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DDDDD ZZZZZZ //
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D D AAAA RRR GGGG OOOO NN N Z I NN N EEEE ||
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D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E || Volume 10
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-=========================================================+<OOOOOOOOO>|)
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D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 7
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DDDDD A A R R GGGG OOOO N NN ZZZZZZ I N NN EEEE ||
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\\
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\
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========================================================================
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DargonZine Distributed: 10/25/1997
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Volume 10, Number 7 Circulation: 676
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========================================================================
|
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|
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Contents
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|
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Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
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The Night of Souls Alan Lauderdale Vibril 20, 999
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Feather on the Wind Alan Lauderdale Vibril 30, 1015
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Night's Touch Mark A. Murray Vibril, 1015
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On a Night Like This Jon Evans Vibril, 1016
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|
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========================================================================
|
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DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
|
||
collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
|
||
We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
|
||
Please address all correspondance to <dargon@shore.net> or visit us
|
||
on the World Wide Web at http://www.shore.net/~dargon. Back issues
|
||
are available from ftp.shore.net in members/dargon/. Issues and
|
||
public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
|
||
|
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DargonZine 10-7, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright October, 1997 by
|
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the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@shore.net>,
|
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Assistant Editor: Jon Evans <godling@mnsinc.com>. All rights reserved.
|
||
All rights are reassigned to the individual contributors. Stories may
|
||
not be reproduced or redistributed without the explicit permission of
|
||
the author(s) involved, except in the case of freely reproducing entire
|
||
issues for further distribution. Reproduction of issues or any portions
|
||
thereof for profit is forbidden.
|
||
========================================================================
|
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|
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Editorial
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by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
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<ornoth@shore.net>
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||
|
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Humankind has always had an insatiable curiosity about the world we
|
||
live in. Both individually and collectively, we are passionate about
|
||
learning and seeking out new knowledge. There is something about the
|
||
unknown which challenges us, invoking some primal urge that drives us to
|
||
seek out and transform that which is unknown into that which is known.
|
||
In every field of endeavor, from medicine to linguistics to the arts,
|
||
there are those who chase the mysteries of life, and in doing so blaze a
|
||
trail of understanding for those who follow.
|
||
But there have always been questions which man has been unable to
|
||
answer. We have never had a demonstrably genuine understanding of the
|
||
nature of life, intelligence, and death. Faced with the unanswerable,
|
||
man has often relied upon myth to explain that which we cannot. Myths
|
||
serve to transform those unanswerable questions into something the
|
||
average person can accept and deal with.
|
||
Death is perhaps the most elusive mystery of all. Since time
|
||
immemorial, mankind has sought knowledge and confirmation of existence
|
||
beyond death. For centuries, we have had to rely on superstition, faith,
|
||
and rationalization to explain what happens when the body ceases to
|
||
function and what follows. Even today, many of us accept that there is
|
||
something beyond our world of life, even though that world has
|
||
persistently remained beyond our ability to observe.
|
||
In Dargon, as on Earth, men and women ask these same questions. and
|
||
do what they can to explain what they do not understand. Like their
|
||
Earthly counterparts, their nature drives them to seek out what might
|
||
lie on the other side of the borderline of death.
|
||
But in Dargon, this is the Night of Souls; before you go seeking
|
||
out that which exists beyond death, don't be so sure that there isn't
|
||
something that exists beyond the veil of death which is even now seeking
|
||
*you* out!
|
||
|
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========================================================================
|
||
|
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The Night of Souls
|
||
by Alan Lauderdale
|
||
<lauderd@phadm1.cpmc.columbia.edu>
|
||
Vibril 20, 999
|
||
|
||
"Please tell us," Myrande Shipbrook asked, her baby teeth lisping
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||
the words slightly.
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||
"Yes. Tell us," Roisart Connall chimed in. Though less than a year
|
||
older than the castellan's daughter, he took her request and made it his
|
||
own.
|
||
"Tell us at once!" Luthias, Roisart's twin brother, agreed.
|
||
Morwyn Shipbrook smiled at the children over her needlepoint. She
|
||
had a very good idea what they wanted to know about, since it was only
|
||
ten days away and already there had been occasional scratches of
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||
shrieking and argument in the late afternoon dusk and evening darkness.
|
||
"Tell you what?" she asked, nonetheless.
|
||
"Why we have the Night of Souls," Luthias burst out.
|
||
"Luthias!"
|
||
"What?" Luthias turned innocently to his brother.
|
||
"Sable was supposed to ask," Roisart reminded him. "She's *her*
|
||
mother."
|
||
Luthias shrugged. "She's our aunt."
|
||
"Not really."
|
||
"Is too."
|
||
"Roisart's right," Morwyn settled the latter part of the dispute.
|
||
"But if you all want to know an answer, it doesn't much matter who asks
|
||
the question."
|
||
"But I wanted to know *first*!" Sable complained, and pointed at
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||
the brothers Connall. "And *they* don't know. Luthias says it's so that
|
||
brave young knights can go outside and fight demons and ghosts and other
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||
things." She put her hands on her hips. "But if that's what it's for,
|
||
why does he stay inside with the rest of us?"
|
||
"Because our father orders him to," Roisart explained.
|
||
"Not this year," Luthias threatened.
|
||
"He did too!"
|
||
"I didn't hear a thing --"
|
||
"Luthias." Morwyn again decided to head off the impending argument.
|
||
"If you go forth into the darkness during the Night of Souls, who will
|
||
be left inside to protect Sable and me?"
|
||
Luthias gave her a quizzical look. "You have Sir Lucan," he pointed
|
||
out.
|
||
"And would you leave him to it all by himself?"
|
||
"And Roisart, and my father," Luthias continued.
|
||
"But if you bravely went out to do battle with the monsters,"
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||
Morwyn insisted, "don't you think that they'd all want to go with you?"
|
||
"No," Roisart decided. "Not me."
|
||
Morwyn gave him a dirty look. "You're not helping me," she said.
|
||
"And Father wouldn't either," Roisart continued. Morwyn sighed.
|
||
"Sir Lucan might," Luthias admitted, considering the idea.
|
||
"And if you let anything happen to him, I would never forgive you."
|
||
Morwyn congratulated herself on managing to say this with complete
|
||
seriousness.
|
||
"But he's a brave knight and can take care of --"
|
||
"But what *is* the Night of Souls?" Sable asked.
|
||
"It's the night that we celebrate the ending of winter," Morwyn
|
||
told her quickly. "And we look forward to the coming of spring and
|
||
longer days and new growth in the fields and forests --"
|
||
"No it's not!!" Roisart exclaimed. "It's just as cold the first of
|
||
Mertz as it is the last few days of Vibril! Last year, it was colder."
|
||
"You remember that, do you?" Morwyn murmured.
|
||
"And it's not much greener the next morning, either."
|
||
"*He* says the Night of Souls is when all the dead people get to
|
||
come back again," Sable explained, pointing at Roisart.
|
||
"Uh huh," Roisart agreed. "And there's ghosts all over --"
|
||
"And ghouls --" Luthias added.
|
||
"-- and the bodies come crawling out of the graveyards --" Roisart
|
||
threw himself on the ground and began crawling.
|
||
"And then they catch rats and chew on them 'cause they're hungry,"
|
||
Luthias said, as Roisart grabbed a phantom rat and planted his teeth in
|
||
it. "And they dance around on the hedges like ..." He looked at Roisart
|
||
for help.
|
||
Roisart didn't move. "Go ahead," he said.
|
||
"I don't know what they dance like!" Luthias shouted.
|
||
"Then why'd you say they did?"
|
||
"What else do they do?"
|
||
"They hunt for people!!" Roisart shouted. "They look for us 'cause
|
||
the rats aren't big enough and they don't like us because we're still
|
||
alive and they wish that they were still alive too."
|
||
Sable turned from watching the boys and asked Morwyn, "Is that what
|
||
the Night of Souls is about, Mama?"
|
||
"Sure," Luthias said. "That's why people get together in their
|
||
homes and castles."
|
||
"Masters and servants all at one fire --" Roisart recited.
|
||
"And they build a big fire in the hearth --"
|
||
"And they make sure there's some green wood in the fire, because
|
||
that way, the fire is on the side of the living and not the dead,"
|
||
Roisart added again. "Cousin Clifton says so," he added.
|
||
"And we shut all the doors and lock them and don't let anyone in
|
||
once it gets dark," Luthias said. "Because if we did, it probably
|
||
wouldn't be a person after all. It'd probably be a monster who just
|
||
looked like a person but really wanted to get you!" He lunged suddenly
|
||
at Myrande.
|
||
But the girl just glared at him. "You tried that already," she
|
||
stated.
|
||
"Worked the first time."
|
||
Myrande turned to her mother. "And then in the morning, we make a
|
||
whole lot of noise, so the monsters know the night's over and they have
|
||
to go home?" she asked.
|
||
"It's at dawn," Roisart specified. "And we yell and bang pots and
|
||
swords and stuff in case the monsters are trying to be deaf --" He
|
||
glanced at his brother. "-- like Luthias."
|
||
"I sing that song just fine!" Luthias exclaimed, misunderstanding
|
||
Roisart's meaning. Perhaps a little tentatively about the pitch, he
|
||
launched the chorus, "Ohhh, get you gone --"
|
||
Roisart silenced him with a jab to the stomach and a wrestling
|
||
match began.
|
||
Myrande watched until the first fall and then remembered her
|
||
mission. "Is that what the Night of Souls is for?" she asked Morwyn.
|
||
Morwyn gazed at her daughter, deciding what the best answer to the
|
||
question was. She had never encountered a ghost herself, at least not a
|
||
hateful spirit that was alloted only the one night of the year to try to
|
||
unleash some long-festering rage. She doubted that the fields and roads
|
||
of Dargon were crowded with fell creatures on that particular night. She
|
||
was aware that the Night was treated more casually by braver or more
|
||
reckless sorts in the cities of Baranur. Like those sophisticates,
|
||
perhaps, she doubted. But she also allowed that to be alone outside on
|
||
that particular night was likely more perilous than on any other night
|
||
of the year. Something there was or some things there were that did
|
||
receive more license to sow evil or death on that night -- she couldn't
|
||
quite say that that was impossible and she had heard of some things that
|
||
had happened on that particular night. They were things she didn't want
|
||
to believe but couldn't say with conviction hadn't happened. Morwyn
|
||
watched her waiting daughter; she did want to encourage her Sable to
|
||
stay by the fire when the Night of Souls was passing.
|
||
Morwyn shook herself. "It's for keeping company," she suggested to
|
||
her daughter. "It's for enjoying the fire together and sharing stories."
|
||
"Uh huh!" Luthias agreed, he and Roisart having concluded their
|
||
bout when Morwyn finally spoke. "Ghost stories."
|
||
"And creeping things," Roisart nodded. "Slithering up your bedpost
|
||
with fangs that drip ichor." He pronounced the last word carefully and
|
||
Morwyn wondered just what young Clifton Dargon had been teaching his
|
||
younger cousins. Roisart smiled at Myrande. "And the highwayman that was
|
||
hung at the crossroads, but not quite for long enough and the dogs
|
||
gnawed off only one of his feet and now you can hear his step on the
|
||
stairs outside your room. Step, drag. Step, drag. Step drag, until he's
|
||
right outside your door and you hear the latch click because it's not
|
||
locked; not any more. And the door creaks open, creeeeeee --"
|
||
"Stop it!" Myrande yelled.
|
||
"That's an old one, Sable," Morwyn murmured. "I remember years ago
|
||
when my brother, Bernar, told it to me. I couldn't sleep alone for
|
||
months afterwards."
|
||
"Really?" Myrande asked. "Huh. It's not *that* scary."
|
||
"No, I suppose not," Morwyn agreed. "But try it by a fire late at
|
||
night with everything you can see dim in flickering light, and while a
|
||
toasted yam is sitting heavy in your stomach. And listening to the
|
||
teller's voice getting softer and softer and softer..." She fell silent.
|
||
"Until the end?" Roisart finally asked.
|
||
Morwyn nodded. "Of course," she agreed. "Until the shout at the
|
||
end."
|
||
"But they're all just stories," Luthias declared. "Right? We tell
|
||
them on the Night of Souls because it's fun."
|
||
"Cousin Clifton says it's also supposed to be a way of honoring the
|
||
dead," Roisart said. "Because we're remembering them."
|
||
"Who wants to remember a dead highwayman?" Luthias asked. "They're
|
||
just stories, aren't they?" He looked to Morwyn for assurance. "They're
|
||
none of them true, are they?"
|
||
She gave him a half smile and banished all the ghosts. "That's
|
||
right," she lied.
|
||
|
||
========================================================================
|
||
|
||
Feather on the Wind
|
||
by Alan Lauderdale
|
||
<lauderd@phadm1.cpmc.columbia.edu>
|
||
Rockway House, Vibril 30, 1015
|
||
|
||
The girl ran across the field. She ran full tilt, her cloak
|
||
flapping in the near-gale and sometimes trying to tangle itself around
|
||
her legs. Heedless of her swirling clothing, the girl continued to
|
||
sprint over the stubble and patches of old, thin, crunchy snow. She ran
|
||
straight, toward the bordering woods.
|
||
By the field was a small, tired house. The girl glanced at it
|
||
briefly, but immediately sped up again, resuming a pace that she could
|
||
not hope to maintain for very long. The house was winter-gray and
|
||
lonely, shuttered of course and motionless. On its behalf, perhaps, the
|
||
wind haled at the girl, urging her to get to cover there. But she would
|
||
have none of it and sped on.
|
||
The house was not empty. Behind a shutter, a man peered out at the
|
||
field -- his field -- and the running girl. Still as a spider, he
|
||
watched her trace her wild, fluttering line across his land. Only his
|
||
lips moved. Gently, he whispered imprecations against her. Softly, he
|
||
cursed her. Not for anything personal, anything specific to the girl's
|
||
history or beliefs, did the man wish her ill. Rather, he spewed out
|
||
zephyrs of hatred simply because she'd chosen to exist and to trace the
|
||
line of her life -- leave her footprints -- on his old snow. She'd
|
||
wandered too close to Tygalt and though she and he didn't even know one
|
||
another's names, her simple trespass that afternoon was more than enough
|
||
transgression for him.
|
||
Tygalt was crazy now. He'd always been taciturn, a farmer for whom
|
||
silent communion with his oxen and his fields could make for a full and
|
||
satisfying day. His wife, Charia, had loved him while she lived, in
|
||
spite of his quiet. She had given him three sons, though she'd died
|
||
bearing the last one. The infant had died also, leaving Tygalt two young
|
||
men to bring up. He'd done as best he could, training more by example
|
||
than with words. But the boys had grown up and left him. The elder had
|
||
fought him and finally left one day; the younger had fought in the war
|
||
and died. Tygalt had heard from neither one in a long while and the
|
||
silence eventually became more than even he found likable.
|
||
He talked to his oxen, but they were even more indifferent to his
|
||
remarks than he'd been to Charia's while she was alive. He talked to the
|
||
dog, Gally, who'd stayed behind when Tonily went off to the war. Gally
|
||
tried to look interested, but he was always preoccupied with wondering
|
||
when Tonily would get back. And Gally was getting on in years, inclined
|
||
to lie quietly by the fireplace whether or not there was a fire burning.
|
||
Tygalt was left with himself to talk to, when he needed to talk at all.
|
||
Himself and the stubble in his fields.
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||
Still muttering, he turned from his shuttered window as the running
|
||
girl disappeared into the trees. Grumbling, he went over to the
|
||
fireplace, assembled some wood, scraped a flint, and eventually
|
||
persuaded a small flame to start up. The Night of Souls was coming on;
|
||
one was supposed to have a fire going. A steady stream of invective and
|
||
complaint dribbled past his lips as he coaxed up the smoke into flame.
|
||
His undifferentiated malice was strong enough that Gally shifted himself
|
||
slightly further away from both Tygalt and his fire.
|
||
Watching the fire build up and consume the wood, Tygalt continued
|
||
his speech. The words, the phrases, the sentences, the whole train of
|
||
his argument were all quite insane, if parsed for reason. But his
|
||
meaning was quite clear: Every sourness, every disappointment in all of
|
||
Tygalt's life he chose to blame on the girl whom he had seen but once,
|
||
running across his land at the end of winter. It was all her fault,
|
||
Tygalt declaimed again and again, and she ought to be brought to account
|
||
for it.
|
||
This he told his little fire over and over, for bell after bell.
|
||
The girl, whoever she was, somehow was behind all the harm and failure
|
||
Tygalt had suffered. This crazy argument he poured onto his fire like
|
||
oil and the weird anger and twisted rage went up his chimney with the
|
||
smoke. Both swirled up through the sky, whipped by their originator and
|
||
by the growing gale outside. And it was the Night of Souls; the mix was
|
||
very attractive to some of those who were out and abroad.
|
||
|
||
The sun was settling into the hills as Sister Hanala gasped into
|
||
the close and staggered up to the door of Rockway House. She collapsed
|
||
against it, but it had already been secured for the night. "Cephas'
|
||
boot," she wheezed, and then hammered on the door.
|
||
"Who's there?" someone called, but immediately corrected himself:
|
||
|
||
"Nor for all of Magnus' gold,
|
||
Nor for gems from Fretheod old,
|
||
Nor for kind words, clever or bold,
|
||
May you enter this safe hold."
|
||
|
||
"Now go away!"
|
||
"Cephas's other boot!" Hanala wheezed to herself. She rapped a
|
||
tattoo on the door, a long and two shorts. She repeated that pattern
|
||
three times, then paused.
|
||
"Oh. That you, Hanala?" the man inside asked. She rapped the
|
||
pattern one more time. "If it's you, you're late."
|
||
"I know that," Hanala panted, well aware that her weak voice
|
||
couldn't be heard through the thick door even when she wasn't recovering
|
||
her breath in a rising windstorm.
|
||
Nothing more happened for a mene. Hanala leaned against the door,
|
||
staring at the setting sun and hoping that Brother Martren -- it'd
|
||
sounded like Brother Martren -- had merely gone to find a burly brother
|
||
to stand with him, just in case, while he opened the door. Finally, she
|
||
heard returning footsteps.
|
||
"If you're not Sister Hanala," the voice that was probably Brother
|
||
Martren threatened, "you'd better run away now. Because we're only going
|
||
to let Sister Hanala in. Anyone else will get thrashed." Then Hanala
|
||
heard the bar sliding aside and the door finally opened. She darted in,
|
||
nearly colliding with the lantern that Brother Anthony was holding.
|
||
"Watch it!" he exclaimed. He lifted the lantern up higher and
|
||
leaned out of her way while Hanala tried to veer aside. She wound up
|
||
stumbling and sliding onto the floor. "Look out!" Brother Anthony added
|
||
unhelpfully. Hanala finished up sprawled on her stomach and mostly
|
||
covered by her billowing cloak.
|
||
"Best close the door now, Martren," Anthony suggested. "Everyone
|
||
else is already safely in. In reasonable time." He crouched beside
|
||
Hanala, who hadn't felt like trying to move again right away. "Are you
|
||
all right?" he asked. "Was something chasing you? What did it look
|
||
like?"
|
||
"No," Sister Hanala breathed.
|
||
"No?" Brother Anthony repeated. He looked up at Martren, who had
|
||
put aside the cudgel he'd held ready and was securing the door again.
|
||
"Which question is that an answer to?" Brother Martren asked. "And
|
||
where's the green wood you were supposed to bring back a supply of?"
|
||
"Dropped it," Hanala whispered.
|
||
"Dropped it, did you?" Martren echoed. "Don't you realize the
|
||
importance of having freshly cut wood on our fire tonight?"
|
||
"Yes," Sister Hanala whispered. She got to her feet. "Sorry."
|
||
"You weren't the only one cutting the wood," Brother Anthony told
|
||
her. "The others brought back a decent amount and we're all gathered in
|
||
the common room. Of course, since that's where the fire will be. Come
|
||
along." He led the way, still talking. "We'll be all right. What's
|
||
really important was getting yourself back here in time."
|
||
"Yes, of course," Brother Martren agreed gracelessly. "That's
|
||
important, too. But what happened to you? Did you lose track of the
|
||
sun?"
|
||
"The wind," Hanala said softly. "It blew me the wrong way."
|
||
"Yes," Brother Anthony agreed. "The wind has come up quite strong.
|
||
I expect we'll have it howling around the house all night, making a
|
||
dreadful racket and giving us excellent accompaniment to the stories
|
||
we'll all be telling. You have one ready, don't you?"
|
||
Hanala shrugged, but Brother Martren was dissatisfied.
|
||
"You're saying that the wind made you so late that you nearly got
|
||
yourself locked outside on the Night of Souls?" he asked doubtfully.
|
||
"And the wind made you drop your collection of green wood?"
|
||
"I left the wood because I couldn't run and carry it," Hanala
|
||
explained softly. "I was -- "
|
||
"Here we are, here we are!" Brother Anthony broke in, advancing
|
||
into the common room. "All present and accounted for. We're all here.
|
||
The food's prepared. The wood's prepared. The stories are ready and the
|
||
storytellers are all here. Let the Night of Souls commence -- Sister
|
||
Telea, would you grace us with a warding prayer to Cephas Stevene?"
|
||
|
||
Tygalt's fire burned no green wood at all. It was no different from
|
||
any other fire he burned when he wanted to warm himself and Gally. It
|
||
was no different, that is, except that he didn't always choose to mutter
|
||
doom and destruction upon a stranger while his fire blazed. That was
|
||
new, but the wood was all old and dried; it burned quite nicely. And the
|
||
smoke swirled up and out of his old, filthy chimney. It swirled up into
|
||
the howling wind and it didn't disperse.
|
||
The running girl had left a clear trail from Tygalt's farm to
|
||
Rockway House. Composed partly of panting and partly of fear, it
|
||
lingered long enough for the assemblage of Tygalt's smoky fury to find
|
||
and follow after it. Wind gusted through the woods, shaking the leafless
|
||
branches, while the vague form that smelled somewhat of old woodfires
|
||
and somewhat of old hurts shambled toward Rockway House.
|
||
|
||
Brother Anthony was the master of the entertainment, of course. He
|
||
decided the sequence of storytellers, doing his best to keep the thing
|
||
interesting in spite of the varied talents of the other residents.
|
||
Brother Gorim, always told the same story and always exactly the same
|
||
way. His tale was good, admittedly. But it was also repeated word for
|
||
word year after year. Brother Gorim, who was quite deaf now, would boom
|
||
his short tale out at a volume that kept spookiness far at bay. Brother
|
||
Anthony usually called upon him fairly early, in deference to people who
|
||
needed to nap later in the evening.
|
||
Brother Martren was another storyteller who tried conscientiously,
|
||
but could hardly be considered a success. His attempts to impart an air
|
||
of mystery to his compositions usually resulted in a low, dull monotone
|
||
that always put at least a few members of his audience to sleep. And, in
|
||
all honesty, the material was fairly pedestrian, Anthony thought.
|
||
Always, it seemed, Martren told of solitary men in the Port of Dargon
|
||
who'd committed rather mundane crimes years earlier, crimes that
|
||
involved irritating recitals of money and numbers. And now, finally,
|
||
these old criminals were being brought to justice by ghosts or whatnot
|
||
that took a terribly long amount of time to do it. Brother Anthony
|
||
sighed: Brother Martren should have had more experience with pirate
|
||
ships in his youth. But Martren did try, and Brother Anthony programmed
|
||
him later in the evening -- again in deference to people who needed to
|
||
nap.
|
||
Sister Anne was amazing. Year after year, she came up with an
|
||
excellent tale that was really fascinating in spite of the fact that she
|
||
always gave a prominent place in the story to mushrooms. Since she was
|
||
one of the nappers, Brother Anthony called on her early.
|
||
Brother Thibaud was a problem. He'd started a sea story his first
|
||
year at the House, but it had trailed off -- in tears, Brother Anthony
|
||
recalled. Brother Thibaud had never finished it and had refused to try
|
||
again ever since. Instead, he would sit quietly in one corner the whole
|
||
night, staring at the fire and hardly reacting at all as the others told
|
||
their tales. Brother Anthony sighed and removed him from his
|
||
calculations.
|
||
Brothers Anselm and Muskrat were both hardworking and reasonably
|
||
successful storytellers, in Brother Anthony's generous opinion.
|
||
Generally, one or the other of them was called upon to begin the
|
||
evening, with the other usually summoned to salvage the situation after
|
||
Rupert, the senior member had gotten himself bogged down again in
|
||
misremembered details of whatever long-forgotten tale he attempted to
|
||
recite. Rupert was always apologetic, but recovering from one of his
|
||
hashes was sometimes painful.
|
||
Anthony reserved the final spot for his own creation. He considered
|
||
himself more skilled than anyone else in the House at stretching or
|
||
compressing his material so that it would conclude just at dawn. Thus,
|
||
if imagination failed some other residents in performance, he could
|
||
always add a third castle or supplemental quest to his material and the
|
||
evening would remain full. Alternatively, if the muse tapped everyone
|
||
else with a bounty of inspiration, Anthony could also be magnanimous in
|
||
appreciation and brief in his own contribution. Brother Anthony
|
||
considered himself very flexible.
|
||
As the yams were being spitted and scorched on the fire and the keg
|
||
of Soulsbeer was spiked, then, he invited Brother Muskrat to begin the
|
||
sharing of stories.
|
||
|
||
Wind swirled old, dead leaves and small branches. Clouds scudded
|
||
overhead and only bits of starlight illuminated the figure that moved
|
||
across the close toward the door of Rockway House. But the door was
|
||
closed securely; the figure pressed against it but could not get in.
|
||
Curious to know what was going on within, eager to find a particular
|
||
resident within, it began to wander around the house.
|
||
|
||
The terror had been as delicious as usual. Sister Hanala had
|
||
listened with fear and trembling and happy pleasure as other residents
|
||
had offered accounts of the ghosts and creatures and creepers that
|
||
played out their fates in dark places. She'd shivered and gasped and
|
||
realized that the good thing about spending the whole night gathered
|
||
together by the fire was that you weren't expected to retire to solitary
|
||
nightmares after hearing some of these tales. Having heard the several
|
||
of them, and having prepared one of her own earlier in the month, Hanala
|
||
also wanted to offer a story. It was the first time she'd volunteered to
|
||
tell a tale, so Anthony was surprised. She went to the telling chair
|
||
close to the fire, seated herself and then paused to set the story in
|
||
her own mind.
|
||
"Once, there was a sorceress named Ariel," she began.
|
||
"Personal history, we're going to get?" someone close by muttered.
|
||
But he was drowned out by Brothers Rupert, Martren, and Gorim who all
|
||
complained that they couldn't hear.
|
||
"Her voice is quite soft," Sister Anne admitted. She'd roused
|
||
herself from a nap to have a listen. "And that wind outside doesn't help
|
||
matters any. Hanala, can't you speak up any more?"
|
||
"I'm already shouting," Hanala replied.
|
||
"Call that shouting?" Brother Anselm declared loudly. "I'll show
|
||
you shouting!"
|
||
"You don't have to bellow," Rupert told him acidly. "I'm not as
|
||
deaf as all that."
|
||
"All right, everyone," Anthony interrupted, calling the assemblage
|
||
back to order. "Hanala's doing the best she can, so everyone'll just
|
||
have to gather in close and listen up as best they can. I don't suppose
|
||
anyone here can do anything about the wind?" he added facetiously.
|
||
"Well ..." Hanala thought about saying more, and suggesting that
|
||
she was fairly sure that she'd had *some* effect on the wind earlier in
|
||
the day. But the experiment then hadn't gone that well and she did have
|
||
a story to tell. She waited for people to rearrange themselves and then
|
||
tried again.
|
||
|
||
The visitor from Tygalt's Farm had been drifting irritatedly around
|
||
outside the house. Even with the noise of the rising gale, the voices of
|
||
the gathered residents were audible. The outbreaks of cheering and
|
||
occasional laughter were a painful magnet to the miserable outsider. The
|
||
long periods of time when a single voice was telling a tale and couldn't
|
||
quite be heard through the walls of the house also tantalized the
|
||
visitor. The creature pressed against an unyielding wall -- and then
|
||
heard Anthony issue the invitation to gather in close. At the same time,
|
||
the green wood on the fire, which Brother Muskrat had been managing
|
||
before he nodded off, ran out. Pleased to have an invitation and the
|
||
means to accept it, the visitor flowed up the side of Rockway House and
|
||
down the chimney. From the fireplace, the visitor eased discreetly into
|
||
a corner while Hanala continued to tell a story about Ariel the
|
||
sorceress and the whispering wind.
|
||
|
||
The story, for those who were able to hear it, was well told. If it
|
||
featured a sometime resident of the House named Ariel who happened to be
|
||
off traveling at present, it was still entertaining even if it probably
|
||
hadn't *actually* happened to her. After the custom of the house, thanks
|
||
were voiced by the other residents when Hanala finished and yielded the
|
||
telling chair. Brother Anthony got up from his place and eased his way
|
||
forward.
|
||
"Is there anyone else who'd like to tell us a story?" he asked,
|
||
obviously expecting to get no affirmative answer.
|
||
In his dim corner, Brother Thibaud stirred. He wasn't alone back
|
||
there, he realized, and glanced over at the figure who was with him. He
|
||
frowned, not recognizing who it was. "Hey, um." Thibaud paused, feeling
|
||
awkward. He didn't know of any guests who were staying at the House at
|
||
the moment and was embarassed not to recognize a fellow resident.
|
||
Casting about for something to say, he asked "Do you want to tell a
|
||
story?"
|
||
"Me?" the other rasped.
|
||
"Sure," Brother Thibaud assured him. "If you haven't already told
|
||
your story and you want to, then now's the time to do it. Otherwise,
|
||
Brother Anthony there's going to fill up every mene between now and
|
||
dawn. I mean, he's good and all, but speak now or you'll have to hold
|
||
your peace for another whole year."
|
||
"Can't do that," the figure admitted. More loudly, his still-rough
|
||
voice declared, "I have a story to tell."
|
||
"Huh?" Brother Anthony was just getting comfortable in his chair.
|
||
"Who?"
|
||
"Me." The figure came forward into the firelight. "Your neighbor."
|
||
A shudder flowed across the room. The couple of residents who knew
|
||
what their reclusive neighbor looked like recognized a resemblance
|
||
between this person and that farmer. "Is that Tygalt?" Hanala heard one
|
||
brother mutter to another. But no other neighbors had come to visit
|
||
Rockway House this night. All had their own set customs and habits for
|
||
keeping the wandering evils at bay. How then had Tygalt come to be
|
||
present with them and how had he managed to go unnoticed all night?
|
||
Brother Anthony was vexed, of course. His time had started out on
|
||
the shortish side because of several good, though longish tales. Then,
|
||
Sister Hanala's story had taken him by surprise and chopped even further
|
||
into his final time. And now, there was this story. He tried to size up
|
||
Farmer Tygalt and guess whether the tale would be brief or rambling. He
|
||
guessed wrong.
|
||
"All right," Brother Anthony offered. "Have at the chair."
|
||
The dark figure of farmer Tygalt flowed into the center of the
|
||
group, gathered itself into the telling chair, and began to speak: "My
|
||
story," he said, "is about a man who had troubles and burdens heaped
|
||
upon him. While he grew up, always was he expected to behave perfectly
|
||
and nobly, ministering without fail to the needs of his parents and of
|
||
his lord. When his father twisted his knee, it was this boy who was
|
||
required to help him stand. When his mother fell sick, it was this boy
|
||
who was summoned to mop her fevered brow. When his lord needed to defend
|
||
the area from a fierce wolfpack, it was this boy who was required to
|
||
muck out the lord's stables while the lord's men were out on the hunt.
|
||
"When the boy grew older and the time came for him to take a wife,
|
||
his burden only increased. The wife he took only added to the demands on
|
||
this man, expecting him nightly to attend to her and keep off from her
|
||
frail shoulders the weight of the world's indifferent immensity. Always,
|
||
she seemed to be hacking away the sinews of this man's soul ..."
|
||
The story continued and, listening to it, Sister Hanala frowned. It
|
||
was a strange story and rather a longwinded one. And the attitude seemed
|
||
strangest of all, for the claim that the man it was about had suffered
|
||
great burdens and demands hardly seemed to match the examples this
|
||
Tygalt gave. What, Hanala wondered, was so burdensome about helping
|
||
one's father after an injury? Wasn't it instead a blessing simply to
|
||
have a father at all? And a wife who needed attention, where was the
|
||
burden in that? Surely, it wasn't these other people who were creating
|
||
burdens, but the man himself who chose to see everything in life as
|
||
wearisome.
|
||
And then Hanala noticed that the story was changing. She understood
|
||
it still, little as she cared for its viewpoint, but the syllables now
|
||
failed to make sense. The words cleaved the air harshly and seemed to
|
||
her to hurt her ears physically. And she couldn't understand them one by
|
||
one any more. But she still knew what the story meant. Incident was
|
||
being piled on incident and, through it all, this man was seeing
|
||
everything that happened to him as a travail to be complained of. It was
|
||
more and more of the same and the same and she wished it would stop.
|
||
Hanala glanced around the room. Everyone sat still while the
|
||
furious tale piled up. No-one else moved, not even an uncomfortable
|
||
fidgeting. Finally, she could stand it no longer. When the telling
|
||
Tygalt paused, apparently to take a breath, she asked, "But whose fault
|
||
is all this man's misery?"
|
||
Tygalt stopped. He looked straight at her. After letting the
|
||
gale-punctured silence thicken, he asked, "What did you say?"
|
||
"I asked," Hanala yelled, as loudly as she could. "Whose fault is
|
||
all this man's misery?" she continued in a more customary whisper.
|
||
"Whose fault?" Tygalt leaned back in his chair. He seemed to relax
|
||
some, but also seemed to look less like a neighborly farmer. "Whose
|
||
fault would *you* say it was?" he inquired.
|
||
"It seems to me that it's his own fault," Hanala said quietly.
|
||
"I'm not surprised," Tygalt said smugly. "Of course, you *would*
|
||
try to put the blame on him."
|
||
"*I* would?" Hanala cried out. "What do you mean, I would? Anyone
|
||
would. The man thought everything was a burden and it wasn't. Sometimes
|
||
you do really get burdened with troubles, but the examples you kept
|
||
giving -- "
|
||
"They're all your fault, you know."
|
||
"What are?"
|
||
"The man's travails." Tygalt rested his arms on the arms of the
|
||
chair. "They're all your fault."
|
||
"Mine?" She gaped at him. "How?"
|
||
"You know how. And he knows also." Tygalt grinned coldly. "He saw
|
||
you; he knows all about it."
|
||
"He saw me? When?" Hanala was on her feet, looking around the room,
|
||
trying to find some other listener who was as puzzled by Tygalt's claim
|
||
as she was. But everyone else was still and seemed only dimly lit by the
|
||
fire. "What did he see?" Hanala demanded of Tygalt. "What are you
|
||
talking about?"
|
||
"I'm talking about how you destroyed that man's life."
|
||
"But what did I do? I didn't do anything!"
|
||
"Don't give me that. He *knows* the truth."
|
||
"But that's not the truth. He's wrong. You're wrong -- "
|
||
Tygalt barked a short, mirthless laugh. "You're wasting your
|
||
breath, denying it," he said.
|
||
"But -- " Hanala clenched her fists in frustration, staring at the
|
||
horrible man who accused her so implacably and crazily of having done --
|
||
Actually, she wasn't sure exactly what he was accusing her of having
|
||
done. "All right," she said, with forced calm. "What is it, exactly that
|
||
I'm supposed to have done?"
|
||
"You know what you did."
|
||
"No I don't!" Hanala screamed, though the howling outside was still
|
||
about as loud. "What's your proof?!"
|
||
"Proof?" His elbows still on the arms of the chair, Tygalt clasped
|
||
his hands in front of him and stared at Hanala. "You want proof? You ask
|
||
me to tell you of evidence?"
|
||
"Yes."
|
||
He ignored her. "I give you truth and you ask for substantiation!
|
||
How pathetic you are, you eristic little witch." He stood up.
|
||
"But your so-called truth is wrong --" Hanala cut off that
|
||
argument. It was doing her no good. "That story you were telling, about
|
||
the man who knows the truth, that's your story, isn't it?"
|
||
"Of course it's my story. I'm telling it."
|
||
"No, I mean it's your own story, isn't it?"
|
||
Tygalt shrugged. "You'd know that already," he said. "You'd know
|
||
because it's all your fault."
|
||
"Yes, yes. So you've already said," Hanala said quickly. Her mind
|
||
raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. But also, she was
|
||
hoping that this was perhaps something like some of those peculiar
|
||
debates she'd gotten into with Martren. She started talking just to try
|
||
to keep the strange storyteller conversing. "And *you* know the truth
|
||
about the truth," she suggested. "But whether or not it's all my fault,
|
||
what are you going to do about it?"
|
||
"Consume you," Tygalt replied. His voice was calm, as if discussing
|
||
a plan for copying a three-volume manuscript. "I shall swallow you up in
|
||
choking flames of avenging justice."
|
||
"Well, that's clear enough," Hanala muttered, "except for the fact
|
||
that where there're choking flames there likely will be smoke --" She
|
||
stared at Tygalt, wondering about the possibilities in smoke. There was
|
||
a fair amount in the room, but that was to be expected. "You know, I
|
||
really do doubt that we truly invited you to come join our gathering --"
|
||
"It's too late to regret your lack of social graces," Tygalt
|
||
warned.
|
||
"That I'd call a tiger mewling over the mirror's teeth."
|
||
"Very well, then." Tygalt took a step toward the girl. "Prepare to
|
||
--"
|
||
"And now, you're becoming tiresome. Besides," Hanala continued
|
||
quickly, "I do not think you'd be advised to try to burn me."
|
||
"And why not?"
|
||
Hanala talked fast: "You want the truth? I'll assume you do. Let's
|
||
suppose that the truth is so and I am responsible for everything that
|
||
has happened to you. In that case, if you do burn me and I'm gone,
|
||
what'll become of you? You'll be nothing. With me, the source of all the
|
||
stuff in your life, absent, you'll be left in a void. Emptiness." She
|
||
tsked. "It won't be at all pleasant."
|
||
"It won't stay empty," Tygalt replied, but he sounded uncertain. "I
|
||
can fill my life -- "
|
||
"With what?" Hanala demanded. "Everything in your life I did to
|
||
you. That's your truth. It's all me. Take me away, consume me with your
|
||
righteous flame and what have you got left but solitary you?"
|
||
"Solitary me's not that bad." Tygalt sounded petulant.
|
||
"You don't believe that," Hanala declared, hoping it was so.
|
||
"Yes I do." Tygalt seemed to waver.
|
||
"Nope. You wouldn't be here if you did."
|
||
Tygalt's shape quivered around the edges, then steadied again.
|
||
"No," he decided. "That isn't how it is."
|
||
"But you said -- "
|
||
"The truth is that only *almost* everything that happened to me is
|
||
your fault," Tygalt declared. "So consuming you with sacred flame won't
|
||
isolate me completely. In fact, it'll heal me. I'll get well! I'll find
|
||
happiness! If I can just get rid of --"
|
||
"But you know that's not the truth," Hanala stormed. "You know what
|
||
the truth is: Everything that comes to you comes to you from me! That's
|
||
the axiom of your existence. Unrecantable. You know that, whether or not
|
||
you try to deny it now."
|
||
"But -- "
|
||
"I give you light -- "With a quick prayer to the Stephene for
|
||
comfort, she snapped her fingers, casting a simple spell. A glow sprang
|
||
up from her hand. She smiled and continued. "And I can take it away."
|
||
She shook her hand, the light died. All light died. That was more than
|
||
she'd expected, but she couldn't let herself worry about that then. In
|
||
the darkness she continued: "The very air that you breathe comes from
|
||
me," she claimed.
|
||
"No! That's --"
|
||
She ignored him. She had him adrift now, and not only that but her
|
||
small magicks were working and she didn't want to lose the thrill. "I
|
||
give it to you, but I can take it away -- or I can give you too much --
|
||
" With another prayer to the Stephene for support, she hazarded a
|
||
repetition of the experiment in the afternoon that had brought on that
|
||
gale. She summoned up serenity from the love of her god -- and held onto
|
||
it. She summoned up confidence from Tygalt's insane claim that
|
||
everything was her fault -- and held onto it. And she summoned skill
|
||
from the fact that her little light magics had just worked -- and held
|
||
onto that also. Then she pressed together the serenity, the confidence
|
||
and the skill -- and the wanting. A hurricane broke out.
|
||
The wind caught her up with a shriek -- she had no idea whose.
|
||
There might also have been another from Tygalt. She never knew. She
|
||
didn't need to know much except that her god did love her and that there
|
||
was more, much more, that she was connected to than Tygalt's little
|
||
everything. And that it was a true and good thing that Tygalt's private
|
||
universe was such a desolate place. She collided with nothing as the
|
||
hurricane threw and spun her across it. And, dizzyingly, it spun round
|
||
her and shrank from something very small into absolutely nothing at all.
|
||
|
||
Hanala heard a clattering of pots and pans, the noise that
|
||
traditionally greeted the dawn after a Night of Souls. Supposedly, it
|
||
warned the spirits who couldn't recognize the significance of a
|
||
brightening eastern sky that it was time to push along back to their
|
||
hideaways for another full year. It also served to rouse those who
|
||
couldn't last the vigil so that they could at least join in at the
|
||
celebratory morning meal. Hanala groaned and opened her eyes.
|
||
"Where's Tygalt?" she asked, but no-one could hear her. Brothers
|
||
and Sisters, armed with their weapons of clamor, were opening windows or
|
||
making for the doors in order to drive off the evil things more quickly.
|
||
Hanala got to her feet, expecting to feel bruised and battered
|
||
after the hurricane's mistreatment. But her body felt fine. Only her
|
||
mind felt abused. Behind all the clanging and banging, she thought she
|
||
heard a dog whine. The unhappy sound wasn't reproachful, though, simply
|
||
in need of help.
|
||
Hanala nodded and, following several brethren, trotted outside into
|
||
the crisp, calm, brightening air. Squinting her eyes at the rising sun,
|
||
she smiled and continued running toward the whining that she wondered if
|
||
she only could hear. It felt good to be alive and blameless.
|
||
|
||
========================================================================
|
||
|
||
Night's Touch
|
||
by Mark A. Murray
|
||
<mmurray@weir.net>
|
||
Dargon, Vibril, 1015
|
||
|
||
It was late afternoon in Dargon; the sun sank swiftly through
|
||
scattered clouds toward the horizon, and people hurried to get home to
|
||
the safety behind locked doors. The Night of Souls was soon to begin. It
|
||
was a night when ghosts and lost souls wandered the streets. People
|
||
without family gathered in the inns to drink and tell stories. Some
|
||
families even gathered in the inns; more people meant more safety.
|
||
A crowded inn meant long, hard working hours for the staff. This
|
||
eve, Eileen was one of the serving girls working at the Inn of the
|
||
Golden Lion. Even though she had started working early in the morning,
|
||
she would continue working well into the night, possibly until the sun
|
||
rose. In the brief periods of rest, she wondered about her son, Matthew.
|
||
Her friend and roommate, Rachel, was at home watching Matthew, and his
|
||
friend Ben. The two boys were spending the Night of Souls together.
|
||
|
||
"We should get home," Ben said as he walked down Traders Avenue
|
||
beside his best friend, Matthew. "It's almost dark."
|
||
"Are you afraid?" Matthew teased.
|
||
"No!" Ben replied emphatically. "Are you?"
|
||
"No. I'd like to see a wandering spirit. What do you think they
|
||
look like?"
|
||
"I don't know," Ben said while dragging a stick along the ground.
|
||
"Rachel said that they are all different. Some are good and some are
|
||
bad."
|
||
"Think there'll be dragon spirits wandering around?" Matthew
|
||
stopped and asked.
|
||
"Are there dragon spirits?" Ben asked, stopping also. "I hope so!
|
||
That would be great to see a dragon. Well, as long as he couldn't hurt
|
||
us, that is."
|
||
"Can you see a dragon trying to bite us and his jaws just going
|
||
through us?" Matthew said, giggling.
|
||
"His great big old sharp teeth snapping shut around us," Ben
|
||
giggled. "Can you imagine the look on his face when he finds out he
|
||
can't eat us?"
|
||
"Yeah," Matthew said starting to laugh, "and his eyes as he looks
|
||
down to see us still here?" Ben crossed his eyes focusing on the end of
|
||
his nose, and Matthew broke out in laughter. The two boys continued on
|
||
down the street crossing their eyes and laughing.
|
||
As they turned onto Thockmarr Street, they noticed that it was
|
||
getting dark quickly now, and they hurried to reach home before Rachel
|
||
got mad at them for being out late.
|
||
"Race you home!" Matthew said as he started running.
|
||
"Not fair!" Ben said, running to catch up. Both boys were running
|
||
as fast as they could when a man yelled at them.
|
||
"Stop!" the man yelled. Matthew and Ben stopped and looked. "What
|
||
are you two running --?" Suddenly, a light blinded all three and cut off
|
||
the rest of his question. Blinded, the three didn't see the light
|
||
coalesce on Ben. Ben jerked as if struck by something, and the light
|
||
disappeared.
|
||
"What was that?" the man asked, rubbing his eyes. When his vision
|
||
started to return, he noticed the sun shining in his face. "Must have
|
||
been the sun coming out from behind the clouds," he thought. Looking
|
||
around, he saw the blurred outline of a child in front of him. "Who are
|
||
you?"
|
||
"A light," Matthew said as he, too, saw spots and blurs. "And my
|
||
name is Matthew." His vision cleared somewhat, and he turned to point to
|
||
Ben, but saw his friend lying on the ground. "Ben?"
|
||
The man looked at Ben and quickly kneeled next to him. He checked
|
||
for signs of breathing and saw that Ben's chest rose and fell slightly.
|
||
"Where do you live?"
|
||
"Just up the street," Matthew pointed.
|
||
"Show me the way," the man said as he picked Ben up. Matthew led
|
||
the man to his home.
|
||
"Rachel!" he yelled as he opened the door. "Ben got hurt!"
|
||
"What?" Rachel yelled. "Where --" she started to say, but stopped
|
||
as she saw Ben in the man's arms. "What happened?"
|
||
"I don't know," the man said. "The lads here were running down the
|
||
street and I thought maybe they were shadow boys up to no good. I yelled
|
||
for them to stop and when they did a light blinded me. I think it was
|
||
the last light of the sun before it disappeared behind the buildings.
|
||
When I could see again, the boy here was on the ground."
|
||
"Is he alright?" Matthew asked.
|
||
"I believe the boy just fainted," the man said.
|
||
"Put him on the bed," Rachel told him, pointing to a bed in another
|
||
room. "And who are you?"
|
||
"My name is Jerid Taishent, and I was on my way to Dargon Keep when
|
||
the boys ran past me. The rest you know."
|
||
"Their names are Matthew and Ben," she said. "Taishent? Are you
|
||
related to Dyann Taishent, the mage?"
|
||
"That's my father," Jerid replied.
|
||
"Is he going to be alright?" Matthew asked again, interrupting.
|
||
"He isn't bleeding and he doesn't have any bruises that I can see,"
|
||
Rachel said as she looked Ben over. "He's breathing slowly, but
|
||
steadily. Maybe he did just faint."
|
||
|
||
It was dark all around the figure. This darkness pervaded Gitoth's
|
||
sight and he raged against it. For an uncountable, black time, he had
|
||
raged against this darkness with all his might. While his body had died
|
||
long ago, his spirit had lived on.
|
||
It was his spirit that raged against this black prison. He fought
|
||
against the blackness and felt it weaken. And then, suddenly, he was
|
||
free.
|
||
Yet he soon found that he wasn't truly free. He was powerless
|
||
without a body.
|
||
He could feel other souls. Where there were other souls, there were
|
||
other bodies. He could almost taste the power. Not caring whom he
|
||
possessed, he asserted his strength of will to find the closest body.
|
||
The blackness gave way and he spotted someone in an isolated coastal
|
||
town.
|
||
He saw a man walking along a street. Gitoth's sprang to attack but
|
||
collided with something. It was a soul, but not the one he wanted.
|
||
"No!" he screamed silently, and the body he inhabited fainted from
|
||
his spiritual assault. He raged against the blackness again, until he
|
||
realized that this time it was only temporary. The boy, and it was a
|
||
boy's soul he inhabited, would wake soon. Settling into the body, he
|
||
probed mind and soul. Ben, the boy's name was Ben.
|
||
Reaching out to Ben's mind and soul, he slowly began to place
|
||
restraints. It wouldn't do to have Ben take control again at some
|
||
inopportune time. Although the process was tedious, he eventually gained
|
||
control.
|
||
|
||
"Ben?" Rachel asked when she saw Ben stir.
|
||
"I am not Ben," Ben mumbled as he woke.
|
||
"Are you okay?" Rachel asked. "Ben?"
|
||
"I am not Ben," Ben said sitting up. "I am Gitoth!"
|
||
"Ben," Rachel warned, "quit joking around."
|
||
"I told you I am not Ben!" Gitoth screamed in a high pitched boy's
|
||
voice. He cursed silently that he was stuck in a boy's body. "I am
|
||
Gitoth and if you do not show the proper respect, I will give you pain
|
||
like you have never felt before!"
|
||
"Quit fooling around, Ben," Matthew said. "She won't let us stay up
|
||
all night if you make her mad."
|
||
"Make her mad?" Gitoth screamed. "Make *her* mad? You should fear
|
||
*me*!" Gitoth jumped up from the bed to land on the floor beside Rachel.
|
||
He pointed a finger at her while his brows crinkled.
|
||
"You look funny," Matthew giggled.
|
||
"And what? I'm supposed to be in pain, now?" Rachel asked.
|
||
"Although you do look funny," she added, giggling too.
|
||
"Stop it!" Gitoth shouted.
|
||
"Now listen! You stop yelling!" Rachel scolded. "Either keep your
|
||
voice down, or I'll make you sit on the bed." She turned back to Jerid.
|
||
"Thank you for bringing Ben here. Most people wouldn't have bothered.
|
||
Would you like some tea?"
|
||
"Don't ignore me!" Gitoth yelled. Rachel whirled around and slapped
|
||
Gitoth in the mouth.
|
||
"I told you not to yell again!" she yelled. "Get back on that bed
|
||
and stay there until I tell you otherwise!"
|
||
"How *dare* you speak to me that way!" Gitoth said in a lower
|
||
voice. He cursed silently again at the ingrained behavior of the boy.
|
||
The boy's behavior was so intertwined with the body that the body obeyed
|
||
this woman's commands. A slight ripple of fear ran through Ben and
|
||
Gitoth, as Ben's soul cringed at being punished. Gitoth crawled up on
|
||
the bed. "I will have you flayed alive --"
|
||
"Enough!" Rachel barked. "I don't want to hear another sound out of
|
||
you." Turning, she left Gitoth to sit on the bed in silence. Gitoth
|
||
cursed internally at the predicament he found himself in. He couldn't
|
||
stop the boy's behavior, he couldn't just kill the boy's soul, and this
|
||
situation wasn't much better than the prison he had just left.
|
||
Gathering his strength, Gitoth concentrated on moving his body to
|
||
the edge of the bed. Slowly he inched across the bed and put one leg
|
||
over the side.
|
||
"Put that leg back on the bed!" she ordered. His leg moved quickly
|
||
back up onto the bed.
|
||
"But I'm --" he began to whine.
|
||
"And no sound!" she said.
|
||
"-- Gitoth," he finished silently. He threw his hands up in the air
|
||
in frustration and plopped backwards onto the bed. His fists beat the
|
||
bed beside him, and he kicked his feet up and down. "I am Gitoth!" he
|
||
screamed silently. After a moment, he realized just how childish his
|
||
actions were, and it made him kick the bed again in frustration. "I'm in
|
||
a child's body, so why not use that to my advantage?" he thought
|
||
suddenly.
|
||
"Can I get up if I promise not to yell and be good?" Gitoth asked.
|
||
"I'll think about it," she replied.
|
||
"I *said* I'd be good!" Gitoth said loudly.
|
||
"I said no yelling!" Rachel shouted back. "Now be quiet and stay on
|
||
that bed!" Gitoth threw another fit on the bed before he remembered that
|
||
his earlier spell had not worked. She should have been writhing in pain
|
||
when he cast that spell, but instead she had punished *him*. He decided
|
||
that it was worth another look at this Ben's soul to see what exactly
|
||
was there.
|
||
He probed Ben's soul as it tried to get away from him. Being
|
||
connected to the body, it did not have anywhere to run to. Gitoth's
|
||
skill and power made it easy for him to find the answers he searched
|
||
for.
|
||
"This boy is magically inept," Gitoth fumed. "And his behavior is
|
||
so ingrained in body and soul that he fears retribution should he
|
||
disobey that damned woman. Will my cursed luck never end?" It took a few
|
||
moments before he realized someone was whispering Ben's name.
|
||
"Ben," Matthew whispered. "She says you've been on the bed long
|
||
enough. You can get up now if you'll be good."
|
||
"I'm allowed to get up?" Gitoth asked in disgust. In all his long
|
||
life, he had never needed permission to do anything. "This is going to
|
||
take some getting used to."
|
||
"What are you talking about Ben? What needs to get used to?"
|
||
"Never mind," Gitoth said, thinking about his situation. "Let's go
|
||
outside."
|
||
"We aren't allowed," Ben told him. Gitoth silently cursed -- in
|
||
three languages.
|
||
"I'm going outside anyway!" he replied.
|
||
"No, you are not," Rachel said, overhearing his words. "You will
|
||
stay inside and play with Matthew, or you can sit on that bed all
|
||
night."
|
||
"I can do whatever I want!" Gitoth fumed. He knew it was the wrong
|
||
thing to say as her expression changed and she stomped towards him. Fear
|
||
from Ben's soul spread and reached Gitoth. He ignored it and tried to
|
||
think of some way out of this situation, but it was too late. Rachel
|
||
grabbed his arm, spun him around and proceeded to whack his back and
|
||
rear with her hand. Pain lanced through his body, and he spasmed. Tears
|
||
started to run down his cheek.
|
||
"You can't do this!" he cried. "I'm Gitoth!"
|
||
"Well, whoever you want to be, you're going back on the bed and
|
||
staying there," she said as she tossed him on the bed.
|
||
Gitoth lay on the bed quietly as he raged internally at being
|
||
powerless.
|
||
He had never been in a position such as this, and he didn't like it
|
||
one bit.
|
||
"Magic," he thought. "I need magic to get me out of here. The boy's
|
||
soul may be magically inept, but I'm not. I'll find a way to use my
|
||
magic." Gitoth turned again to Ben's soul as he prodded, probed,
|
||
altered, and twisted it to suit his needs. Ben's soul fought back as
|
||
much as it could, but Gitoth was a master at what he did.
|
||
Bells passed as Gitoth worked. Rachel, Jerid, and Matthew sat in
|
||
the other room and talked the time away. Matthew would occasionally look
|
||
at Ben on the bed to see if he had moved, but he never did.
|
||
"He's never been like this," Matthew sighed.
|
||
"All boys go through periods of rebellious nature," Jerid said. "I
|
||
know my own daughter, Aimee, has been rebellious at times."
|
||
"Stevene help me if that's so," Rachel said. "I don't think I could
|
||
watch him for long if he's like that all the time. You don't think he
|
||
really could have gotten ..."
|
||
"Gotten what?" Jerid asked.
|
||
"You know ... gotten possessed," she whispered. Rachel looked Jerid
|
||
in the eyes, looked at Ben on the bed, and looked back at him.
|
||
"You really don't think ..." he started to say.
|
||
"No," they both said together. They looked at each other and
|
||
laughed. Another bell passed as the two of them talked. Jerid finally
|
||
decided to take his leave, and Rachel asked him to stay.
|
||
"It's not a night to wander around in," she told him.
|
||
"I've heard all the tales," he replied. "And I've not seen any
|
||
spirits or ghosts yet. It is a night just like any other."
|
||
"You're welcome to visit again," Rachel said, knowing he wouldn't
|
||
stay.
|
||
"I would like that," he told her. She walked him to the door and
|
||
watched him until he turned a corner out of sight. She shut and bolted
|
||
the door before going to the bed where Ben lay.
|
||
"Wake up," she said, shaking Ben.
|
||
"What?" Gitoth replied.
|
||
"If you promise to be good, I'll let you up to play with Matthew."
|
||
Gitoth studied her. His attempts at magic had all been failures. He
|
||
might as well play along with her until he thought of something.
|
||
"I promise," he said.
|
||
"Good," she said and went back into the other room to settle into a
|
||
chair with a cup of tea. She pulled a blanket over her legs and sipped
|
||
her tea as Ben got up off the bed.
|
||
Matthew brought over two sticks that were well worn and wanted him
|
||
to play war. Gitoth mentally sighed as he was forced to play a child's
|
||
game while he tried to think of a way out of this mess. After war,
|
||
Matthew wanted to play a game where he was a dragon and Ben was the
|
||
duchy's champion. As he played along with Matthew, he noticed that
|
||
Rachel was falling asleep.
|
||
If she went to sleep, he *could* sneak out the door. After all, she
|
||
didn't *say* anything about him not leaving the house. Matthew was the
|
||
one who said they couldn't, but Matthew wasn't in charge. He knew that
|
||
if he tried to leave while she was awake, she would stop him. But
|
||
asleep, she couldn't say anything. It was a technicality, Gitoth knew,
|
||
but one that would gain him his freedom. So he played the child's games
|
||
while he watched her fall asleep.
|
||
Finally, she was in the chair asleep. Now was his chance to escape,
|
||
and he moved to the door. Unlatching it, he threw it wide.
|
||
"Hey look!" Matthew said. "The sun's up! The Night of Souls is
|
||
over!"
|
||
"Night of Souls?" Gitoth thought as he stopped in the doorway.
|
||
"That is the reason I was able to free myself from prison?" Disgusted
|
||
with being in what he thought of as a second prison, he decided to leave
|
||
Ben's body and find another. He separated himself from the body and
|
||
surged upward into the sky.
|
||
As he broke completely away from Ben, he felt the tug of his
|
||
prison. Screaming, he searched for someone else to possess. Just then, a
|
||
great clanging and banging sounded as the residents of Dargon heralded
|
||
the end of the Night of Souls. Pots were thumped together, or against
|
||
doorways, to signify night was over and day had begun.
|
||
Gitoth could not concentrate with the clattering noise and gave up,
|
||
letting the pull of prison bring him back there. "There will be another
|
||
time," he thought.
|
||
|
||
"Huh," Ben said as his eyes focused on the morning sun. His blurry
|
||
vision quickly cleared, and he had to look away from the bright sun.
|
||
"What happened?"
|
||
"The Night of Souls is over, Ben," Matthew replied. "And you almost
|
||
ruined the whole night. I didn't think we were going to be able to stay
|
||
up or play at all with you acting bad."
|
||
"Acting bad?" Ben muttered. "I thought that was a dream. That
|
||
really happened?"
|
||
"Are you alright?"
|
||
"I don't know," Ben said, looking down into his hand. His palm
|
||
tingled, and he lifted it to look at it. A small ball of light formed in
|
||
his palm and glowed softly. He closed his hand over it, and it went
|
||
away. "I don't know ..."
|
||
|
||
========================================================================
|
||
|
||
On a Night Like This
|
||
by Jon Evans
|
||
<godling@mnsinc.com>
|
||
Vibril, 1016
|
||
|
||
It wasn't very dark, and the weather could hardly be described as
|
||
stormy. Still, the late Vibril weather of a riverside town could be
|
||
chill, and this night it was downright raw. The wind seemed to blow
|
||
through to the bone, and passing strangers held themselves bundled up
|
||
beneath their cloaks and coats. Andrew's hat nearly flew off in the wind
|
||
as he stepped into the Lazy Madame. He regretted that he had shaved his
|
||
beard, as the cold wind whipped at his face until his complexion was
|
||
ruddy.
|
||
The heady smell of burning tallow mixed with that of the soup
|
||
drifting in from the kitchen. It was enough to make Andrew even drowsier
|
||
than he already felt at the end of this long day. The tavern's only
|
||
customers were four individuals seated near the back, not the usual
|
||
crowd to which Kenneth's business was accustomed. All four patrons took
|
||
their warmth from the fireplace that popped and hissed with the sounds
|
||
of fresh wood burning.
|
||
Andrew stepped up to the bar, and sat at a stool. He nodded a
|
||
greeting to Sandy as she brought drinks to the other guests, and smiled
|
||
at Kenneth. "How 'bout some mead on this chill even?"
|
||
"Coming right up, sir," Kenneth said, smiling and winking to his
|
||
favorite customer. "How's business?"
|
||
"Still working the docks, for now. It's a long day, and the lifting
|
||
I do has a tithe all its own." Andrew placed his left hand at the base
|
||
of his spine and arched his back. "Still, can't complain about the
|
||
money." Andrew waved over to the small crowd of customers. "Speaking of
|
||
business, what's with yours, tonight. Scant pickings, isn't it?"
|
||
Just then, Sandy returned to the bar. "Night of Souls," she said.
|
||
"Everyone's home with their families."
|
||
Andrew chuckled. "Come on, Pumpkin, we're not kids anymore. Don't
|
||
try to scare me with wild tales. It's just a slow evening." Andrew
|
||
lifted his mead to his lips to drink, but Sandy stopped him.
|
||
"It's no joke, Slick. Night of Souls is real."
|
||
"You really believe all that? Pfah! I thought you had a better head
|
||
on you than that."
|
||
"Don't be laughing at my daughter, Andrew," Kenneth interjected. "I
|
||
raised her right and sound, and it's no joke. These few customers are
|
||
here tonight to keep each other company, and us, since we've no place to
|
||
go when the bar closes. We tell each other tales all night to keep
|
||
ourselves awake, and to remember the horrors that the dead can visit
|
||
upon the living on nights like this. And, of course, to chase away the
|
||
spirits at the dawn."
|
||
"You're chasing away spirits, all right," Andrew said. "Staying up
|
||
late nights drinking mead, you'll have to chase them away to recover!"
|
||
Sandy exchanged looks with Kenneth, and then returned to the table
|
||
of customers. Kenneth looked at Andrew. "Listen here, lad. Why else
|
||
would these people be here? George Kilgreen, a sergeant of the town
|
||
guard, has no family. Same with Smitty, the blacksmith. Old Kabula, the
|
||
widow. Tom McFarley. None of us has much of a family. And on the Night
|
||
of Souls, no one should be alone."
|
||
Andrew stared back at him. "You can't really expect me to still
|
||
believe all that, can you?"
|
||
Kenneth spoke up, including the rest of the tavern in his
|
||
conversation. "Then let me tell you a story," he said. The rest of the
|
||
patrons looked back at him. Several turned their chairs to face the bar.
|
||
"It won't be the last you'll hear, this night, nor the most gruesome.
|
||
You don't have to believe it, just listen to it. Because it was on a
|
||
night like this, that it happened, and right here in Port Sevlyn, about
|
||
twenty years back. The wind off the river was bitter, blowing the dead
|
||
leaves through the streets. The skies were overcast, blocking what
|
||
little warmth the sun provides this time of year. Old Man McCauley --
|
||
you know the old McCauley house up on the north hill? -- he came walking
|
||
in, looking like he'd been through a banshee drag ..."
|
||
|
||
The short old man stooped through the doorway, glancing quickly to
|
||
his left and right. When he reached the bar, he raised his head only
|
||
just enough to be heard above the low howl of the constantly blowing
|
||
wind outside.
|
||
"Give me something to warm my bones, Kenny." When he took his hat
|
||
off, his face -- usually the ruddy color of health -- was pale and
|
||
drawn. The lines on his face were like hand-carved grooves in the Duke's
|
||
chair.
|
||
"Stevene's blood!" I exclaimed. "What's happened to you? You look
|
||
like a banshee's gone and dragged you all the way down from your house
|
||
on the hill." I reached under the bar for a mug and a bottle of mead.
|
||
"This one's on the house."
|
||
As I poured the drink, I remember staring at the old man, wondering
|
||
what could have made him look so different in such a short time.
|
||
McCauley just sat there, watching the mead fill his mug. When I placed
|
||
it in front of the old man, he drank it down in one quaff. "More, then.
|
||
I've brought plenty of money with me, and I'll not leave until I've
|
||
spent it all." He reached into his pockets and produced several coins,
|
||
mostly minted pieces of silver, and spilled them onto the bar top.
|
||
"Something's coming after me, this night. And I want to be dead drunk
|
||
when it gets me."
|
||
I poured more mead, and McCauley lifted the glass to his lips
|
||
again. "It's the Night of Souls, Mr. McCauley. There's a lot of old
|
||
spirits out there, tonight. Stick around with us. We'll keep vigil with
|
||
you the whole night." I wanted to reassure him that he was safe with us,
|
||
you see.
|
||
The old man looked at me standing behind the bar. I had less than a
|
||
score summers in me. "There's nothing can be done about this one, boy. I
|
||
owe him. I'm going to let him take me, but not before I've had my fill."
|
||
He pushed his glass back toward me, and I began filling the glass again.
|
||
"You know my wife and I, we wanted children. The first three, they
|
||
didn't live. Healers told us my wife wouldn't probably survive a fourth
|
||
birthing, but some spiteful demon cursed her insides again, and she was
|
||
in labor for two days. Never heard such screaming from a woman. In the
|
||
end, everyone heard how the child died in the birthing. Martha,
|
||
thankfully, was spared."
|
||
I nodded, silently respectful of the old man's loss, and filled his
|
||
cup another time. It was well past sunset, and most of the customers had
|
||
gone home to be with their families for the Night of Souls. I didn't
|
||
have any family to speak of, but the man who owned the Lazy Madame,
|
||
Linus Tabbernathy, usually spent it with me. Linus was cooking the
|
||
evening meal in the kitchen, but would join me and the night's guests:
|
||
residents of the town who didnt have friends or family to share the
|
||
evening, but knew better than to spend it alone.
|
||
"But the truth is," he continued, "the demon-child didn't die in
|
||
the birthing. He lived. And I was ashamed of his surviving. I hated him
|
||
for living, when the other children had died. He wasn't a child I could
|
||
be proud of. He was twisted and deformed, obviously possessed by some
|
||
evil spirit. Constantly crying, and complaining. We hid the child in the
|
||
basement. We didn't want the townsfolk to know that he'd lived. I wanted
|
||
to kill it from the start, but Martha said no. It was her child -- the
|
||
only one that lived -- and nothing could convince her to spare us. I
|
||
should have killed it. Instead, we hid it in the cellar, where its
|
||
crying wouldn't be heard by passers-by."
|
||
He finished another drink. By this time, the color had returned to
|
||
his cheeks, or perhaps it was the glow of the lamplight reflecting off
|
||
his pale skin. I couldn't be certain, but the old man seemed to be
|
||
improving. Perhaps a bit off his main beam, from what he was saying. The
|
||
last time the midwife had gone to the McCauley's was almost ten years
|
||
earlier. To have hidden a child in the darkness for so long ... it
|
||
seemed inhuman.
|
||
"For years, we kept the demon-boy hidden. When he was six, we moved
|
||
him into the attic. Needed to have some sunlight after all, didn't he?
|
||
Well, he didn't walk so good. I told you he was deformed? His legs had
|
||
almost no muscle on them at all. His right arm ended at the wrist, with
|
||
no hand to speak of. His eyes were narrow slits, and his skin was almost
|
||
snow white. My wife kept nagging me, saying we needed to help the boy,
|
||
but it was no use. I knew he was beyond our help. What could we do for a
|
||
demon? But she nagged me. She kept at me until I couldn't sleep at
|
||
night.
|
||
"Finally, to make her happy, I decided to help the lad. My son.
|
||
Humph!" He sipped slowly out of his mug as he thought about it. "I
|
||
suppose I was a little mad, at that time. But the boy had no right hand,
|
||
and his left was twisted and almost useless. So, late one night, I got
|
||
an idea. I snuck up to his room and took him out back, to my forge. I
|
||
told him to shush, not that he understood a word I was saying. That I
|
||
was going to give him a new hand. One that would be more useful than
|
||
what he'd been born with. I fired up the forge and got it nice and hot."
|
||
He looked in my direction, but wasn't focusing on me. "Then I
|
||
heated a hook from an old oar lock, the type that you nail into the side
|
||
of the boat. When it was good and hot, I strapped the boy's arm to the
|
||
anvil and pounded the hook into his wrist."
|
||
I was in shock. "You ... pounded ..."
|
||
"You have to understand," McCauley said, "I needed to do something.
|
||
Anything had to be better than what he had! He screamed like a banshee,
|
||
and I tried to shut him up, but he wouldn't stop crying. So I hit him,
|
||
just once, in the back of the head, and he flopped over the anvil like a
|
||
sack." He cursed himself as he took another drink. "Would that I'd
|
||
killed the demon right there. But I only wanted to shut him up."
|
||
He had finished his drink, but continued trying to drink from the
|
||
mug, not realizing it was empty. I took it from him, poured more in, and
|
||
poured a glass for myself, as well.
|
||
"The missus, she wasn't happy with me. Wouldn't say a word. Things
|
||
got awful quiet around the house, after that. But I could constantly
|
||
hear the boy, tapping his hook against the wall in the attic. Day and
|
||
night. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. And Rinald, the cat that belonged
|
||
to the missus, always meowing, hating the noise. My wife kept Rinald
|
||
downstairs, away from the boy. She didn't trust him, anymore. He had an
|
||
angry look on his face, all the time. We brought a food tray up to his
|
||
room, every day, and he ate it. But every once in a while, he wouldnt
|
||
eat it -- he'd leave us the eaten carcass of some small animal, instead.
|
||
A rat, a mouse, or even a bird that had the misfortune of finding its
|
||
way into his room.
|
||
"Oh, the lad was evil, and we knew it. I told her again we had to
|
||
kill him, but the wife wouldn't let me. As much as she hated the boy,
|
||
she didn't want to kill our only child.
|
||
"Well, one day, the cat was missing. I told her I would go outside
|
||
to find it. She said she thought she heard it on the stairs, and went
|
||
up. I heard the upstairs door open, knew she was going into his room. I
|
||
told her not to go in, the cat was probably outside. Then I heard a soft
|
||
scream, and something heavy hit the floor above me. I raced to the
|
||
stairs, grabbed my cane along the way, and went up to his room."
|
||
My mouth was dry, and I quickly quaffed some of the mead. "What did
|
||
you see? Was your wife there?" McCauley also took a drink, then met my
|
||
gaze, again.
|
||
"Aye, it was her. And the cat. Rinald was hanging from a rope,
|
||
skinned and dripping onto the floor. The whole attic smelled of dead
|
||
animal and urine. And my wife was there, laying on the floor, face down.
|
||
I went to her, and rolled her over into my arms, and saw her eyes. There
|
||
was blood and brains seeping out one of the sockets. And when I looked
|
||
up, there was the bastard. Smiling for the first time in his life,
|
||
crooked, dirty teeth mocking me, narrow eyes glinting with mirth, and
|
||
Martha's eye stuck to his hook. He had enjoyed it. I screamed at him!
|
||
Asked him why! Of course, he didn't answer, just laughed at me. Little
|
||
bastard just kept laughing at me. Laughing at my pain, rejoicing in my
|
||
punishment. I couldn't stand it anymore. I hated him. I stood up. I took
|
||
my cane in both hands, and rapped him on the head with it. And again. I
|
||
still heard him laughing. I hit him again. And again. And still I heard
|
||
him laughing. For bells, all I heard was him laughing, and I just kept
|
||
trying to shut him up."
|
||
I stood with my jaw hanging open. I couldn't believe what I'd been
|
||
hearing.
|
||
McCauley reached over for the bottle of mead, and poured himself
|
||
another drink. "I couldn't stop him from laughing. Realized that all the
|
||
canes in the world wouldn't stop him from laughing, that I could keep
|
||
slamming my cane into his skull, and still he would be laughing." He
|
||
drank the mead down, and looked toward the door. "I can hear him, still.
|
||
Won't be long, now."
|
||
|
||
"McCauley stood up," Kenneth said to the room. "He was a little
|
||
unstable from the drink you see, and said he had to get going. I
|
||
suggested he stay here with us, but he wouldn't hear of it. Said his
|
||
wife was expecting him.
|
||
"Well, that relieved me to no end. He was playing a joke, you see.
|
||
On me! Telling me this big story on the Night of Souls. I started to
|
||
laugh as he walked toward the door, and he turned and looked at me with
|
||
a wild look. I'll never forget it: his eyes were wide with surprise and
|
||
his mouth was twisted into a weird grin. And then he rushed out of the
|
||
bar."
|
||
Andrew looked around the tavern. Old Kabula and George Kilgreen
|
||
were nodding in agreement -- they'd been there, that night. He sipped
|
||
his mead, and let Kenneth tell the rest of his tale.
|
||
"He wasn't out the door a few moments when we all heard this
|
||
hideous laughter ... like a little boy's, but not sweet. Malicious, more
|
||
like. Then this bone-crunching sound," Kenneth cracked the knuckles on
|
||
his left hand, "and then just the wind blowing. Not one of us went out
|
||
there all night. In the morning, they found his body back on the hill,
|
||
outside his house, broken and twisted. His wife and child were up in his
|
||
house, just like he said. Boy had his skull broken in."
|
||
"And?" Andrew asked.
|
||
"And, what?" Kenneth replied. "Since then, no one goes up to the
|
||
McCauley place. And when the wind is blowing on a night like this, you
|
||
can sometimes hear the laughter."
|
||
|
||
========================================================================
|
||
|