With Coals of Everburning 3/52
Strode. Stride. Strays?
1/ Forgotten Voyages 2/ The Delicious Girl 3/ Secret of Past 4/ The Shore’s Truth 5/ The Secret of the Way 6/ Stones in the Servant
/1/ Forgotten Voyages
“What wars once fought here,” he says, the students more interested in a tree’s nest being raided by squirrels as the evening grows darker with fading sunset and warmer with rising dusk. The horn of recall summons them indoors for supper and the great poem. The evening farmers misting the evening growth, the night patrols drinking their coffee and eating their breakfasts, the bats stretch their blind eyes and open their backward wings. The birds began together rising and scouring for sunset insects before the clouds give rain. Darkness like dark smoke brings ravens to surround the walled colony, then in the thin and gleaming twilight on heavy branches birds of prey. With the wave of shadow sunset steps a man with a walking staff, scars rising on arms from beneath his gloves, the other eye white with sinister expressionless malaise, a walking stick shoulder height knocking the dry road. A haggard posture and faded limp he grins as sentries meet and stop him, his hand raises and darkness explodes the air, the guards fall, the smoke vanishes. The gardeners bolt, his magic leaps from his touch to their heels, felling only one who regains footing and warns screaming. The lone invader removes gloves, his arm is branded with a scar of the symbol on the wall and uniforms and gate.
/2/ The Delicious Girl
He approaches, hands raised in surrender, paces slow and face raised silent, but attacks with both hands conducting fiery wave of magic, the arrows launch in numbers and mechanized force, but only once. Spies and traitors erase defenses and wave him thru, the clothes stiff as if from a previous time, the boots soft and worn since a previous age, the smile of malice as some chase the escapees into the night forest. The conquistador, silent and dour, malignant in power, stares at the conquered. “Who leads this place, stand and command respect, and I will salute you.” Scared and reluctant leaders begin to stand, “lock them up,” he orders, offering the remaining a chance to fight their leaders or meet fate in this moment. A young woman prestigious in clothing insults, challenges, and when summoned, slaps the demonic shaman. He has her hands tied in front of her and put in the queen's throne as he sits, with verbose words he praises himself with pride in plans, great details of the battle between leaders and servants, as many cried out, ‘we are farmers,’ and ‘this is a council community,’ without logic or luck to service their desperate problem.
/3/ Secret of Past
Weapons are tossed into the main yard, the first fighter is brought before the mad usurper, the girl screams for peace, sanity has left this place, “why?” he asks, “because he’s my father…” she replies, the usurper laffs and demands they fight each other, the father pleads against it, “in the desert we must hunt to survive, in war we must hunt for pleasure, but you... have found yourself in between, my revenge so well planned it is only sport, where there is rule or one will die,” he says, trailing off, as the father offers to yield to daughter, she runs at him, only to take his weapon and throw it at the dark shaman, striking him in the eye, screams of tremor and pain followed with black blood and rising rage, the air shakes as powerful and painful magic glows to heal his eye before losing it. She cuts the bonds of two and the three begin their escape. The shaman stands with bloody hands and rages at the sight of his robes unclean, “after them!” he orders, with a face that holds a solid white eye with vertical scar, like a mending of an eye made of bone.
/4/ The Shore’s Truth
“Why are you doing this?” one asks, he answers, “revelatory exposition,” and laffs, “I think not, serve me, and I’ll let you help your friends.” “Never, you pekh-razh, sa-fu t’ghache, ghorlu’--” “ALLRIGHT, she’s clearly not going to help. Anyone else? Tell me where they’re going and everyone lives, do I not lie, they will bring them back, you are my hostages for what is to come, including them, the girl, the other two or three. Tell me or I will have them brought back only to carve them like a tree until they root not this world!” A boy shouts, “We’ve done nothing, this isn’t fair!” and the mad shaman says, “bringing you this lesson and you can’t see it, boy? There’s a need for you to know, and you will learn it oppressed, but fed knowledge, and when I don’t let you leave, you’ll lash out, bringing punishment,” the shaman’s eyes glow purple, the scared eye glows weaker, but darker, “if you die you are forgotten, if you live you will rise against the colonies of the holy sign,” his hands grow red and scars white running with sparks of electricity, tearing the boy from the ground and suffocating his throat, throwing him with a rage of sound, and stammers toward another, a man stands and faces, the shaman throws his bloody robe aside, only a vest covers many scars and the tattoos of their society burned into scars old and new.
/5/ The Secret of the Way
The refugees ride horses distant and far, feeling lost in the dark as dawn approaches, several hours end as their path meets a larger city, burning, broken, a small army lies wasted among the dead and the homeless, waving their hands for the three to stay away, “what happened here?” she asks, “quiet or the shadows rise!” shaking and running away. “Something terrible was here,” says the one. “Something terrible comes,” says the other, pointing to the road to ruins, where twelve hunters chase into the city of ashes and broken stone burnt so much some into obsidian-like mirrors. Red sun rising cut strange angles and sad shadows everywhere. The eleven murderers are no match to the city the woman’s former home, so much advantaged they are dropped only one by one. A wire, a board, a spear, a wall of spears, unmounted into a pit of coals, buried by building, beaten, bludgeoned, broken, strangled, and the last of which backed into netting and interrogated. Stabbed and cut, their captive taunts, “You’ll never defeat the Prime of Verilor, he has power beyond--” she interrupts, “end him.” and the men do just that. Beneath a school in hidden chamber, hiding many in cellars, “how many escaped?” “not enuf.” “Show me the holy books.” and they find a book dedicated to research of Verilor.
/6/ Stones in the Servant
She reads the words in a language unknown to me, next to pictures of ablution and magical combat, cavalry horses and riders warring in the rain. She closes the book. They ride back toward the colony. One sits on the wall at sunset, a pile of bodies, the other half in cages. The theatrical robe, the archaic eye, the dark shaman paces, a turn and he sees one man on the wall. Arrows fly and the shaman, “stop! They’ve returned! Excellent! Why have you come!?” “to battle you.” They enter the area, and three face the evil overlord. “I would like you to meet the twins.” behind the three, two men of similar features, large and unforgiving, not enuf to be identical twins, attack the three. Fighting quickly intensifies, one twin brought to knees swings broadsword, they dive and successfully dodge, the twins look to the shaman, he tosses them two stones, and they begin using the same dark magic as had destroyed their defenses yesterday. With sacks of wine the three, two men and a woman, pour water on themselves, but her pouch is cut and empty, so she is the primary target, the two men are undermatched against one twin, amidst the crowd of villains and victims in cages with animals. She is deft and keen, quick and mean, fearless and clear she defends herself between opportune attacks. The two men distract the twin demons, the sound of horses in the distance, the woman vanishes. The horsemen begin freeing the colony, chaos in concert and warfare in wrath, the symbol of these people on the armored riders shares the sign of the colony with added symbol. “Your place is impermanent,” she shouts. The shaman spins around, “my heels dig into history, my bloody hands have crawled thru the dead of stronger keeps!” “If I live, I will kill you,” she declares. He replies, “If I die, you are forgiven.” and they battle, again a knife thrown at his better eye, again his lost and raging scowl and fiery magic, an emotional scream and heavy flame from his fist, she holds up a sheet soaked, but with wine is instantly burns and she throws it at him. He dodges the wave of fire incompletely, tossing it aside he’s forced to use his magic to heal before scalding wine melts his hand. He pats the flames from his skin while being surrounded by the guards of liberation. One asks the shaman, “What was your plan?” he replies, “hold them hostage, get arrested, be taken to your king, but I’ll kill you all just as well!!!!” (thunderbolts and lightning, very frightening), but he’s walking backwards, slowly just one step in reverse march, then another, backed against a drinking well, the woman climbs from the well soaked, and cuts his throat, he fights to be free and she stabs to attach, a second knife to cling, he becomes a pillar of black fire, as all jump back, the pure holy water protects her, but steam weakens the barrier of protection, as she hammers and carves and cuts out stones from under the skin and scars of the corrupted shaman, as he heals with the last of his negative soul flame, she can’t hold safely and jumps free, she spears him and so do the liberation guards, pinning him so that he can heal with magic or fight and die. This allows her to cut out his heart.
The traitors are gathered into cages as she tosses the heart aside, one of the traitors rushes to take it with him into the cage, and begins eating it, making his eyes glow with the shaman’s curse.
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