biggrin Yay, first entry!!!
Ummm, this may just be a running archive of stories so her I go:
Untitled so far. Comment if you can think of a good title!
For the last 3000 years, the people on the little village of Port have lived in the relative peace that comes with having a kind witch nearby. The witch, or rather The Witch, is a woman of modest upbringing. She came to the village about fifty-four years ago, when she was a mere child of seventeen. As the story goes, she was a fair girl in conservative robes often donned by priestess’ of the Unknown. She healed those who were ill and consoled those who were beyond help. With the help of her small gifts, she became the backbone of the village. The Witch could control her power with the exception of one night every seven months, when it leaked out of her grasp. This was never a real issue to any of the villagers. The Witch lived at the base of the only mountain for a thousand miles. Here, when she felt her power trying to flee her, she would lock up the little hut’s doors and wait until the night passed.
It was on one of these nights that two women of the village gave birth. It happened that both were to be born within a few minutes of each other. The midwife went to the woman on Emerald Lane since she was of good lineage and married into the mayor’s family. On the other side of town, a woman of lesser social status began to labor. No one was present at the time. The woman, who was named Allis, had nothing to offer the midwife to make her leave the other family. At last, a passing neighbor who heard her cries ran for The Witch. She and the midwife had an agreement to not meddle in each others business but this was a dire situation. Across the dirt paths that crossed the village to the edge of the hut the man ran.
By the time he reached to hut, the man was winded and pale but unwilling to stop for breath. One can imagine his surprise when he clasped the door handle in his hand and a shriek was emitted from inside. The wail resonated across the area, warbling up and down in low octaves. The last of the blood in the man’s face drained away when he realized what was wrong with The Witch. Shadows bled from under the door in thick ropes, reaching for the man. He pulled away from the door as the sturdy wooden door began to crack in places around the edge. At last, a bloodied hand burst from the upper corner of the door where the oak panels had splintered away. It flailed blindly, then withdrew. All went quiet. The cries of the woman across the village roused the man. Hesitating only for a second, he began to beat the door.
“My lady witch! It’s Allis, she’s giving birth! I don’t know what to do and the midwife is gone. Will you help us?” Silence. “My lady witch! Witch!!!” The door knocked the man aside as it flew open. Bloodied and visibly exhausted, The Witch stood in the door way and looked blindly across town.
“I told her: leave no person unaided and I will not bother you. Leave none unaided…” The Witch muttered with growing intensity. When her voice reached a scream, she took to the streets, her feet never touching the ground. The man dared not follow her. A difficult birth on the other side of town was now the least of the village’s problems.
Now, little is known about what happened in the hut of Allis that night. All that is known is that strange shadows crept around that night, stealing away both mothers. They died quickly, leaving only withered husks of bodies behind, bodies that crumbled to dust when lifted for burial. The shadows came again the next evening as well, taking the miller’s three children and the carpenter’s apprentice as it’s next victims. When the mayor’s wife died, the village took action. They decided that The Witch let out demons to hunt the villagers. They drove her up the mountainside, away from all that she strove to keep safe. In the wake of the hysteria, the two children of the first victims were left in The Witch’s old hut at the mountain’s base. If the shadows left on them might pollute the other children if allowed to live. It was agreed that this was the most “humane” course of action.
It has always been known that life in not kind, but it can be convenient for those seeking revenge. The two children were taken in by The Witch, though she never claimed to be their mother. The slightly older of the two was a boy, dark haired and restless. The younger, fairer girl was more at peace with the world around her. When she was hungry, she gave a call and waited patiently for The Witch to bring whatever she was able to steal from the unsuspecting villagers. The boy was more vindictive. He did not, could not understand why the other boys in the village taunted him so. He took to fighting with them whenever he could. As customary at the time, The Witch took the two children to a small wooded area a few miles from the village to determine what their fates may be. A few curious villagers followed at a safe distance until The Witch called up the plants along the path’s edge to trip them. The Witch laughed openly at their curses and cries of irritation as they it the rocky path for the third or fourth time in a few minutes. They were ten years old at the time, and The Witch was no longer youthful in appearance. She usually tapped into the mountain’s aura to keep away wrinkles but gave that up a few years ago. The Witch’s face lay deep in folds of skin. She almost envied the youth of her charges but was consoled by the fact she was smarter than both.
In that little wood, by the only pond for miles, the three sat on the plush grass to wait. At sunset, the demigoddess Spring would appear. To waste the long hours until then, they ate and explored the trees. The Witch taught them what plants were good to eat and what would be poison if handled incorrectly. At last, the skies paled to gold and a whirlpool formed in the center of the pond. Tendrils of light rose from the depths and wove into a ball. Leaves that lay dead on the ground were caught up in the thing. When they touched the light, the leaves became green once more as they spun and danced. The children watched, the boy in awe, the girl in silence.
A single thread teased itself from the rest and lay to rest on the boy’s head. With a voice like rain and fog, the thing said, “Rise, Theodore. Rise to lead those who are lost and air those who are endangered.”
Behind him, The Witch muttered, “Leave none unaided…”
“You shall be a great leader.” The tendril lifted from his head and settled onto the girl’s crown of light brown curls. “Daughter...Fate will not be kind to you. Suffering lies ahead, it paves the road you shall walk alone. There can be no escape for you. In the end, you shall die alone and forgotten at the hands of those you love. Be strong, for none can help you. You must help yourself. Even if the end is unavoidable, there is still a long road to be walked. How will you walk it?” The girl’s expression never changed during this. “How will you walk it, Allis?”
“Is there any other way to walk?” Allis spoke in a clear voice that seemed to pulse with strength. She rarely spoke, so The Witch was left dumbfounded. “I walk forward because it is the only way to walk my path.”
At last, the thread teased itself back into the globe of light. “Well met, my child. Well met.” Slowly, the whirlpool stopped spinning. The leaves fell into the water is a soft shower, wilting and withering until they lay dead once more.
The newly christened Allis took a step in the direction of home, turned, and said, “I guess we can go home now…” And with that, The Witch fainted.
Another four years passed. The boy called Theodore learned rapidly. He led a small band of the village boys in conquest of the green pastures around Port. Any threats were cast away in a flurry of stones and clubs. Soon he was accepted by the parents of his allies as well, as a leader and a protector. But he always lived in that little hut on the mountainside.
Allis was another story entirely. When she turned fourteen, she was forbidden to leave the mountain. There she spent her days learning from The Witch’s many books on diplomacy, strategy, and small charms. Allis showed a small talent at The Witch’s art, though The Witch would not teach her. On the twelfth month of the year, the first day of the month, The Witch lay on a cot under ragged sheets and breathed her last.
Now, to understand why this event was monumental to the entire village instead of only the hut’s residents, we must review the days leading up to The Witch’s natural death. Four days prior, the demigoddess in charge of blessing Port, Spring, rose up against her immortal brethren in a revolt. The attempt was quickly crushed and in the settling ashes, Spring lay dead. What was originally a victory over Spring’s anarchy quickly became bedlam as a seed was planted in the mind of her brother Isaac. He separated from the other immortal beings to establish a large monastery on a mountaintop. There his followers were taught to wield minor light, just as Spring once had. He called them his warlocks, “the oath breakers”, those who revolted against tyranny. Under the name Lightbringer, he successfully created an army to rival his four sibling immortals.
On the third day, Isaac became a threat to great for the other immortals. Fearing for their safety, the others began to mobilize their forces on a mountaintop far from Isaac. They called their followers priests and priestesses. Wielding a greater light than Isaac, the four became comfortable with their strengths.
On the third day battle raged as Lightbringer Isaac led his warlocks in combat with the priests of his siblings. From the morning of the third day to the night of the second day, fire rained from the heavens and there was no darkness as the two sided attacked with light. The morning of the last day marked the victory of the Priests. At last, night was allowed to fall on the land. Lightbringer Isaac vowed to avenge his sister’s death and continue her cause. He started a great storm across the entire planet. Rain poured until on the day of The Witch’s death, when the rain stopped and the world sat beneath the tides.
All who resided on the higher ground of the mountains were safe and woke the next morn to a new ocean. Mountains were now islands. The superstitious villagers of Port, too scared to climb The Witch’s mountain, perished in the night. Allis and Theodore found themselves trapped on the mountain with only a few trees, the hut, and a tiny spring that sat on the very tip of the mountain… err, island. Surprisingly, this was not as bleak as it seemed. The very face of the planet had been altered but the two clung to the hope of being rescued for a month.
On the last day of that month, Theodore chopped down one of the four trees on the island. He stripped of the bark and branches and left it to dry for the day. The next day he began to dig into the side of the trunk with a rock with little success. Allis watched from a nearby rock as he struggled. A heavy volume lay on her lap. If Theodore had cared to look at its cover, he would have seen it was entitled, “Ways of the Past: A Survival Guide for the Pre-Modern Man.” Allis was flipped open to a fascinating section on dug-out canoes. After Theodore’s third break, Allis put the book down. She walked to the edge of the island and reached into the water until it reached her shoulder.
“Allis, be careful!” He was always so scared of her drowning. They didn’t know how to swim; there was never enough water to make it an important skill.
Allis slowly drew the rock out of the water. It was black and sparkled faintly in the sun. Even though it was no larger than her fist, Allis moved slowly, as if it weighed a great deal. When it was settled on the ground beside her, she again reached into the water. This time she held a much larger piece of grey rock. Allis hefted this one with little effort. Theodore sat stunned as she smashed the two rocks together. The black rock split along a seam in its surface, leaving a jagged edge along one side. Allis then dragged the rock along a foot long section of the trunk. A thin ribbon of wood peeled away from the trunk. Taking a hint, Theodore took the rock and began once more.
By the next month, he was gone. Sailed away for help, he said.
“We can’t stay here forever. I’ll be back in a year for you, I promise.” A year came and went. Each day Allis would sit on the shore and wait. At last, she chopped down one of the last trees and began her canoe. When it was finished, Allis set sail for wherever she could go with an improvised boat and three days worth of dried fish and water.
When The Lightbringer saw Allis floating aimlessly along on the tenth day, he pitied her. Calling upon a great whale shark, he had the fish push the boat along to an island called Raven’s Keep. It was none other than his own fortress.
A Change of Pace: A New Chapter Begins
When Lightbringer established his island fortress, he decreed that one person take upon the greatest of sacrifices. They gave their rank to the Lightbringer to become the key figure in the war on the Immortal army. Wearing the insignia of the enemy, this woman became the Prophet who monitored to movements of the Priest army. She was shunned by the others as a person and used as a tool but never spoke a word against her position. The Prophet was proud in her small way. One day she was lounging out on her balcony, watching the tides break on the beach. A dark shape caught her attention. Even from the few hundred feet that she was away, The Prophet could identify the shape as a body, probably dead.
“Clara?” The young girl dashed up to the woman’s side. Frail as she seemed, Clara ran all of The Prophet’s errands. “Find Captain Issell and inform her that there is a body on the beach.”
“Ahhh, but wouldn’t that be a job for the corpse retrieval team? They would better determine where the body came from…” Clara flinched under The Prophet’s gaze despite the fact that she was smiling.
“Who said it was a dead body?” Clara ran as she had never run before, dodging soldiers and servants alike, hopping over objects and children and anything shorter than her waist. At last she spotted the Captain emerging from a doorway at the other end of a corridor. Clara gave her last bit of energy… only to hit a door as it opened a few feet from her destination. The crunch as her nose shattered echoed through the hall. The guard who had been speaking to Captain Issell ran for a medic. The Captain had spent her life as a scullery maid before joining the ranks of warlocks, so she had a fair amount of muscle on her stocky frame.
Captain Issell dragged the bleeding girl to the side of the corridor, and attempted to restrain her. Clara struggled to sit up and give her message. “Damn it, shut up, Clara!” At last the girl sat. It only took a second to heal her nose, but the medic said she had better not push it for a day or two, “Okay, what is so damn important that…”
“IT’S A BODY! THERE’S A BODY ON THE BEACH BY THE PROPHET’S BALCONY AND…”
“That’s it. What, is my lady prophet scared to see a corpse? Go tell the right department that someone needs to burn some trash, and tell your damn Prophet it will be gone by sunset.” Clara sat stunned as she looked beyond Captain Issell.
“You know, she said ‘body’, not ‘corpse’. Get that medic back here, I have a sick girl who needs help.” Captain Issell planted a patronizing smile on her face and turned to face the angry Prophet.
“My Lady Prophet, by the time we get her inside…”
The Prophet moved aside to reveal the body that lay behind her on the marble floor. “Shut it, Emily. Medic, now. GO.” At last, a medic was called for. The Prophet turned to the man who stood behind her. “My thanks for helping me carry her inside. If you’d like, I can send someone to gather a few coins together for your trouble…?”
He bowed deeply. “Its fine, my lady; Just be sure she get’s some water. The girl looks dehydrated.”
<that's all for now... emo >
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