Fiction – Page 4 – The Word Worker

Footprints

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The old ones called these valleys the footprints of the gods. Impossibly pressed between rocky conifer peaks, the rich dark soil harbored fertile fields and close-knit villages. The only paths in led through crevices and over streams accessible only by foot, cutting us off from all but the most adventurous outsiders. Few even of those stayed long, usually flashing a lot of coin about until they discovered how little value it held here.

According to the old ones our people sprang from the magic left when the gods themselves walked the earth to view their creation. Though others came after to fill the lowlands, they were lesser, lacking the mark of the trueborn and unattuned to the land. Its bounty fed our spirits and held us within our ancestors’ prints for many long lives of soulless men.

Until the greed of the lowlands could no longer resist the lure of the high valleys. The day the peaks exploded changed everything. When the dust settled on the broken pines, the mark of the gods was gone. One by one, the old ones failed, their spirits choked like our lungs by the fumes of destruction. Our villages in ruins, our graves buried, we few who remain will find what comfort we can in the forests of the outside.

The Garden

I wasn’t feeling inspired, so as I often do I asked my kids what story they saw. Today’s flash fiction is therefore brought to you by twelve-year-old Sarah (edited and embellished by me).

Becky, Malcolm, and Josephine were emotionally broken people, so broken that they were sent to an asylum for healing. While there, the three became friends and wandered the grounds together every day. They stumbled upon an old, forgotten garden, weed-choked and wild.

The three were drawn to the garden, and asked the director for fertilizer, seeds, and tools to reclaim the overgrown plot. They spent every free moment in the garden, hoeing and pruning, clearing vines and saplings, fertilizing neglected soil, and planting new flowers. As time passed and their garden thrived, they found that they, too, had healed.

The three called everyone at the asylum to see the fruits of their labor, and everyone found peace and comfort in its beauty. Becky, Malcolm, and Josephine passed the work to their fellow patients and returned to their homes, where they lived freely and happily for the rest of their lives.

Spirit of the Tiger

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“Tenzin! Tenzin!” Dorji’s sandals slapped the floor of the quiet chamber as he nearly careened into his teacher. “You must come quickly! The cave!” He clung to the old man’s robes, panting wildly.

“Calm yourself, boy!” Tenzin surveyed the young acolyte with a mildly disapproving frown. “What has happened?”

“I wanted to pray where the holy Rampoche meditated, but I could not go in!” Dorji tugged on the monk’s robe urgently. “Red heat fills the chamber, and a demon’s breath echoes from the walls!”

Tenzin blanched. “Evil has returned! Ring the bell and gather every monk. Rampoche’s spirit has left us, and we must battle once again!”

Dorji stared with wide eyes. “But the holy man himself meditated for three and a quarter years before the demon was vanquished! And he was blessed by the spirit of the tiger! What blessing do we have? We will burn!”

Tenzin’s eyes flashed. “Then you will feed us while we pray. Perhaps three years or more of solitary service in the presence of holy battle will make you worthy of Rampoche’s mantle. Now ring the bell!”

Potion

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“Take this bottle. It holds everything you need to accomplish your quest.”

“This bottle? Are you sure?”

“Of course! This is my personal creation, the most advanced I have ever produced. When you arrive at the Dungeon, wait for sunrise. Set the bottle in the exact center of the trapdoor just as the red sky turns gold. It will cast a glowing key into the invisible lock, granting you entrance. But under no circumstances drink any of the liquid inside before entering the dungeon, or all will be lost.”

“Don’t – what? Why would I drink it? It’s marked poison! With a big skull and crossbones! Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! That is all part of the master plan. No one would ever want to drink poison, therefore I created this disguise to ensure the key remained in your possession until required.”

“So, if it isn’t poison, and you said don’t drink it before entering, when do I drink it? And what will it do for me?”

“Has your skull thickened? The liquid will kill you, it is acid of the highest potency! Unless you intend to rot in the Dungeon forever with your precious Cleric, you must pour it over the invisible lock before the trapdoor closes behind you and traps you inside.”

“You’re insane. If I do manage to rescue the Cleric on the strength of your planning, it will be a miracle.”

“Naturally. I will be raised to Eternal Mage for this. I promise not to forget you when I have been sanctified.”

Bride and Groom

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“We are gathered here tonight in the sight of the moon and the trees to join together Nob and Hob in trolly matrimony. Have you both come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?”

“Yes, your stoniness!” “Where else would I be but with my Nobikins?” “I told you, don’t call me that in public!” “Oh, but it’s our wedding, Nobikins!”

“Harumph! Back to the matter at hand… Love is patient, love is kind. It stores up wrongs done to the other to wait for an opportune time for revenge. It reserves the best haunch at the cookfire for the other. It boasts of its deeds of maraudery to prove its constant provision for the other. It never trusts, and never leaves a window open to the dawn.”

“My little Hobby, oh the raids I’ve made to make our conjugal…” “NOB! Not in front of the family! What about the trollikins?!” “They know we’re getting married, for stone’s sake!”

“If we could… Nob, do you take this troll to be your wife? Do you promise to steal for her, tell her she’s ugly, and shelter her from the light all the nights of your life?” “Oh, your stoniness, my word on it!”

“Hob, do you take this troll to be your husband? Do you promise to never season his cookpot, to always muddy his loincloth, and to keep the cave dark for him all the nights of your life?” “Of course I do, my Nobikins! Oh, this is so romantic! Oh dear, I’m going to spoil my mudbath now!”

“If you’ll excuse me, your mudbath will last a moment longer. Trolls and trollikins, I now present to you husband and wife! Nob, you may kiss the bride.” “Now, my Nobikins, don’t tear the veil!”

Summer Flash Sale 2022

I do believe dragon breath is scorching my area. The heat is driving everyone inside, so time for some new reading material. Magic, dragons, prophecy, and myth drive Seline toward a destiny she never imagined.

Available in ebook at most major retailers through the following link – Https://books2read.com/u/baDgr6

On sale in paperback form exclusively through Amazon at the following link – https://www.amazon.com/Chosen-Heather-N-Russell/dp/B09BF7W792/

The Castle

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“Hurry! We’re gonna get caught in it!” Jenny shrieked, stumbling over the rocks on her way down the hill.

“Don’t be a wimp!” Jake grumbled behind her, hopping from stone to stone instead. “It’s just water! Why are you such a GIRL?”

“I AM a girl, stupid!” Jenny stuck her tongue out, then pulled up short at the path, staring straight ahead with her mouth open.

“Woah, where’d that come from?” Jake hopped from the last stone into the dirt. A loud pattering of drops slapped the top of the hill, accompanied by a gust of wind and a clap of thunder. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

“It’s creepy!” Jenny hung back, glancing from the shell of castle that had apparently sprung out of the moors to the sheets of rain darkening the clouds behind them.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Jake grabbed his sister’s arm and yanked her into the shelter of the stone tower at the corner of the castle. Despite the high, circular windows, the tower was dark, and the children shivered in the still air.

“Jake,” the girl whimpered. “I don’t like it here! I wanna go home!”

“Shh! Did you hear that?” Jake clapped a hand over her mouth and peered wildly into the darkness. The children huddled together, even Jake beginning to admit to himself that he was frightened.

Lightning flashed, and something far above split with a resounding boom that drowned the thunder. The walls of the tower shimmered and crackled with energy, their dim light reflecting from something tall and metallic in the center of the room.

As the light went out, Jake caught his breath. “Jenny,” he whispered, his voice quivering. “Did you see it move?”

A clank echoed against the stone, and Jenny screamed.

Grimdark

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He stood at the base of the bridge, his hands twisting behind him. Don’t show fear, they had warned. You don’t want to attract the grimdark, they had said. He kept his face carefully blank (he hoped), but his hands fidgeted. He wondered if the grimdark could hear his heart pounding.

The orange light of the forest began to coalesce at the apex of the bridge while shadows advanced. He tried to make himself stand straighter, focusing on the light in front of him. He took a single step forward, his boot scuffing against the wood planks. The light pulsed and shimmered, and he paused, swallowing hard.

Low notes whispered to him, and he looked around wildly before realizing they came from inside his head. They swelled in volume, a deep bass thrumming against the inside of his skull. This wasn’t right! He clutched his temples, salt drops leaking from his eyes, and stared with growing horror at the light. Burnt orange flames reached for him as the pounding notes churned his brain. He screamed, and the light went out.

The Bell

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For generations the bell had rung morning and night, its peals joining the crashing waves in a symphony of sound. The five peaks of the landside bore the code for its messages. Fair weather, foul, days of worship, and days of mourning. The fifth mark, on the center peak, had long been ignored by the island folk, its meaning lost in the passage of years. The bellringer would learn his day’s duty by noting under which of the other four peaks the mission opened its doors at dawn.

When Ambros arrived to ring the bells as the sun rose in a cloudless sky, he stopped short, staring at the light streaming out of the center door. His eyes went to the symbol above it, incomprehensible to him, and his knees trembled. The crescent gleamed white, much brighter than the other four symbols, and an overwhelming urge to flee flooded him.

The lack of the morning bell would likely send the island into a greater tumult than a new message, however. Ambros gulped and forced himself forward, hoping that the dusty old bellringer’s manual would decipher the symbol. When he stepped through the door, the light went out, and the glowing mark above swelled to blend with the deep red of the sunrise. The bell tolled of its own accord, a single deep hollow tone, and the island sank beneath a calm sea.

Heir

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It was a strange place for a school, high in the Alps where the crags rose so steeply that the chateau stuck out of the mountainside like a hitchhiker’s thumb. Telian was sure the founders had been goats; no one else would have thought all these stairs would be a good idea. And, on the inside at least, one could have imagined it to be any of the wealthiest valley palaces. The icy winds of the peaks whistled by unmarked by those under the great glass dome of the courtyard.

Telian had been destined for the school since before he was born. Every firstborn of the Harkner line had come to manhood climbing those accursed stairs. He found the whole thing boring in the extreme; this was the twenty-first century, not the thirteenth. Why anyone would still want their sons to be educated in this backward, isolated fashion was beyond his comprehension.

The ancient bells rang from the turret at the highest pinnacle, producing echoes that even impressed Telian. He followed his fellow students as they pouted from their classrooms into the dusk of the sanctum, groaning inwardly. Lit only by the flickering of recessed candles, and smelling of crowded bodies, the room was his least favorite. Still, there was no avoiding meditation. Resigned, he gazed into the swirling pattern in the center stone as he had been taught.

This time, the swirl held his gaze, and instead of wandering into memories of video games and girls, he watched the swirl move and twist before his eyes. The room along with its occupants faded into darkness, and a voice reverberated with the sound of the bells. “Telian Harkner, heir of the Tenth Realm, it is time. Come and be counted among your forefathers.”