is to say. Mine would be his age by now, maybe my sweet Gellie could be his wife and together they would run this joint, better than you do.”
Keen shivered by hearing the girl’s name. He wanted to come closer to listen better. He thought he could leave thought the back door, go around the building and sit under the window.
“What doubts hunt you? Speak your mind once for all.”
The innkeeper made a gesture to ask for permission and sited by his side, he filled the glasses before he started, that moment Keen went around the stairs, no noise made, sweat down his face for he did not wish to make a sound or his father would kill him. Damne followed him with some amusement as he drank at one gulp.
“Sore was the last one to perish. And he died in my house.”
“Do not mention that. Heroes died, one by one. Hunted. Do not forget that, but do not talk about that matter either.”
“If they all are death, I do not now, but if he believes it so, it means that there were man that died in place of the true heroes, who knows how many, which survived or not with another name. Keen is alive, he was two steps away from his sword and he did not touch the boy. I just… forgot the reason for all of this.”
“There is no reason. Don’t worry about your family, you’re not a part of this story. You were out of town by that time. Your name wasn’t mention on the records for the man to be hunted, there were still a few month before you took Evar´s honors as his young knight. Theoretically, you were not one of us when this began. Forget this matter and pour me more wine.”
“Its been ten years since Vangard started the hunt of
“After the massacre, Vangard impaled the man that betrayed me, and started the hunt for seven man and their families, those who claimed heroes in our places made it by their own accord, by some stupidity that even I can’t understand, maybe by fame, glory. Today they are corpses, like my children.”
“How did we let him take the throne?”
“That is an easy answer. We run away!” he drank again with just one gulp and turned his head to the window. Keen arrived. “The king was dead a man on his own can’t make the difference at all.”
“I heard you say the opposite one day… We were great, almost divine, and you left all behind, as if those deaths didn’t meant a thing. I don’t now if I could be in your place if Keen had been”
“You think of me as a coward.”
“No, my lord.”
“It was not a question.”
“No!” Keen peeped, if the dog wasn’t barking by his eyes he could had understood any word. He cursed. He could listen better by the stairs than over there. He ignored the dirty feather by the Stranger’s passing, grabbed the stick from the dogs mouth and thrown it far away. “I’ve tried to think of you as a coward, but I can’t. Damned you, Damne! Don’t you ever think what might be happening at the White Chapel?”
“I thought we had decided that the capital was no longer our problem when we obeyed to run away,” he emptied the glass in to his mouth as if it was water.
Keen heard his father laugh it was a strange thing to hear. Beside it had made the professor gave up the drinking for an instance.
“Damned you, Damne! You did never hear that expression again, did you. It was damned famous between your kin, friends, it suited you pretty well. It was somewhat catchy. Damed you, Damne.” The innkeeper strike his hands on the table, Keen had already saw his father get mad, but that time his eyes were demonic. “I didn’t mention it to bring the past over again, but the moment just asked for it, the king was only the only man capable of undoing that stubbornness of yours.”
Damne moved his head toward the window for a moment, in a slow motion opened the window and breathed the fresh air. Keen hunkered down, hands over his mouth, that way he could hear every single word also. The dog ran pathetically happy towards him, Keen was in shock. Shook his head, the more he did it the faster the dog ran with his happy tail.
“I know the reason that turned you in to this, and to speak the openly, my lord, it makes my guts twist as if you were not worthy being call a man. Even in shadow you are still more legendary that you ever could wish for.”
“Don’t wish. Only foolish women wish. Girlish dreams that never come true.”
“I guess that makes me a girl, and a very ugly one.”
“Don’t you worry. I’ll buy you a dress tomorrow at the market when I’ll choose between rotten apples those that can still been eaten. Send that boy of yours to me, I have seen him practice with Daile, that idiot doesn’t know what he is doing, he will ruin the lad.” Damne looked to Keen, smiled, and stepped away before he could see him.
The boy choked the dog’s barking and looked up. No one had seen him he was safe. He returned to his room unable to fall asleep. He practically did not ear a thing about the conversation but he understood they had some kind of secret between them. However, the professor last request was still echoing in his mind and he did not sound so drunk after all. Why was he so happy about that?
“I don’t think he will accept that.”
“He will. I bet he will.”
“Why life is so dull?”
“I don’t understand you tedious, your majesty, after all you have conquered? Don’t the slaves please you?” There was no emotion on his face; it was like talking to a walking statue. The man obeyed his orders and questioned the king without any feeling attachment. “Do you wish for me to remove those nasty ill-omened demons from the front yard? They are infecting the palace. Rotting everything, they touch. There are feathers and blood everywhere and”
“Why there are no more heroes? There is nothing heroic capable of walking through the front gate to challenge me? Why my enemies decided to ignore me? How many years since he passed away? After him there was no one else to defy me, if only time could turn back, I would do it a different way.”
“You would spare his life, your majesty?”
“I would kill him with my bare hands. May be today they would be singing my name and not his. Evar, Evar, Evar here, Draquemar there! I thought if I let them kill each other I would be a hero for both tribes. However, they still mention their former king as a god over the land. It’s my throne now. They own me respect. Where are they now? The heroes? They are taking so long…”
“They tried, your majesty, pass the gate, I mean…” the commander closed the window, luxury glass from the South. He covered it with the heavy velvet curtain. He hated those creatures of whitish eyes; they made him forget his humanity.
“Yes? And what happened?
“You slaughter them, your majesty.”
“Oh, yes, it was… no one survived. They ate them, didn’t they?”
“Tomorrow will be a better day.”
The commander stood by his side. The room was empty. The valets made every possible not to approach the king. They feared him and his bad temper. That made Droiel the quietest place in the kingdom. A tower in ruins, northward away from the capital, in the middle of the destruction.
“As the day before and the day that follows. They are all the same. People fear me, pay me, and obey me. Children cry, scream. Life is so dull…”
“Do you wish for a woman, my lord?”
“No woman… bring me a boy.”
The commander stepped down one stair to look him sited at the throne, he wished to the face of such an awkward request.
“Did you say a boy?”
“I don’t want the boy for what you’re thinking! His name is Keen” the king smiled, “he is older by now, I forgot him, I made him a promise.”
“Who is this boy?”
“The responsible for this scar” showed his left hand.
“Survived?”
“He did.” The king stood up from the throne to stretch his arms while he walked towards the fruit table.
“You were very merciful that day. It was a bad day, don’t say…”
“At the time his death wasn’t my goal. Nevertheless, his life became… I anticipated this day, when there were no more enemy to vanquish, so I let him live” he choose some grapes. “I knew this day would come, in this room, I would be bored to death, with nothing more to conquer, or defeat. I just made my own challenge, that’s all.”
“Are you certain he still lives? Poverty spread all over the kingdom till the vast blue, and you left those creatures running free little as survive of small towns, hunger killed many, so did the plague.”
“I always spread death, made man beg, cry, shout, die… but this one, was the first I made live. I wonder what he had become, how his life has been wonderful with my name printed on his nightmares. He is almost like a son.”
“I see… Where do you wish me to hunt this boy?
“In the Broken Crown forest” he smiled again. “Or should I get him myself?”
“No, my lord. Stay. You would die of tedious for the journey that awaits me; there is no more danger in any road all over the kingdom. Not for you at least. You shall have a better time if you stay, I am sure of it” he bowed before leaving.
The commander left the room and his instinct made him hold his breath. The old woman felt about all the walls of the corridor and she was a step of touching him. She sniffed him. Venian did not move, nor when she touched his chest and made her hands slide until his belly, than she felt his manhood. If she were not blind, she would know his emotionless face did not jerk at all, however she could sense the disgust that he felt by her mere existence and laughed.
“Do you wish the company of my demons to your journey?”
“Not at all!” he walked slowly away from her with some difficulty because her hands were all over him.
Literature
quinta-feira, 20 de novembro de 2008
quinta-feira, 6 de novembro de 2008
CHAPTER I
HOW TO MOVE A MAN
“Tell us a story! A last one!” the children begged as they jumped to a squatting pose in a closest siege near by the fire and the storyteller. The flames painted sunset shades on their faces, children and adults. “Isn’t getting too late for you younglings?” the robed figured paused to look at the window. The village was still quiet, even in the break of war, not so far from those woods. How could those witless farmers protect their homes by ignoring what was happening so near? How would anyone be unharmed just by ignoring the continuous and rapidly spinning of the world?
The children gathered closest to the fire and to the storyteller. For five nights, the faceless figure had been enchanting their minds with heroic and glamour tales of heroes and traitors. In such a way, he conquered everyone’s sympathy in his ragged cloths, which brought in its putrid ends remains of the road and path traveled over. The tall figure, of little undercover skin in his long arms, from each ten new branches budded gold and rubies like blood, had a similar mysterious companion. An elder figure stared at the children in the front row, eyes without iris, thin and cracked lips, and wrinkled skin, made them shiver no more than some stories already told.
“Tell us what happened to the Mantis, the biggest thief of Tirail.”
“Didn’t I finish that story already? I was almost certain I have, haven’t I?”
“Oh, please, do tell us again, sir, the other night our mothers fetch us to sleep,” plead Esian on behalf of all children. The boy was twin of Gellie Morgar, only almost eight years old.
“Your mothers know it well, when our little heroes need rest. Go on, its time.”
“No. Just one more”
“Tell us the story of the two tails Strangers.”
“Not today!” he clapped his hands and pulled his robe over his face to create a shadow above his pitch black eyes.
“Why have you come to this town? Tell us that story! I don’t recall hearing your name ever since you came.” The innkeeper voice echoed as he clean the tables by the stairs.
The sound of mugs over the counter, against each other, over the tables, revealed great bustle of those who served. While on the other side of the counter, the drag of the chairs, the windy doorway and the steps of those who searched the tavern for some comfort, united the village in such common place every night since he arrived. The old woman abandon her fetus pose by the fire, uncurled her spine in such a way that they could hear it between the intense crepitate and the floor creak. She turned her head over the scenery before them. She was following the steps of a particular dweller, like a predator that sense its prey at a distance, and that movement came to her companion’s attention.
“You don’t seem as old as your granny…” the innkeeper persisted, “what was your name again?”
The old woman leaned over the lender figure, striped bloody white wide-open eyes of pure ecstasy to whisper something, than groped the walls, handrail, and vanished to the upper floor of the tavern. Only than did the storyteller give attention to his inquisitor.
The children hopped around the foreigner, chanting his name, fake but proud name that did not convince any of the present adults in the room.
“The children do not lie, do they? In the meantime, my dearest heroes, it has came the time of depart. I should bid you farewell.”
The children cried their sincerely anguish. There would be no more fairy tales from that night on. Overall, the stories were hard to understand, but even so, those evening-parties would be longing.
“Don’t leave us. Stay. Oh please, do stay” again Esian made his voice shine trough his anguish for the lost joy. It was so much easier to hear the stories than read them from some old dusty book that his father made them devour.
The storyteller raised his hand for silence.
“Before I go, I should tell you one more tale, than.”
The children, not so strangers to him, quieted. He knew them already as an open book. He set his eyes on the twins before him. The girl had disobeyed her father only because her brother begged her, by her will she would not stay in the same compartment as that stranger, he did not seem human to her at all. The word stranger could not have the better use in his case. Being before him was the same feeling as when the village was under attack by those hideous creatures know as Strangers. However, for her brother, and her friend, Keen, the innkeeper’s son, he was the greatest storyteller ever. The sorrow for his depart was shared by the grownups, knowing they were about to listen to one last story. The evening gathering in the tavern would truly lose the enthusiasm that made them work faster during the day with such anxiety for a new story of the night.
His grim smile turn out to be a pre-hence for a new tale.
“I should tell you why I am here”, the innkeeper drew his attention to the attentive mob. The children were not the only ones enchanted by his voice.
“…and in the end you will see my face, so you can remember me when I am gone”, the children applauded.
“Is it a story about a King?”
“No, my child” answered the storyteller to the innkeeper’s son “it’s about decision!”
“Decision??” emphasize the small children.
The word echoed thought the room, many were those who laughed about it.
“Decision, or resolution, as we know, doesn’t appear inside any of us, unless… you didn’t know that? Unless something outside as a motivation allows it to be born.”
“I see ruin over our heads, from a king that doesn’t give a damn about any city or village but his own luxury capital. Poverty and famine is closer, and that doesn’t seem enough to motivate men,” the innkeeper was loud enough.
“To that my friend, I call cowardice, but that is another story, for another night.”
He draw his hand in to the fire, he dived it between rebellion flames that lick him as penitent souls begging for salvation. The children, as children, applauded once more. Uninjured, he grabbed one flame with his fingers and dragged it as a falling start before them, as he drew in an ephemeral firework the chosen theme.
More cheering applauses.
The storyteller began his speech.
About a hero of a rude armor and a devilish sword that accomplish his mission to conquer the land from demons in his great-grandfathers honor with great glory. By demons, he meant no Strangers, the monsters that devour everything as they pass by, and implant fear that drives a man insane, nor ethereal creatures, but people, slave face people, continuously rejected and made into prisoners.
The chosen one was a south hero. His name yield by the wind to every corner of the realm, and his heroic exploits register in every living memory. He became not only a hero but also a divinity between humankind. He was a model to follow but hardly to copy. He was the one who raised an army of valorous men to conquer his homeland.
The storyteller paused for an instant staring into the dancing flames. As many adults thought about the true meaning of homeland. For how many generations the people fought for the White Chapel, capital, seen as the only true homeland.
“Nevertheless, the hero set his sword aside, as soon as he mercifully banished the demons from the land. He gave back to his family, fields, and city. Above all, he believed, before that victory, that the demons were forever conquered, controlled.” The innkeeper saw how tense his enclosed fist was, as he spit the words with such emotion during the narrative. “That long-lasting war from both sides, made them forgot on which side was the great reason. Our hero helped his people; chose to ignore his gift, given by the gods. He kept his sword away, buried his armor, and erected, together with his brothers, a great wall surrounded the city to preserve forever his legacy.” There was no doubt he was talking about the White Chapel.
The innkeeper read the adults expressions, in that village, there was only the so call demons, everyone descended from a slaved people. However, the storyteller was not talking of Evar, the charitable. That south hero was not their hero at all.
“What about the demons? What did the demons do?”
The storyteller made a brief sound to soothe the younglings. There was silence again. The fire cracked before the story. That time, he caught every adult’s attention, not only the children’s parents, but all of them. The city mentioned was not so far away from that land as they could wish.
“The way the hero dignify his kind without claiming the throne to his own profit made him the most respected man ever lived, but his fighting days were far from over. Neither that was a destiny he could control. The demons returned to the land known to them as their home. They would conquer the city back, even if it meant to destroy it. However, they knew he wasn’t easy to defeat, because our hero was a sage man and the best warrior ever lived.
The men by the counter exchanged an accomplice look and the men closest to the doorway throw coins over the table as they abandoned the tavern, gesture that the storyteller kept up with some discreetness.
“There were four battles to follow, each one for a following heir. Neither of conquer, nor of defense. Of which, from the first came total annihilation of Idul´s port, every single ship was sink and the supplies completely suppressed in its way to the north. From the second resulted the submission of people and all periphery villages, our heroes abandoned the capital in surrender for a few years. The demons had returned home. A third battle, the bloodiest, at the same time the last Assembly reunion, by the hand of a mad king that returned the south people to the capital. He wasn’t worried with the people’s protection. He laid a siege to the city, as did the demons before him. He conquered the villages, but not the capital. He died before it, and it was his son who proceeded with his conquers. Nevertheless, the Great Wall never fell” the pause brought a provocative smile to his lips.
“The demons abandoned the city once more?”
“This time, in this fourth battle, the demons had a hero of their own” he nodded to the children exclamations. The innkeeper felt some disturbance in his voice. He was not so sure, anymore of which side the storyteller was when he mentioned the existence of Evar with such devotion as a hero between the devil and the deep blue see.
“Did they fight each other? Who won?” Esian could not bear his enthusiasm, it was definitely so much better to listen rather fell asleep over some dull History book. How lucky was he, for his father the village professor, was going to make a test on the subject.
“The hero!” he smiled before the confusion.
“Which one? Which one?”
“Evar decided not to fight again; he would not shed human blood over the land, so he demanded a peaceful discussion of terms. Not knowing that Draquemar, the south descendant hero already planed the destruction of everything. Some said he was mad as his father, by scarifying his own men to experiences, making them unvanquished warriors. There were those who believed that the present Stangers were actually his men While Evar was discussing with his knights the city and the people’s destiny, outside the wall, his people was being slaughter with no tolerance. Its was then, something Evar didn’t saw it coming. The citizens” he stretch out his finger to emphasize the story, “raged by the fact his decision brought death to his own kind, leaving the villagers dying on the city’s step doorway outside the wall, decided not to trust his decision any longer. It fact, it was impossible to explain to them, if he had ordered to open the gate walls to help his people, that the enemy would finally claim his way thought the city. If he had done it, that time, all inhabitants would be death already. If only there was a single chance to negotiate, he would take it, he was no coward, and maybe he could save perhaps all of the citizen’s life. Some said their gods cursed him, by his refusing to hold his sword again. Others thought of him as a ruthless tyrant no less fearful as Draquemar who slaughter man, women and children with no guilt; they said he was only worried about his secret treasure hidden in the city core. So many stories and rumors were born to explain such a decision” the word popped to every ones attention, “that divided the people and soon there were only chaos.”
The way the storyteller moved his hands, seemed like the graceful dance of a dozen arms. The astonished children followed him with distinguished attention.
“Evar was no coward; neither did he lose his faith on his gods nor his people. To those who could manage to run, the enemy army welcomed them warmly. In no time, the demons became heroes that acted like true demons.
The storyteller paused again. As all his stories before that, the children need some time to think over the subtle semantics. Every tavern table was paying attention, the innkeeper looked for one of the crudest man, and his soiled hands told him not to move.
“So this fourth battle wasn’t in open battle field,” this time he was not speaking only to the front rows, but for the terrific silence before him. “No weapons were used, nor did the gate walls were opened to the conqueror army. The citizens took care of the massacre. My sweet children, “he smiled towards the twins, Gellie was the only one to shiver, “this story has no happy ending. Let it be say, that the citizens, for their freedom, reunited in the castle, on the highest top, the royal family and the king himself. The same people, who claimed him as king against his will, for they believed he was the only man capable of ruling, were the same who deposed him. It was in that tower the slaughter began. From his eleven trusty knights, four gave their lives instinctively in effort to save him, the rest escaped with their own families. The city cheered the conqueror army warmly. Draquemar was finally in his ancestor’s home city. It was only when the doors shut that the screams began.
Most of the children were petrified. Dull staring eyes, expressionless before the fire. The storyteller drank slowly from his cup of wine.
“The knights manage to run?” it was the first time Keen made himself heard.
“Yes, they run. They stepped away from every heroic exploit to live as common person, ignoring the massacre, the assassination of their king, of both kings; actually, until today no one knows what really happened inside those walls. It was the first time Strangers entered the city to hunt. That was the last time we heard about heroes.
“But the knight escaped, didn’t they?” rephrased Esian as Keen nodded immediately.
“It sounds like a bunch of cowards if you ask me.”
The storyteller smiled in agreement, raised his face to the taverns farthest end tables. The way men stopped drinking a while ago, and the way food lost its taste made him satisfied.
“They never should have left the capital!” insisted Keen.
“Yes, yes, young master, from a certain point of view, it may have been seen as a coward gesture, however they were able to save their families and some members of the royal family as well. Ah, but the story is far from ending.”
“If both kings were dead, who became king?”
“A young warrior. He became a king never seen as a true hero by those who survived. Each side only considered their lost king as the last true hero. That’s why the young king decided to distinguish himself in the land marks of History. He had to be the most powerful ever existed, the most heroic and strongest above all. He started to hunt down every man that could offer him a true challenge. Do you know what happened?”
The children became agitated again.
“Man hided gave up fighting. How the young king could become such a hero if there were no valorous enemies to vanquish?”
“Cowards! Told you so!” shouted Keen on his feet.
“The young king started to promote challenges, tournaments, games, rewards, hunts, he made everything possible to attract the long lost heroes back to his presence, but it was no good,” his gesture was quick and strong, “nothing, no one! Until
The innkeeper searched for Soren in the furthest table, but he was nowhere to been found.
“Until in his search he found the whereabouts of one, and another, followed clues through cities, mountains and rivers to find some of the lost men, their families, because he wanted to vanquish all of them one by one, especially when he discovered between them” he smiled towards Keen “the runaway prince.”
The innkeeper removed his apron, he did not like at all where that story was going. The old woman never returned, besides that did not seem to disturb her companion or the public but it did in fact affect him considerably. The storyteller saw how he moved across the room. They were watching over one another. He walked toward him, amongst the children, chairs and tables, because he wanted to catch a glance of his face no matter what. Maybe the innkeeper thought he was a bounty hunter of some kind, if it was that way, the story had not been to no purpose. It meant that he was actually in the good track. The campaign to hunt the murdered king’s knights had become an excuse for the terror amongst people.
Yes. They did think he was a bounty hunter. Probably a man who sold his soul to real demons that no one wished to mention, and had to take to his king news of a possible hidden hero in that village.
A murderer behind filthy rags. Only the dark arts could explain such mysterious men and the miracles he had done, by holding the fire that way. His hand was uninjured. What else if not witchcraft?
Wile the innkeeper studied him, he notice that another man climbed the stairs, his posture hided a sword.
“How many were found?”
“Only two, but they were so weak that only made the king angrier. That is why, for years, he encourage them to leave their lair. He lost all interest for defying games, tournaments. He also lost his patience and started to show some sings of tyranny. Even threaten, the villagers didn’t denounce them. His wrath fall upon the people, even then man didn’t shown.
“Cowards, they are all a bunch of cowards.”
“Did the find the prince?” Gellie voice sounded filled with concern.
“Not yet, but even now he is been searched for.”
“That is enough! Children leave this place!” the innkeepers voice sounded like a thunder.
“You didn’t like my story? Maybe you are afraid the children have nightmares tonight?”
“I didn’t approved once bit the lies you just told them. Those men you have spoke of with less consideration had to run with no option. I won’t stand for you to teach our children about their ancestors in such a vile way. Where’re proud of those who survived the slaughter, those who can actually tell their makings, and of those true heroes. The only coward I presently know is your king. If you wish to hunt in our village, you can return to your majesty and tell him another story! His cowardice in hunting innocent men and their families for own glory doesn’t deserve any praise whatsoever!
“So that means… you believe the present king that rules the White Chapel is in fact a coward?
The storyteller looked at the ceiling.
“No doubt! If one day I praised him for letting leave both peoples in the same capital, for believing he wished to live in peace between humankind, today I m certain that it never will reach Evar´s greatness.
The foreigner nodded in agreement. How many times he heard that speech from other villagers. He looked to the stairs once more; he could feel the steps of the man that walked until the old woman’s room. There was silence when he reached for the doorknob of her room. The moans came from inside but it didn’t seem of a old woman with walking difficulties. The strangeness increased when the duet spread the voices of a man and a woman through the corridor when he was certain that was the old woman’s compartment. The man hesitated, his steps across the corridor echoed from a door to another. Maybe he was confusing the rooms; the storyteller could hear his thoughts. Maybe the old woman was sleeping in the other room wile the youth animate the evening. The man took a peep thought the hole. There was no mistake; there was no old woman also. Her body meander over the man’s body in passion and made him step back with lust and desire over his upset body. The old woman had to be somewhere else…
It was time. The storyteller stared towards the innkeeper.
“It seams my story offended you. I had no idea that this village belonged to the survivors. I thought there were no longer any survivors.
“But the story wasn’t about decision?”
The storyteller looked at Keen, he was the same who was disturb with the cowardice of the runaway knights.
“That’s true, young master, sadly true. The king was so furious, but so furious, for the disrespect shown towards him, from those who forgot he delivered them from Draquemar´s tyranny and Evar´s weakness, that made him awake every man’s power of decision. Maybe they lacked motivation, you see.”
“What happened after that?” asked as the innkeeper stepped back with concern.
“If he could not deal with them directly he had to let motivation whisper in to their ears, the hunt began, one by one. He searched for the lost heroes, he scraped the land, searched every town, village, city and forest” the storyteller paused to look again to the ceiling. The moan that echoed in his head had ceased.
“Did he find every hero he was looking for?” it took a moment to get the answer; something above distracted him from the story.
“Hum… not yet.”
“How did it make them fight again? Motivation I mean…”
“It gave them a purpose, an aim, something so strong that over controlled them, blinded them to any human logic thought, something that no other strength had the power to silence.”
“Is there something so powerful like that?” Gellie shivered again.
“This story is getting to long, children. Go to your mothers. Enough of this rubbish already!”
“If there is? Something capable of moving a man against its will?... oh… there is for sure – he looked at the children, them the men – revenge, rage, as you know, devours the mind of a man, turns him insane, reborn with great strength,” – he spread his arms towards the ceiling, he was pleased with the event, “to find himself bigger than a god. Beyond imagination…
The exclamations echoed through the room.
There was a hollow cry.
The man in the corridor stepped back to regain his posture and pepped again. He wished to see her, the woman’s muse body and her black hair. Her smooth skin and the way she mounted over the man’s body. The man’s cry was not of pleasure anymore; she silenced him with her own mouth, kissed him as intensely as she made love to him. The climax corrupted his own body and made him desire to touch himself before that feverish vision.
The kiss ended, there was blood flown through her face. The intruder thrown himself to the locked door, once, twice, until the looker cracked, and saw the open window, there was no chance a woman could have jumped, nor did she had the time to do it. The bloody body over the bed was heartless.
There laid Soren, renounced and never forgotten hero.
The innkeeper saw the man run down the stairs in a panic runaway.
“Keen! Step away from that man this instance!” yield the innkeeper fearing the worst. The man belch in horror while he mumble “he´s dead, he´s dead!”
“God has to win over Evil, no matter what, isn’t that right, my dearest heroes?” The storyteller pretended to be surprised with the innkeeper’s overprotection. “Did something bad happen, sir?
“Step away from my son!” – threaded in a whisper while the man shouted on the floor. Luckily, perhaps that village had more than one hidden hero. He calculated how many he had already killed with a finger gesture. From seven survivors, two died by his hand at the capital, the others hunted, easily died with lust in Sae´s arms. However, that night he wasn’t hunting Soren. He looked at the twins before hum. Soren wasn’t the father of those children, he was certain of that. His mission in that village was to inspire that children’s father. Give him motivation for the necessary… resolution.
“Today these children will learn a worthy lesson, never forgotten.
His hand drew a new fire track that astonished the public like a spell, as a moth is attracted to the light.
The blade danced spilling blood. No one saw the gesture too quick, almost inhuman.
The innkeeper was to slow to react; he did not perceive what happened until he saw the children’s scattered body all over the floor. Men shouted and the panic was complete. Amongst victims there were still standing children, alive, some trembling, some paralyzed, not even feeling the warm droops of blood that stained their faces. Broken spirits for assisting theirs companions massacre.
The storyteller undressed his mantle and used it to sweep the blow of his sword. He was not old, on the contrary, his arrogance and slenderness gave him an immortal look.
Keen was petrified. His staring eyes were pure terror. He felt the storyteller icy hands on his shoulder, and it seams it burned like fire.
He could not hear the cries of the adults.
“See, young master… bless the gods, for your daddy” pointed towards the innkeeper” isn’t one of those hidden heroes.
The pestilent fragrance took over his body. Keen stepped away; he did not wish to dirty himself with Gellie´s blood, which face was paler then ever. He grabbed a stick and run after the murderer. There was not one single man who stopped him from leaving, or did any justice; the boy was the only one to run towards him without a second thought. He stroked his hand fiercely without considering his enemy. He pierced a broken spear into the foreigner’s hand.
Vangard punched the kid to the floor. He would not kill him. He left him unconscious on the stair steps by the end of that summer. As soon has he regained conscious, he could continue to live his peaceful life as everyone else would. For those who recognized him, he was not only the face of the people enemy, but the responsible for every ruin and poverty that would embrace the kingdom very soon, for he was Vangard, King, and conqueror in person.
“Tell us a story! A last one!” the children begged as they jumped to a squatting pose in a closest siege near by the fire and the storyteller. The flames painted sunset shades on their faces, children and adults. “Isn’t getting too late for you younglings?” the robed figured paused to look at the window. The village was still quiet, even in the break of war, not so far from those woods. How could those witless farmers protect their homes by ignoring what was happening so near? How would anyone be unharmed just by ignoring the continuous and rapidly spinning of the world?
The children gathered closest to the fire and to the storyteller. For five nights, the faceless figure had been enchanting their minds with heroic and glamour tales of heroes and traitors. In such a way, he conquered everyone’s sympathy in his ragged cloths, which brought in its putrid ends remains of the road and path traveled over. The tall figure, of little undercover skin in his long arms, from each ten new branches budded gold and rubies like blood, had a similar mysterious companion. An elder figure stared at the children in the front row, eyes without iris, thin and cracked lips, and wrinkled skin, made them shiver no more than some stories already told.
“Tell us what happened to the Mantis, the biggest thief of Tirail.”
“Didn’t I finish that story already? I was almost certain I have, haven’t I?”
“Oh, please, do tell us again, sir, the other night our mothers fetch us to sleep,” plead Esian on behalf of all children. The boy was twin of Gellie Morgar, only almost eight years old.
“Your mothers know it well, when our little heroes need rest. Go on, its time.”
“No. Just one more”
“Tell us the story of the two tails Strangers.”
“Not today!” he clapped his hands and pulled his robe over his face to create a shadow above his pitch black eyes.
“Why have you come to this town? Tell us that story! I don’t recall hearing your name ever since you came.” The innkeeper voice echoed as he clean the tables by the stairs.
The sound of mugs over the counter, against each other, over the tables, revealed great bustle of those who served. While on the other side of the counter, the drag of the chairs, the windy doorway and the steps of those who searched the tavern for some comfort, united the village in such common place every night since he arrived. The old woman abandon her fetus pose by the fire, uncurled her spine in such a way that they could hear it between the intense crepitate and the floor creak. She turned her head over the scenery before them. She was following the steps of a particular dweller, like a predator that sense its prey at a distance, and that movement came to her companion’s attention.
“You don’t seem as old as your granny…” the innkeeper persisted, “what was your name again?”
The old woman leaned over the lender figure, striped bloody white wide-open eyes of pure ecstasy to whisper something, than groped the walls, handrail, and vanished to the upper floor of the tavern. Only than did the storyteller give attention to his inquisitor.
The children hopped around the foreigner, chanting his name, fake but proud name that did not convince any of the present adults in the room.
“The children do not lie, do they? In the meantime, my dearest heroes, it has came the time of depart. I should bid you farewell.”
The children cried their sincerely anguish. There would be no more fairy tales from that night on. Overall, the stories were hard to understand, but even so, those evening-parties would be longing.
“Don’t leave us. Stay. Oh please, do stay” again Esian made his voice shine trough his anguish for the lost joy. It was so much easier to hear the stories than read them from some old dusty book that his father made them devour.
The storyteller raised his hand for silence.
“Before I go, I should tell you one more tale, than.”
The children, not so strangers to him, quieted. He knew them already as an open book. He set his eyes on the twins before him. The girl had disobeyed her father only because her brother begged her, by her will she would not stay in the same compartment as that stranger, he did not seem human to her at all. The word stranger could not have the better use in his case. Being before him was the same feeling as when the village was under attack by those hideous creatures know as Strangers. However, for her brother, and her friend, Keen, the innkeeper’s son, he was the greatest storyteller ever. The sorrow for his depart was shared by the grownups, knowing they were about to listen to one last story. The evening gathering in the tavern would truly lose the enthusiasm that made them work faster during the day with such anxiety for a new story of the night.
His grim smile turn out to be a pre-hence for a new tale.
“I should tell you why I am here”, the innkeeper drew his attention to the attentive mob. The children were not the only ones enchanted by his voice.
“…and in the end you will see my face, so you can remember me when I am gone”, the children applauded.
“Is it a story about a King?”
“No, my child” answered the storyteller to the innkeeper’s son “it’s about decision!”
“Decision??” emphasize the small children.
The word echoed thought the room, many were those who laughed about it.
“Decision, or resolution, as we know, doesn’t appear inside any of us, unless… you didn’t know that? Unless something outside as a motivation allows it to be born.”
“I see ruin over our heads, from a king that doesn’t give a damn about any city or village but his own luxury capital. Poverty and famine is closer, and that doesn’t seem enough to motivate men,” the innkeeper was loud enough.
“To that my friend, I call cowardice, but that is another story, for another night.”
He draw his hand in to the fire, he dived it between rebellion flames that lick him as penitent souls begging for salvation. The children, as children, applauded once more. Uninjured, he grabbed one flame with his fingers and dragged it as a falling start before them, as he drew in an ephemeral firework the chosen theme.
More cheering applauses.
The storyteller began his speech.
About a hero of a rude armor and a devilish sword that accomplish his mission to conquer the land from demons in his great-grandfathers honor with great glory. By demons, he meant no Strangers, the monsters that devour everything as they pass by, and implant fear that drives a man insane, nor ethereal creatures, but people, slave face people, continuously rejected and made into prisoners.
The chosen one was a south hero. His name yield by the wind to every corner of the realm, and his heroic exploits register in every living memory. He became not only a hero but also a divinity between humankind. He was a model to follow but hardly to copy. He was the one who raised an army of valorous men to conquer his homeland.
The storyteller paused for an instant staring into the dancing flames. As many adults thought about the true meaning of homeland. For how many generations the people fought for the White Chapel, capital, seen as the only true homeland.
“Nevertheless, the hero set his sword aside, as soon as he mercifully banished the demons from the land. He gave back to his family, fields, and city. Above all, he believed, before that victory, that the demons were forever conquered, controlled.” The innkeeper saw how tense his enclosed fist was, as he spit the words with such emotion during the narrative. “That long-lasting war from both sides, made them forgot on which side was the great reason. Our hero helped his people; chose to ignore his gift, given by the gods. He kept his sword away, buried his armor, and erected, together with his brothers, a great wall surrounded the city to preserve forever his legacy.” There was no doubt he was talking about the White Chapel.
The innkeeper read the adults expressions, in that village, there was only the so call demons, everyone descended from a slaved people. However, the storyteller was not talking of Evar, the charitable. That south hero was not their hero at all.
“What about the demons? What did the demons do?”
The storyteller made a brief sound to soothe the younglings. There was silence again. The fire cracked before the story. That time, he caught every adult’s attention, not only the children’s parents, but all of them. The city mentioned was not so far away from that land as they could wish.
“The way the hero dignify his kind without claiming the throne to his own profit made him the most respected man ever lived, but his fighting days were far from over. Neither that was a destiny he could control. The demons returned to the land known to them as their home. They would conquer the city back, even if it meant to destroy it. However, they knew he wasn’t easy to defeat, because our hero was a sage man and the best warrior ever lived.
The men by the counter exchanged an accomplice look and the men closest to the doorway throw coins over the table as they abandoned the tavern, gesture that the storyteller kept up with some discreetness.
“There were four battles to follow, each one for a following heir. Neither of conquer, nor of defense. Of which, from the first came total annihilation of Idul´s port, every single ship was sink and the supplies completely suppressed in its way to the north. From the second resulted the submission of people and all periphery villages, our heroes abandoned the capital in surrender for a few years. The demons had returned home. A third battle, the bloodiest, at the same time the last Assembly reunion, by the hand of a mad king that returned the south people to the capital. He wasn’t worried with the people’s protection. He laid a siege to the city, as did the demons before him. He conquered the villages, but not the capital. He died before it, and it was his son who proceeded with his conquers. Nevertheless, the Great Wall never fell” the pause brought a provocative smile to his lips.
“The demons abandoned the city once more?”
“This time, in this fourth battle, the demons had a hero of their own” he nodded to the children exclamations. The innkeeper felt some disturbance in his voice. He was not so sure, anymore of which side the storyteller was when he mentioned the existence of Evar with such devotion as a hero between the devil and the deep blue see.
“Did they fight each other? Who won?” Esian could not bear his enthusiasm, it was definitely so much better to listen rather fell asleep over some dull History book. How lucky was he, for his father the village professor, was going to make a test on the subject.
“The hero!” he smiled before the confusion.
“Which one? Which one?”
“Evar decided not to fight again; he would not shed human blood over the land, so he demanded a peaceful discussion of terms. Not knowing that Draquemar, the south descendant hero already planed the destruction of everything. Some said he was mad as his father, by scarifying his own men to experiences, making them unvanquished warriors. There were those who believed that the present Stangers were actually his men While Evar was discussing with his knights the city and the people’s destiny, outside the wall, his people was being slaughter with no tolerance. Its was then, something Evar didn’t saw it coming. The citizens” he stretch out his finger to emphasize the story, “raged by the fact his decision brought death to his own kind, leaving the villagers dying on the city’s step doorway outside the wall, decided not to trust his decision any longer. It fact, it was impossible to explain to them, if he had ordered to open the gate walls to help his people, that the enemy would finally claim his way thought the city. If he had done it, that time, all inhabitants would be death already. If only there was a single chance to negotiate, he would take it, he was no coward, and maybe he could save perhaps all of the citizen’s life. Some said their gods cursed him, by his refusing to hold his sword again. Others thought of him as a ruthless tyrant no less fearful as Draquemar who slaughter man, women and children with no guilt; they said he was only worried about his secret treasure hidden in the city core. So many stories and rumors were born to explain such a decision” the word popped to every ones attention, “that divided the people and soon there were only chaos.”
The way the storyteller moved his hands, seemed like the graceful dance of a dozen arms. The astonished children followed him with distinguished attention.
“Evar was no coward; neither did he lose his faith on his gods nor his people. To those who could manage to run, the enemy army welcomed them warmly. In no time, the demons became heroes that acted like true demons.
The storyteller paused again. As all his stories before that, the children need some time to think over the subtle semantics. Every tavern table was paying attention, the innkeeper looked for one of the crudest man, and his soiled hands told him not to move.
“So this fourth battle wasn’t in open battle field,” this time he was not speaking only to the front rows, but for the terrific silence before him. “No weapons were used, nor did the gate walls were opened to the conqueror army. The citizens took care of the massacre. My sweet children, “he smiled towards the twins, Gellie was the only one to shiver, “this story has no happy ending. Let it be say, that the citizens, for their freedom, reunited in the castle, on the highest top, the royal family and the king himself. The same people, who claimed him as king against his will, for they believed he was the only man capable of ruling, were the same who deposed him. It was in that tower the slaughter began. From his eleven trusty knights, four gave their lives instinctively in effort to save him, the rest escaped with their own families. The city cheered the conqueror army warmly. Draquemar was finally in his ancestor’s home city. It was only when the doors shut that the screams began.
Most of the children were petrified. Dull staring eyes, expressionless before the fire. The storyteller drank slowly from his cup of wine.
“The knights manage to run?” it was the first time Keen made himself heard.
“Yes, they run. They stepped away from every heroic exploit to live as common person, ignoring the massacre, the assassination of their king, of both kings; actually, until today no one knows what really happened inside those walls. It was the first time Strangers entered the city to hunt. That was the last time we heard about heroes.
“But the knight escaped, didn’t they?” rephrased Esian as Keen nodded immediately.
“It sounds like a bunch of cowards if you ask me.”
The storyteller smiled in agreement, raised his face to the taverns farthest end tables. The way men stopped drinking a while ago, and the way food lost its taste made him satisfied.
“They never should have left the capital!” insisted Keen.
“Yes, yes, young master, from a certain point of view, it may have been seen as a coward gesture, however they were able to save their families and some members of the royal family as well. Ah, but the story is far from ending.”
“If both kings were dead, who became king?”
“A young warrior. He became a king never seen as a true hero by those who survived. Each side only considered their lost king as the last true hero. That’s why the young king decided to distinguish himself in the land marks of History. He had to be the most powerful ever existed, the most heroic and strongest above all. He started to hunt down every man that could offer him a true challenge. Do you know what happened?”
The children became agitated again.
“Man hided gave up fighting. How the young king could become such a hero if there were no valorous enemies to vanquish?”
“Cowards! Told you so!” shouted Keen on his feet.
“The young king started to promote challenges, tournaments, games, rewards, hunts, he made everything possible to attract the long lost heroes back to his presence, but it was no good,” his gesture was quick and strong, “nothing, no one! Until
The innkeeper searched for Soren in the furthest table, but he was nowhere to been found.
“Until in his search he found the whereabouts of one, and another, followed clues through cities, mountains and rivers to find some of the lost men, their families, because he wanted to vanquish all of them one by one, especially when he discovered between them” he smiled towards Keen “the runaway prince.”
The innkeeper removed his apron, he did not like at all where that story was going. The old woman never returned, besides that did not seem to disturb her companion or the public but it did in fact affect him considerably. The storyteller saw how he moved across the room. They were watching over one another. He walked toward him, amongst the children, chairs and tables, because he wanted to catch a glance of his face no matter what. Maybe the innkeeper thought he was a bounty hunter of some kind, if it was that way, the story had not been to no purpose. It meant that he was actually in the good track. The campaign to hunt the murdered king’s knights had become an excuse for the terror amongst people.
Yes. They did think he was a bounty hunter. Probably a man who sold his soul to real demons that no one wished to mention, and had to take to his king news of a possible hidden hero in that village.
A murderer behind filthy rags. Only the dark arts could explain such mysterious men and the miracles he had done, by holding the fire that way. His hand was uninjured. What else if not witchcraft?
Wile the innkeeper studied him, he notice that another man climbed the stairs, his posture hided a sword.
“How many were found?”
“Only two, but they were so weak that only made the king angrier. That is why, for years, he encourage them to leave their lair. He lost all interest for defying games, tournaments. He also lost his patience and started to show some sings of tyranny. Even threaten, the villagers didn’t denounce them. His wrath fall upon the people, even then man didn’t shown.
“Cowards, they are all a bunch of cowards.”
“Did the find the prince?” Gellie voice sounded filled with concern.
“Not yet, but even now he is been searched for.”
“That is enough! Children leave this place!” the innkeepers voice sounded like a thunder.
“You didn’t like my story? Maybe you are afraid the children have nightmares tonight?”
“I didn’t approved once bit the lies you just told them. Those men you have spoke of with less consideration had to run with no option. I won’t stand for you to teach our children about their ancestors in such a vile way. Where’re proud of those who survived the slaughter, those who can actually tell their makings, and of those true heroes. The only coward I presently know is your king. If you wish to hunt in our village, you can return to your majesty and tell him another story! His cowardice in hunting innocent men and their families for own glory doesn’t deserve any praise whatsoever!
“So that means… you believe the present king that rules the White Chapel is in fact a coward?
The storyteller looked at the ceiling.
“No doubt! If one day I praised him for letting leave both peoples in the same capital, for believing he wished to live in peace between humankind, today I m certain that it never will reach Evar´s greatness.
The foreigner nodded in agreement. How many times he heard that speech from other villagers. He looked to the stairs once more; he could feel the steps of the man that walked until the old woman’s room. There was silence when he reached for the doorknob of her room. The moans came from inside but it didn’t seem of a old woman with walking difficulties. The strangeness increased when the duet spread the voices of a man and a woman through the corridor when he was certain that was the old woman’s compartment. The man hesitated, his steps across the corridor echoed from a door to another. Maybe he was confusing the rooms; the storyteller could hear his thoughts. Maybe the old woman was sleeping in the other room wile the youth animate the evening. The man took a peep thought the hole. There was no mistake; there was no old woman also. Her body meander over the man’s body in passion and made him step back with lust and desire over his upset body. The old woman had to be somewhere else…
It was time. The storyteller stared towards the innkeeper.
“It seams my story offended you. I had no idea that this village belonged to the survivors. I thought there were no longer any survivors.
“But the story wasn’t about decision?”
The storyteller looked at Keen, he was the same who was disturb with the cowardice of the runaway knights.
“That’s true, young master, sadly true. The king was so furious, but so furious, for the disrespect shown towards him, from those who forgot he delivered them from Draquemar´s tyranny and Evar´s weakness, that made him awake every man’s power of decision. Maybe they lacked motivation, you see.”
“What happened after that?” asked as the innkeeper stepped back with concern.
“If he could not deal with them directly he had to let motivation whisper in to their ears, the hunt began, one by one. He searched for the lost heroes, he scraped the land, searched every town, village, city and forest” the storyteller paused to look again to the ceiling. The moan that echoed in his head had ceased.
“Did he find every hero he was looking for?” it took a moment to get the answer; something above distracted him from the story.
“Hum… not yet.”
“How did it make them fight again? Motivation I mean…”
“It gave them a purpose, an aim, something so strong that over controlled them, blinded them to any human logic thought, something that no other strength had the power to silence.”
“Is there something so powerful like that?” Gellie shivered again.
“This story is getting to long, children. Go to your mothers. Enough of this rubbish already!”
“If there is? Something capable of moving a man against its will?... oh… there is for sure – he looked at the children, them the men – revenge, rage, as you know, devours the mind of a man, turns him insane, reborn with great strength,” – he spread his arms towards the ceiling, he was pleased with the event, “to find himself bigger than a god. Beyond imagination…
The exclamations echoed through the room.
There was a hollow cry.
The man in the corridor stepped back to regain his posture and pepped again. He wished to see her, the woman’s muse body and her black hair. Her smooth skin and the way she mounted over the man’s body. The man’s cry was not of pleasure anymore; she silenced him with her own mouth, kissed him as intensely as she made love to him. The climax corrupted his own body and made him desire to touch himself before that feverish vision.
The kiss ended, there was blood flown through her face. The intruder thrown himself to the locked door, once, twice, until the looker cracked, and saw the open window, there was no chance a woman could have jumped, nor did she had the time to do it. The bloody body over the bed was heartless.
There laid Soren, renounced and never forgotten hero.
The innkeeper saw the man run down the stairs in a panic runaway.
“Keen! Step away from that man this instance!” yield the innkeeper fearing the worst. The man belch in horror while he mumble “he´s dead, he´s dead!”
“God has to win over Evil, no matter what, isn’t that right, my dearest heroes?” The storyteller pretended to be surprised with the innkeeper’s overprotection. “Did something bad happen, sir?
“Step away from my son!” – threaded in a whisper while the man shouted on the floor. Luckily, perhaps that village had more than one hidden hero. He calculated how many he had already killed with a finger gesture. From seven survivors, two died by his hand at the capital, the others hunted, easily died with lust in Sae´s arms. However, that night he wasn’t hunting Soren. He looked at the twins before hum. Soren wasn’t the father of those children, he was certain of that. His mission in that village was to inspire that children’s father. Give him motivation for the necessary… resolution.
“Today these children will learn a worthy lesson, never forgotten.
His hand drew a new fire track that astonished the public like a spell, as a moth is attracted to the light.
The blade danced spilling blood. No one saw the gesture too quick, almost inhuman.
The innkeeper was to slow to react; he did not perceive what happened until he saw the children’s scattered body all over the floor. Men shouted and the panic was complete. Amongst victims there were still standing children, alive, some trembling, some paralyzed, not even feeling the warm droops of blood that stained their faces. Broken spirits for assisting theirs companions massacre.
The storyteller undressed his mantle and used it to sweep the blow of his sword. He was not old, on the contrary, his arrogance and slenderness gave him an immortal look.
Keen was petrified. His staring eyes were pure terror. He felt the storyteller icy hands on his shoulder, and it seams it burned like fire.
He could not hear the cries of the adults.
“See, young master… bless the gods, for your daddy” pointed towards the innkeeper” isn’t one of those hidden heroes.
The pestilent fragrance took over his body. Keen stepped away; he did not wish to dirty himself with Gellie´s blood, which face was paler then ever. He grabbed a stick and run after the murderer. There was not one single man who stopped him from leaving, or did any justice; the boy was the only one to run towards him without a second thought. He stroked his hand fiercely without considering his enemy. He pierced a broken spear into the foreigner’s hand.
Vangard punched the kid to the floor. He would not kill him. He left him unconscious on the stair steps by the end of that summer. As soon has he regained conscious, he could continue to live his peaceful life as everyone else would. For those who recognized him, he was not only the face of the people enemy, but the responsible for every ruin and poverty that would embrace the kingdom very soon, for he was Vangard, King, and conqueror in person.
quinta-feira, 30 de outubro de 2008
Prologue
Prologue
Sae was the most beautiful woman of the council, of any University. Although all members of the council were responsible for every decision, there was no one who could disagree with her. Whenever her voice echoed in the assembly, the conclave dismissed any possible discordance function. Her influence was perilous to every governor. Few where who could actually resist her intoxicating charm.
In the beginning of the winter, that extra assembly rely only on the secrecy of a share from the quorum. Not even the torches have been set on fire so it could not reveal the few members in the arena to discuss something that always made them different from the rest of the council, university, kings and citizens: their own kind.
Sae walked to the center of the marble arena in the opening. Her black feathered mantle spread through the moon bathed whitish stone, in the middle of the forest. The wind blew amongst columns and trees, as the only witness of her confession. In time gone by, those who listened to her voice where superior in number to any fraction of the groups that made the council. That night she could count only five.
They were eager for her voice again.
“You want us to wait? We weren’t expecting that from you, divine.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as it takes!”
“That doesn’t sound like you at all” they were silent with surprise.
Sae fold her harms ahead.
“We are fading out. Time as we know will eliminate us from this world, from its memory. It is not the time to wait. Our kind”
Sae opened her eyes to stare at the man who raised his voice with some exasperation for her decision.
“What Vision in our future have you seen? Confess it. The war between the people has been constant since the dawn of times. Forsaken us, never we had any room for our existence, nor did they assumed us as part of them. We should use our power and strength to distinguish ourselves, since they do not consider us as humans for the mater.
Sae silenced them with a quick but ephemeral gesture. Suddenly spreading her arms as if were wings. The wind blew feathers in to the air. The red hair man dropped to his seat again as soon as one of the feathers cut his face.
“What do you suggest?” she was raving.
“Something. Anything! When you summoned us to this secret meeting, none of us was expecting to hear your request, demand, for us to wait. I think I speak for every single coward silently present.”
Sae faced the man before her. She could see the future of each one of them. They would not live for much longer. The war ahead would claim a great deal from each one of them as oracles. That was the reason that made her postpone the decision.
“I shall carry on with the plan, but not now. I’ll wait for the prophet king, the true sky warrior.”
“That’s your eternity talking!” the red hair man yielded again. Sae rise in the air and landed right before the man. It was the second time he defied her. There would be no third. The mantle fell from her shoulders there were no clothes underneath, only the smoothest skin under a full pale moon.
His instincts made him raise his hand towards her body. The rest of them came closer, ravished with her appearance. So beautiful, so jovial. Sae caught his face, buried her finger through the flames of his red hair to push him. She licked his lips, so he could have a taste of her saliva, sweet as honey. Of the five men, the red hair was the only warrior, the most dangerous of them all.
She sucked through the kiss every thought, memory, and secrets without his knowledge.
They had a plan, a very different from hers.
Her eyes became two large dark orbs. The man succumbing to lust squeezed his mouth through her skin as a young searching for breasts. He was lucky to been chosen by the divine. Sae warped her back behind when the red hair man hands and lips run her body to taste her vigor. She smiled to the tortured ones staring close, allured them with an enchanted gesture. The men succumb immediately. She took their mouth and one by one and saw their thoughts. There was no mistake. They were intending to murderer her. The immediate betrayal was true and shared by every one, at least every single man she had kissed. There was one, who did not seem as interested in her body as the rest. He was younger, blushful and beautiful. He stood motionless, unable to succumb to the orgy.
Not even the way she moved her body, surrounded by for vigorous men, nor the way she moan persuade him. He was the only one that looked at her without any feverish desire. He was no doubt the strongest between them all of her creations.
Sae smiled towards him. She sucked all the plan information from every one of her lovers, who considered her a monster, after everything she had done to make them more than mere humans, sons of a new Era of evolution, almost superior beings. Even so, they intended to shred her, cowardly, into pieces. So much power, but still, in the end, they would still think like humans.
The moans of delight summoned the winged Strangers to the treetops. The red hair men was the first to climax, his cry for pleasure was proportional to his cry for his death, and so on, every one of them, followed by the other. She hunted them with no mercy.
The clearing was silence again. Feathers moved in whirlwinds of blades that surrounded the last man alive. He was just a boy. Sae walked slowly towards him, her godlike body stained with blood. Velar had already heard legends about that woman, and about what he had become. He knew that those who could not resist her body would die for pleasure. He did not shiver, nor did he show any feeling when she embraced his body to kiss him. He felt the warm blood of his companions in her skin, the nauseous fragrance that tormented him.
“Will you spare me because I didn’t agree to kill you?”
“You’re the youngest of them all,” she smiled at his seventeen years old. Even so, he was as virile as the man who took her. She graze his body with hers, his tunic was not tick enough to cover his body reaction. “The youngster, the strongest. Because I have seen that it is from your blood that shall be born the king that will bring the change, I shall spare your life. For that was my vision. But… do not temp me, by betraying me like those fools.”
Sae kissed him softer. Velar´s yield point was at the limit, he did not succumb at fist, but gradually the body exceeded the sanity. His desired to crush her disturbed him. The body against his torture him. He wished to thrust in, so he could forget anything, devour her as a Stranger devours his prey. The moans against his ears drove him insane, endangering not only his sanity, but also his life. Sae embraced him carefully, as he was too delicate, pushed him over her body to torture him with all her sensuality, fragrance and flavor.
Velar became a slave of her senses, and a master of his instincts. His veins vibrated through his all body ready to burst, even during climax, even when her claws buried into his body. His possession dance over her did not end, even when Sae’s eyes when all white, and her voice filled his mind, even so when his cry echoed through the forest…
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