Rocky Seas

BY CHRIS

“This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen!” Ariel’s blue eyes lit up with excitement as she leaned out of the carriage.

Two-Sentence Stories

Human bones were so much harder to cut than fish bones, the fish monger thought with a sigh as he picked up his shovel and dragged the now-heavy bag.

On the bright side, for once it doesn’t smell like fish. (Horror)

A fall

            Hale stood at the end of the jagged cliffside. The usual sensations accompanied his brooding. A thick fog enveloped the town as it always did. It seemed fitting that a somber town would be accompanied by such a natural phenomenon. The sun was weak here; there was a pitiful shining that barely peeked through the mist. Brine and rotten fish dominated the air. By the five gods he was sick of the smell of fish.  Sometimes, late at night he would try to remember what the sun felt like, what clean air felt like. In his dreams at night he would reach out and try to grasp the threadbare fragments of a happier time, but he always awoke empty-handed and empty hearted. There were some days he could scarcely gather the courage to step outside and return to work. There were some days he didn’t know if he was strong enough to listen to the unloading sailors talk about far away lands and distant destinations. Some days he didn’t know if he had the strength to endure whispers and conspiratorial accusations. There were many days like that.

         Today was not like that. A putrid rage festered inside his heart. It was a disorderly, aimless thing. It was directed at his village, at the people who judged him, at his family. At this whole blasted journey of life. There comes a time in every man’s life when he realizes he cannot swim upstream forever. Mortality is a sobering thing to lock eyes with, and it never flinches. The cough had started innocuous enough, but there was blood in it today. He knew the doctor wouldn’t see him. There came a surprising calmness as his fate was sealed, and Hale couldn’t find self pity within himself. Only anger and desperation. That is what brought him to the pier today. That is why he came to talk to Her.

         “Ah Hale, it’s been too long.” He turned to stare at her. She looked the same. At first glance one might consider her human, but if one looked closer, a feeling of unease would settle in. The smile was just a bit too large. The eyes seemed a bit too manic. The lopsided face gave the impression of someone sculpting a human by description alone. Given what he knew of Her, that was as reasonable as any other explanation. Hale nodded respectfully.

“How’s the wife?” She asked. Her voice almost sounded like someone saying the words backwards and playing the recording in reverse. Syllables were unsteady and stopped when they shouldn’t.

“You know she left.” Hale spoke bitterly. A wide smile split her garish face.

“Ah yes. You know, I told you I could only give you her love for 25 years.” Hale saw it in his mind again. The morning when, over breakfast, the spell had faded. His wife looked at him and he saw fear and repulsion, rather than love. The cough had started soon afterwards. 

The woman reached into her cloak and removed two glass jars. In one there was a bright golden light shimmering. In the other, there was a small red orb pulsing gently.

“Is this what you’ve come for? You should know, boy. I don’t do refunds. Your health and your ability to travel are mine.” Hale eyed the bottles. Oh to be healthy again. To be able to leave this blasted town.

“I know you don’t do refunds, but you do trades, don’t you?” The smile on the woman’s face grew wider, impossibly so. A jagged and haphazard tear separated her face and showed rows of needle-like teeth.

“Oh yes my dear. I do trades. Tell me, what have you to offer?”

“Anything.”

The woman took a deep breath in, as if savoring a delicious smell.

“Oh my dear boy. My dear, dear boy. If that’s your price I can give you your health back two fold. I can guarantee’ you’ll leave this town.”

“Whats the price?” Hale spoke cautiously.

“I want blood.” The woman’s pointed nose was inches away from Hale’s. He could see a depraved darkness in her eyes.

Hale drew a knife. “How much?” The woman laughed.

“Not yours,” She traced a long black nail across his face as gooseflesh spread up his arms. “I own you now, my boy. You’re too valuable.”

“If not my blood, then whose?” The woman took her hand of Hale’s face and gestured towards the direction of the town.

“Oh, I don’t care. Anyone’s. As much as you can give me.”

Realization dawned upon Hale. He glanced towards the town. He swallowed hard and began the trek towards his hometown. Soon, the woman was last to his sight. Swallowed by the mist.

 

Too Stupid to Read

For once it doesn’t smell like fish. But still, I couldn’t eat it.

My wife is such an awful cook, I cannot lie. Indeed it

feels as though she’s killing us and yet  she wants to feed it

to everyone who sits with her as she jumps up to reheat it.

It’s like she took old trash and guts and with a blender, beat it

Into vile concoction that makes one ask, “did she excrete it?”

I finally think I’ve had enough . I said we can’t repeat it.

From now on we’ll go out to eat, I don’t care if we need it

To be unanimous. I have to eat.  We were out before our feet hit.

But suddenly, I glanced across and  see her smile and feel it

Might have been a master plan, and she cleverly concealed it.

Hide and Feast

Fayna giggled rushed into the foyer. “I know you’re in here Haxan!” She scanned the room greedily like a dire wolf hungry for fried dwarf thighs with a side of eyeball soup! The thick tapestry to her left looked particularly thick this evening. The dire wolf would feast tonight! She pounced letting out an inadvertent growl.

“Ouch! Fayna! How did you find me?”

Fayna eyed his fingers, struck by how much they looked like little baby carrots.

“Fayna! Were you pretending to be a dire wolf again?”

“No! I mean yes. It’s so fun!”

“Well how did you find me? I pulled on the hanging rod and lifted my feet up when I heard you come in!”

“Instinct, Haxan! All dire wolfs have it.”

“Fayna you’re not a dire wolf, you’re a halfling.”

“And you’re a party pooper. Come on your turn. I’ll go hide.”

Haxan rolled his eyes, “No, that was the last one. Mother says I have to be at that feast tonight.”

Fayna laughed, “Are you going to be wearing that shirt with the funny collar and the handkerchiefs on the end of the sleeves?”

He blushed, “I don’t get to choose it Fayna.”

“No, no it’s perfect! You have the option of blowing your nose with your right sleeve or your left sleeve, ‘Hmmm I’d like to get boogers on my right side today.’” Fayna was laughing uncontrollably at this point.

Haxan let out a little giggle, “Well I did actually see old Councilman Emberstroke wipe his dentures on it once,”

“I knew it!” She cried and the two were sent into a fit of snorting and laughter.

Fayna punched Haxan’s arm, “Come on. You have time for one more.”

He looked hesitant but relented, “Fine, as long as it’s quick.”

Before he could offer any other objections Fayna rushed off to hide. What Fayna didn’t see was Haxan’s very insistent, very annoyed mother burst through the door, and gather him. Nor did she hear Haxan calling after her. Had she heard him she might not have chosen to hide in the kitchen. Furthermore, she might not have crawled under the rolling dining cart with the feast’s first course laid out on top. Then she might not have waited there for half an hour. And most importantly she might not have been rolled out into the grand dining hall, which was brimming with starving dwarfs prepared to feast until their belts begged for mercy. Fayna felt nothing like a dire wolf, and instead felt rather like her dwarven prey.

She had to escape! She had to get out of there! She could be stuck here all night! There was no way to gracefully emerge from underneath a dining cart! She would be in so much trouble! Haxan’s mom would probably just serve her with the rest of the stuffed pheasant, and slaughtered pork! She’d be halfling brisket! She scared herself and let out a little yelp.

Trembling, she lifted the table cloth half an inch. There was her salvation. Haxan was sitting not 10 feet from her, looking very uncomfortable in his stiff collared tunic. Desperate Fayna, pulled out a piece of copper, traced a symbol with her fingers, and cast Message. “Haxan! Help me!”

He started and wildly glanced around the room “Fayna?” he muttered.

“I’m under the dining cart! Don’t look or I’m halfling brisket!”

“What are you doing there?” he said out of the side of his mouth.

“I hid under here for hide and seek. Why didn’t you come find me you starveling stock-fish!” She recently begun making up her own insults. It wasn’t going well.

“My mom found me! She dragged me away before I could come get you! What do we do? She will kill me and you if you come out of there now!”

“I don’t know! You’ve got to do something though! Pretend like you hate whatever is on top of me!”

“I can’t do that! People already think I’m some snobby kid.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Fayna shot back.

Haxan sighed and nervously licked his lips. After a moment he took a deep breath, “This soup!” he said loudly, “For once it doesn’t smell like fish!” he paused for dramatic effect, “It smells like rotten fish! Away with it! Before I sully my clothes with my own vomit!” He flicked his handkerchief sleeves for emphasis.

The kitchen staff, mortified, quickly removed the cart from the dining hall and into the kitchen, spewing apologies the whole way. As soon as the coast was clear Fayna tumbled out of the cart, sweaty and red-faced. She scrambled out of the room laughing wildly, and breathed a sigh of relief. No halfling brisket tonight.

The man and the sea

It was a quiet evening on the docks. The man sat at the end of the pier, back against the beam as one foot rested on the wet wood and the other hung loosely over the edge. Occasionally the tide would hit a rock just right to kick up and lick his heel as it swayed. The only other motion was the gentle breeze playing with the flags.

Memories

For once it doesn’t smell like fish as I walk down the pier towards the beach. It’s a beautiful morning here in Seward, Alaska and I have a full day of charter kayaking and hiking with tourists. My first charter is with a Mr. Wilson, party of two. It’s probably a couple in their mid forties who want to experience the wonders of Alaska. It’s gorgeous up here. We’re famous for the humpback and killer whales, Kenai Glacier, and beautiful hiking trails. I love it up here, except for the fish smell. I reach the shore and pull out the kayaks. The couple will be here in a few minutes. I pull out the oars and organize the life jackets as I see them walk up.

I was wrong. They aren’t a couple in their mid forties. It’s a girl and her father. The dad looks like a nice guy. He’s tall, dark hair, and has crows feet around his eyes. He seems like he smiles a lot. He walks up to me, extends his hand and says, “Hi! I’m Mark! This is my daughter, Kara” he shakes my hand and gestures to his daughter. She smiles at me and shakes my hand. She’s about 17, has brown hair and blue eyes and looks a lot like her father. All in all, they look excited. 

I go over the basics of kayaking and life jackets, it seems like they’ve both done this before, and we set off. I push Kara and her father into the ocean and then get into my own kayak. I’ve done this for so long that I quickly catch up to them. The goal is to get to the other side of the bay so we can start our hike. It’s usually about a thirty minute trip to the bay and then a quick hike to the top of the hill. The view is stunning, that’s usually why people come on these trips. 

We make small talk as we row. Kara is going to be a senior in high school this year. Mark works as a psychologist with veterans and he loves it. I tell them a little bit about Seward and my job here. For the most part, the water is pretty calm. It’s too early in the season to see the whales but we do catch some glimpses of the seals. One actually comes up to Kara’s kayak and investigates her oar. But he’s a harmless thing. We get to the shore and pull our kayaks up. Now starts the hike. I remind Mark and Kara that there are wild animals in Alaska and we should be careful if any should come near us. Mark smiles and tells me about an experience last night where they saw a moose and her baby. Kara’s eyes get big as she adds how huge the moose was. I smile to myself. Moose are spectacular yet terrifying creatures. I’m glad they made it out safely. 

As we hike, I show Kara some wild blueberries that grow on the path. Her eyes light up as she tries one. We get up the hill and lookout over the bay. To the left, we can see the small town and beach where we came from. In front and to the right of us, we can see the Kenai Glacier and ocean. I can hear Kara gasp as she looks at the mountain range in front of her. Mark and Kara stare out over the bay and enjoy the beautiful weather and the absence of fish smell and I have a feeling that this will be a memory that they will never forget and one that they will always cherish. It’s beautiful day to make memories.

Malcolm the Meek

                He was an interesting choice for a spy and assassin.  In this time and age, you would think a spy would more easily fit in with the nobility – seeming to be one of them, regal of bearing statue, proud of countenance.  He wasn’t. 

                You would think an assassin would be crafty in the arts of murder – slitting wrists, garroting magistrates in their sleep.  He didn’t. 

                Most spies relied on stealth and duplicity; assassins were similar.  The former hid in public; the latter in the shadows of the night. 

                He did neither.

                No one knew how he generated the results he did.  Looking at him, you would think he was a peasant or local farmer, yet he always had one traveling companion, his squire, an emotional and physical doppelganger.  Usually, the squire made it back; sometimes he didn’t, and, when he didn’t Malcolm the Meek would take on another squire.  At least, those were the rumors.

And who choose Malcolm the Meek as a trade name?  Well, this fool did.  This very sought after, very rich assassin/spy did.  At least, he was reputed to be very rich if you could believe the prize money he was offered.  What did he do with all that cash?

                While all these things were true about the real Malcolm the Meek, the King wondered who he had before him.  Before him stood a peasant farmer and his bratty kid. 

                “Malcolm, I summoned you to…”

                “The Meek,” the assassin interrupted.  “Malcolm the Meek.”

                “Yes, yes, of course,” the king replied, a bit flustered, although a bit more sure about who stood before him.  No mere serf would have the hutzpahs.  It had been months, perhaps even years since anyone had the gall to interrupt him.

                “Malcolm the Meek, I summoned you to…”

                “You invited me, Sire.  I came of my own accord.  I do not respond to summons.”

                The court surrounding his Majesty could see the flames of annoyance rage inside the King.  If it had been one of them who acted so bold, a flogging, some time to rot in a dank dungeon and a final beheading was in store.  This was not a good King.  Most courtiers knew he was barely a King all.  An heirless beloved had died and this brute was the first to act.  Fortune favors the bold, they say.  To his face, they acclaimed him King Henry the First; to his backside, they taunted him as King Henry the Flatulent. 

                Since the King needed Malcolm the Meek, he swallowed his ire.  Beggars could not be choosers, although if Malcolm’s reputation were true, this choice was better than the best he could have ever made.

                “Good Sir,” the King began, omitting name and title this time…

                “For once it doesn’t smell like fish,” Malcolm the Meek unmeekly interrupted yet again.

                “What?” the King ejected, troubled by the lunatic in front of him.  His red face said it all.  Assassin or not, this waif had strayed too far. 

                “When I am ‘invited’ to courts, such as yours, they often provide me with a feast of roasted meat or baked fish.  I love meat; I hate fish.  Interestingly, you choose neither.  Why?”

                Flustered, the King decided not to play along, but stumbled into coherent and tried to get things back on track.  Clearly, this person was who he said he was – why else would he act as he did?  Knowing Malcolm’s lethal reputation, the King swallow pride and ire. 

                “I … sought for you … to … “ the King hesitantly began the foray.

                “You wish me to spy on King Alfonso’s court and, in particular, his wife, Princess Margaret?”

                The court was stunned.  The King openly gaped.  How on earth did this lowly wretch know that?  Malcolm the Meek looked sideways at this page – the glance said, Pay Attention.  Listen.  To Malcolm, males were squires; females were pages.  Little did anyone know that Malcolm the Meek was training them; his pages and squires always came back, as did always he.  When fully credentialed, he would send his students out into the world on their own, and start the process of looking for and training another.

                Malcolm the Meek waited, letting silence speak for him.

                Five minutes passed before anyone said anything or even move so much as to rustle their clothing.

                “Yes…” was all the King managed to say.

                Quicker than a jack terrier after a fox, Malcolm added: “To see if she would break with her Lord and join you here as your Queen?”

                Again, the court was stunned – was this the reason?  It was NOT the reason the King had openly proclaimed – he had argued Margaret could be the starting or access point for peaceful negotiations between the neighboring kingdoms.  Now they wondered whether he sought trade or triumph.  Looking at the King’s open distress, they begun to doubt.  Was Henry the Bold getting too bold?

                Another few moments passed before anyone said or heard anything.

                “Do you have my fee?  And my deposit?” Malcolm the Meek finally asked.  With a flick of his hand, the King, relieved at having something to do, summoned in seven well-armed guards and the 5,000 Guilders – Malcolm’s fee was always the same.  It took four behemoths to carry in the box full of coin. 

                A modest deposit of one Guilders was placed directly into Malcolm’s hand.  The remaining 4,999 would be paid upon satisfaction.  It was said that Malcolm the Meek was always paid as he always satisfied.

                “Before I accept,” Malcolm began – they all knew Malcolm did not always agree; more often than not he walked away –no one know why he choose either – “before I accept, I have three questions for you, Sire.  I will not accept your task unless you answer in truth.”

                So, this part of the rumors were true, both court and King thought.  It was told that Malcolm the Meek always asked three questions before accepting or declining a commission.

                Again, with the wave of his regal hand, Malcolm was ‘permitted’ to proceed.

                “Do you know the poison made from Rosary Pea?” Malcolm asked.

                “Yes, we all do,” the King quickly admitted.  “For that reason, anyone caught with Rosary Pea is either imprisoned or executed or both.”

                “Good.  Well answered.  Rosary Pea is a coward’s utensil.  Now, my next question is less of an inquiry and more of an experiment.  I understand that you are so fast, you can snatch an incoming arrow right out of the air,” to which comment, the King looked pleased since, not only was it true, more importantly, it was known out there in the world. 

“I would not dare to shoot an arrow at you, Sire, but perhaps I could toss this apple,” to which the King readily assented, bemused, chuckling to himself how easy this test would be.  “Thank you.  Please stand and place your hands on your head.  Thank you, Sire.  I mean no disrespect, and I appreciate your willingness to play along with my little charade.”  Instantly changing tone from a light jest to a near command, Malcolm ordered, “Now, Sire, do not let your hands down before I have my page empty the contents of your waistcoat’s front left pocket.” 

The King flinched, as if to remove his hands from atop his head. 

“Sire, do not remove your hands!!  For if you do, all in this room will know you are either a coward or a liar,” Malcolm all but shouted, no longer Meek at all.

                Perhaps, the King thought, I can bluster through this fiasco,but when four Rosary Peas were pulled front his pocket, and the court palpably turned from courtiers to mobsters, blustering through was looking doubtful.

                Ceasing control of the situation, the Meek turned even more ferocious.  “How many Peas did you drop into your predecessor’s, Good King William’s, soup?”  And with that question, the court erupted, some immediately attacking the king killing him before he could even raise his own sword (apparently he was not that fast); others dived for the gold, fighting with the seven guards and four giants for Guilders;  others, perhaps wiser, just ran away.  The maelstrom tore through thick and thin who lingered.

                Malcolm the Meek and his page just walked unnoticed from the room.

                “Did you hear it?” Malcolm asked before too long.

                “I thought I did,” the page answered.  “Just before you began your three questions, I saw four bright red seeds in his front left pocket.”

                “Interesting,” Malcolm said.  “It seems you may have “The Eye”.  I have “The Voice”.  It matters not.  We can each work with what we have.”

                “But, how do you know what to do?”

                “I don’t,” Malcolm confessed.  “If I am wise, and humble, and I am not always wise or humble, I listen.  When I listen, I hear.  What I hear, I do.  A few weeks ago, I heard the call to go to this Court.  When I stood there before the King, I heard those three questions.  I have heard such questions before.  I never know the answers or how it will play out.  Over the years, I have learned to trust “The Voice”, as I call it.  As you saw, this Voice seems to reveal evil secrets that need to be brought into the light.  I believe we have been given these gifts from On High.  Shall we go forth and learn together?”

                And, with the single Guilders in his pocket, they did.

Trojan Horse

BY CHRIS

The hero

The wind moving through the dusklit summer’s eve was the type that carried stories with it. Breanne was a united town. And in days like this when the wind blows in a certain gentle restlessness many of the local children find themselves gathered around Alia. She would pluck the threads of curiosity fr!om their minds and weave a tapestry that would dance in the fading light. She was not a young woman, but she hardly seemed old. A constant, serene expression was placed upon her face.

“Well my little goblins, what story would you like to hear today?” She would call the children a differen mythical creature every ime, and they loved play-acting as such.

“Tell us more about the hero of Shandrane!” One of the children clamored to shouts of agreement from his peers. Alia smiled faintly. This was no surprise.

“Shall I tell you of the Hero’s spouse?” The kids hooted and hollered in a goblinoid expression of glee. This was unfamiliar territory to them. Normally it was abou the hero outwitting evil; a spouse was a tantalizing new treat of information.

“One day the wind whispered to the hero, calling them away” This was standard procedure for an opening to the story. “The wind lead the hero past mountains, and past dragons, for you see, the hero had been talking to the wind. Asking it for help.”

“What did the hero need ms alia?” The oldest and most precocious of the children asked. They never heard of the hero needing help.

“The hero asked for companionship. They had journeyed so long. And lost so many friends.” Some of he children winced at the last part. She had recently told them the story of the betrayal of An’kell and it had been a very poignant telling.

“She had walked up to many mountains with only the wind as company. She had traveled to many plains with only he stars to speak to. She was lonely. So she cried to the wind, and the wind took her. The wind promised her she would find someone and would never be alone again. She was taken to a small town.”

“A town like Breanne?” A small dark haired girl asked.

“Yes, quite similar. But far away, past the plains of ire. She was told to buy a meal, and a tea set for the meeting with her spouse, and he would arrive. So she did. She approached the baker and the baker said ‘oh mighty hero of Shandrane, you have honored me. Take whatever you want’ But the hero just took some simple breads and left him with payment. ‘Thank you. I need this food for a meeting with my spouse.’ The baker was shocked and followed her out of his store. He had to meet the spouse of the hero of shandrane. “

“Then she met the owner of the tea shop. And he almost fainted, but offered her anything she like. She asked ‘which tea would you recommend for meeting a spouse?” The tea keeper supplied the tea and followed the hero out, dumbstruck. He had to meet the spouse of such a famous person. So it went with every shop owner until she had a small crowd. ” Alia paused. The children were eagerly awaiting the next part.

“She followed the wind to a small pond outside town. She set up her food and tea and waited.

Much of the crowd left after the first day. As the dusk of the second day stretched forth its dark hands many more left. By he 7^th day all had left.”

“7 days! The spouse made the hero wait that long! That’s so mean. The hero deserves better” The dark haired girl said.

“Ah yes, but the spouse was waiting until they could be alone. And the spouse was waiting until the full moon. Never underestimate the a full moon. As the moon rose high the stars fell. They shifted themselves into a person. It was a shimmering figure, made of the blackness of the night sky but dotted with bright stars. It spoke. ‘I love you’ The hero recognized the voice. It was the voice of the wind. It was the voice of the swaying and creaking of trees. The voice that tells a tender flower to bloom, or a small bird to fly.  The hero’s spouse was the be the caretaker and protector of this world, Telnen. Telnen took the hero to live amongst the stars, but the hero had to return. To this day, they still talk. And every full moon telnen visits, and they share tea.” The children clapped with the ending. They protested when she told them they needed to go to bed, but they were silenced easily enough. They knew alia never bended. As alia walked home she looked towards the twinkling stars.

“I miss you, my love.”

The wind blew around her as Telnen sent his love back.