Chapter 1A Chapter by DevianThe
night was cold and bitter, the wind like shards of ice that could pierce
through flesh and bone and even chill the soul deep within, and the hard
blanket of snow falling from the sky above did nothing for the improvement of
the temperature. For those that were
safe behind the walls of their homes, snug underneath their cotton and wool
covers, it was still chilly and damp, but for the wandering stranger, walking
through the dark of the night from one place to another, it was almost deadly. For this reason, all of the citizens of the
land of Eltross knew better than to be caught off guard in the middle of the
winter nights, far from home. So
when the stranger stumbled into, and fell onto the floor of, a tavern on the
edge of the small town of Idol, his entire body and face covered with thick
furs"they were more than likely deer, later said one of the locals"and his only
visible features his eyes and nose; the eight men present at the tavern assumed
he must be either a fool or a stranger.
When asked his name, he only looked over the snow covered furs that
covered his face and uttering a bone-shaking cough before his whole body
shivered. “Get
this man a jug of brandy,” one of the hunched, older gentlemen exclaimed as he
bent down over the stranger, “this man is chilled to the bone!” All
of the talking and murmuring among the patrons had turned into whispers as they
each looked on at the stranger as the barkeeper brought a jug of brandy and
slowly peeled off the furs from around the man’s mouth to deliver the healing
liquid. A slight gasp ensued as it was
revealed that his lips were blue, whether naturally or from the cold they could
not say, but the mere fact was very unusual.
The barkeeper held up the man’s head and gently had him drink the brandy. “This
should warm your spirit,” the barkeeper"a tall round man with a thick mustache
and a long red scar across his left eye"replied in a deep voice. “Does
anyone know who this man is,” asked the old man, who was currently holding the
stranger’s gloved hands, “I’ve lived here forty-two years and have never seen
him before.” “I
heard that some prisoners escaped the king’s dungeons and were last seen in
town,” one of the younger men across the room offered. “No,”
contradicted another, “that was in Vince, the next town over, you drunken
fool.” “How
long does it take to walk from there to here, Royce?” snapped the first. “It
doesn’t matter,” replied the barkeeper, before the two young men could start
bickering, “it is our duty as fellow men to help this stranger in any way,
whether he be one of Them or a murderer.” The
whispering grew at that, for although most They were good, no one in Idol
wanted one around to take the chance that it might be a rogue member with evil
in mind and heart, and a murderer was just as bad. “Let’s
not get ahead of ourselves,” the old man said, “we don’t know who this man is
or where he came from, so before we pass judgment we need to get him to where
he can talk and let us know, himself, if he is someone to fear or not.” Everyone
seemed to settle down at that, and the old man turned to the barkeeper,
“Charles, I know you have that extra room upstairs that’s been empty for nearly
twenty years due to that old b*****d that hung himself in there,” the barkeeper
nodded, so the old man continued, “if you wouldn’t mind, we should take this
man up there and let him rest in a decent cot for the night.” Charles
nodded, “My sentiments exactly.” With
that the two men, and one of the other young patrons, carried the nearly frozen
stranger upstairs and put him on the cot, covering him with the quilts and
making sure that the room’s shutters were tight and locked so no cold could
seep through. “That
should do him for the night,” Charles said as they covered him and turned
toward the door. “And
tomorrow he should be in a better condition to explain who he is, and what was
passing through that damned mind of his while he decided to walk through the
middle of the night,” the old man retorted as they closed and locked the door
behind them. “If
he doesn’t kill the lot of us first,” the younger man said as he galloped down
the stairs. Charles
and the old man just stopped and looked at each other, wondering, briefly and
at the same time, if they had made the right choice in not throwing the man
back out in the cold to die. Later
that night after all of the drunken patrons had stumbled out the door to go to
their homes, the old man had remained in the tavern with Charles to talk about
the stranger upstairs, hopefully asleep, in the cot. “Did
you see his lips?” Charles said after he had poured them both large glasses of
mead and they had settled across from each other at one of the tables, “I swear
by all the gods that something is strange about that man.” “Are
you concerned about what the men were saying, that he might be one of Them, or
an escaped prisoner of the king?” the old man asked, taking a sip of his mead. “I
would be lying something heavy if I said that the worry hasn’t crossed my mind,
Ivan,” Charles said, rubbing his eyes, “I only pray if he is one or the other
that he be a murderer and I can kill him with justice, and he’s not one Them.” “They
are not all that bad,” Ivan said, “remember I have lived a long time, and only
have seen and heard of four of Them turning to the dark arts in all my eighty-four
years of life.” “That’s
not what concerns me, my old friend,” the other responded, “it’s the rule about
Them that bothers me, it is. You know just as well as I that if anyone saves
the life of one of Them, intentionally or unintentionally that individual has
the authority by the king to claim the town as a controlled area under Them.” “You
know that rule is only an appreciation shown by Them, a thank you, as it were,”
Ivan said, matter-of-factly, “they only do that to protect the town and the
person responsible for such kindness.” “Yes,
well, I have heard tale of this so-called ‘kindness’ that They offer, and it
does nothing but put the said towns under strict order,” Charles retorted, “and
I would much rather any single one of Them give me the finger than a thank you
any day.” “Well,”
the old man said, looking at the ceiling above them, fancying that he could see
the man asleep, “we won’t know anything until morning, if ever it gets
here. So we had might as well put our
questions and worries to rest, as well as ourselves, until then.” “I
suppose your right,” the other muttered, twirling a ring on his middle finger
for a few seconds before looking up, “but still, Ivan, I kid you not; something
about that man makes my hair stand on end and my skin crawl, it ain’t natural
it ain’t. I’ve had a lot of feelings in
my days, and they usually hit right on the head of the nail. To have this feeling and just ignore it makes
me feel as if there’s a storm coming and I can’t close my shutters fast enough
before I’m blown away.” “All
will be well, Charles,” the old man said, placing a gentle hand on the other
man’s shoulder, “you just need some sleep, it’s been a busy day, with all the
snow and such, you just need to rest on it, don’t fret. Do you think I’ve lived so long making rash
decisions?” Charles
shook his head, “I guess not, old man, I guess not.” “Well
then,” Ivan said, standing and stretching his hunched back, “lock the door
behind me, I’m headed home.” “Do
you need some help getting there?” the barkeeper asked. “I
should hope not,” Ivan chuckled, “I’ve lived in the same house for nearly half
a century, if I can’t find my way home by now then the snow put me to sleep and
death take me, because otherwise I’m not worth a damn.” Charles
grinned at that and walked his old friend out the door. Ivan turned suddenly and faced his friend. “You
know, Charles, you might be right, there might be something to worry about for
the rest of the night, but try to let your mind be at ease, if you can. There is no sense in worrying about what the
future might bring, that turns sane men into mad men, and there are enough of
those in the world, we don’t need anymore.” Charles
opened his mouth to say something, but Ivan turned away and began walking
through the blanket of snow, and Charles watched him until his silhouette faded
into the dark whiteness, and for the life of him the barkeeper could not
remember what he was going to say. With
a shrug he closed and locked the door behind him, blowing out all the candles
and making his way tiredly upstairs. As
he passed by the room where the stranger slept, he stood at the door, his hands
in the pockets of his breeches, his mind racing and silent at the same time. He truly did not know what to think of the
stranger, who had made the evening event something for the town to gossip about
for the next two weeks. All
that he knew was that his gut, deep down in the depths of his bowels he had a
strange feeling, a feeling that something was going to happen, something that
would change, not just his life, but the lives of hundreds, maybe thousands,
maybe everyone. He just could not decide
if it was a good or a bad thing, and, as tired as he was at the moment, he
didn’t want to wonder about it any longer. “Good
night, stranger, sleep well, and come morning, you have a lot of questions to
answer,” he muttered under his breath before turning and walking to his
bedroom. He locked the door to his room
that night, for the first time in twenty years. © 2012 Devian |
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2 Reviews Added on January 5, 2012 Last Updated on January 5, 2012 Author |