I'm glad that Miles is back on his feet again! And pleased that it didn't take too long to clear it all up as well -- sometimes it's easy to forget how effective modern medicine can be against things we understand reasonably well!
This has run over a tad, for which I apologise. I expected I might need two days to tell it all, but not multiple posts as well.
A whispering wind In the long, dark days after the Lord Imperator died, when the skies darkened with ash; and volcanoes belched steam and soot into the atmosphere for years on end, a young woman with waist-length blonde hair toiled in the fields to grub out a living. Crops failed with dismal regularity and animals suffered as much as the people, but a handful struggled through the leanest of years, persevering and persisting despite the bleakness. Late one autumn when it seemed as though her cellar would be bare for the winter, dooming her to a slow, cold death where hunger gnawed at her stomach and frost gnawed at her bones, a man perhaps a year or two younger than her and clinging to a walking staff for support collapsed at her feet. Her heart ached with the pain of knowing that she had too little food for one, let alone two, and as he shivered and moaned softly she lifted her hoe to end his suffering. Perhaps his blood would nourish the ground enough to grow potatoes, she thought. Then he lifted his head and his bright green eyes -- surely feverish -- met hers and she set the hoe aside. She ignored the clamorous voice in her head that protested that they would both starve and die and picked him up under the arms, unsurprised at how light he was, and carried him into her house; a part-ruined remnant of the days of the Lord Imperator. She set him in a bedroom where all the walls still stood and the room retained heat still and portioned out the meagre food she had, trying not to feel resentful, and fed him. Then she sat at the end of the bed for half an hour, watching him sleep, and wondered what had brought him here and why. But after that short while the need to find something -- anything -- to eat, drove her back to her aching feet and tired legs, and she foraged further afield than she had in months. As she reached what was the limit she could walk and still return in daylight she saw to her astonishment what seemed like a patch of brambles on which luscious blackberries caught the light and shone like tiny beacons of joy. She looked hither and thither, cautious that such bounty should be untouched and undiscovered, but there was no-one in sight. She took a hesitant step forward, looking around like a wary dog, and around her the wind picked up just a little.
"Beware," whispered the wind, and she looked about her again. The blackberries called to her though, and she took another step. "Beware," whispered the wind again, and once more she checked about her for any signs of life or hostility. With everything still quiet, she took another step, and the wind sighed softly and whispered:
"Promises made must be promises kept And sorrow will turn to mirth. One will be born and will be Adept, And the other will heal the earth."
Though the words registered she was hurrying now to the bushes where the blackberries clustered and glistened and tempted and she gathered them quickly and eagerly, eating a handful to satisfy the tight knot of hunger in her stomach still. She filled her small, soft handsack and her pockets, and then when there were still berries left over she considered for a moment whether to pile them into her skirt and carry them that way, but a new voice, sharp and accusatory cut through her thoughts and made her look down. Crawling out from the middle of the bramble patch was a goblin and it was carrying a rusty knife with a blade as long as her hand. "Stealing! Stealing my berries!" "I didn't know they were yours!" "Ignorance is no excuse! Payment! You must pay for the berries, or I will make you pay!" She stared at the goblin. She remembered money, but who had use for it now? "How much?" she said, confusion slowing her words. "You want money?" "Hah! What use is money to us? No, I will have your firstborn." "Like in... fairy-tales?" "Whatever you tell yourself, but that is the price. When your firstborn child turns eight, then they shall be mine." "Of course," she said, wondering why on earth the goblin would think she would bring a child into this miserable, depleted world. "Thank-you." "I will not forget," said the goblin folding its arms and narrowly missing slicing its ear off. "See that you do not either."
3 comments:
I'm glad that Miles is back on his feet again! And pleased that it didn't take too long to clear it all up as well -- sometimes it's easy to forget how effective modern medicine can be against things we understand reasonably well!
This has run over a tad, for which I apologise. I expected I might need two days to tell it all, but not multiple posts as well.
A whispering wind
In the long, dark days after the Lord Imperator died, when the skies darkened with ash; and volcanoes belched steam and soot into the atmosphere for years on end, a young woman with waist-length blonde hair toiled in the fields to grub out a living. Crops failed with dismal regularity and animals suffered as much as the people, but a handful struggled through the leanest of years, persevering and persisting despite the bleakness. Late one autumn when it seemed as though her cellar would be bare for the winter, dooming her to a slow, cold death where hunger gnawed at her stomach and frost gnawed at her bones, a man perhaps a year or two younger than her and clinging to a walking staff for support collapsed at her feet. Her heart ached with the pain of knowing that she had too little food for one, let alone two, and as he shivered and moaned softly she lifted her hoe to end his suffering. Perhaps his blood would nourish the ground enough to grow potatoes, she thought. Then he lifted his head and his bright green eyes -- surely feverish -- met hers and she set the hoe aside.
She ignored the clamorous voice in her head that protested that they would both starve and die and picked him up under the arms, unsurprised at how light he was, and carried him into her house; a part-ruined remnant of the days of the Lord Imperator. She set him in a bedroom where all the walls still stood and the room retained heat still and portioned out the meagre food she had, trying not to feel resentful, and fed him. Then she sat at the end of the bed for half an hour, watching him sleep, and wondered what had brought him here and why. But after that short while the need to find something -- anything -- to eat, drove her back to her aching feet and tired legs, and she foraged further afield than she had in months.
As she reached what was the limit she could walk and still return in daylight she saw to her astonishment what seemed like a patch of brambles on which luscious blackberries caught the light and shone like tiny beacons of joy. She looked hither and thither, cautious that such bounty should be untouched and undiscovered, but there was no-one in sight. She took a hesitant step forward, looking around like a wary dog, and around her the wind picked up just a little.
"Beware," whispered the wind, and she looked about her again. The blackberries called to her though, and she took another step. "Beware," whispered the wind again, and once more she checked about her for any signs of life or hostility. With everything still quiet, she took another step, and the wind sighed softly and whispered:
"Promises made must be promises kept
And sorrow will turn to mirth.
One will be born and will be Adept,
And the other will heal the earth."
Though the words registered she was hurrying now to the bushes where the blackberries clustered and glistened and tempted and she gathered them quickly and eagerly, eating a handful to satisfy the tight knot of hunger in her stomach still. She filled her small, soft handsack and her pockets, and then when there were still berries left over she considered for a moment whether to pile them into her skirt and carry them that way, but a new voice, sharp and accusatory cut through her thoughts and made her look down. Crawling out from the middle of the bramble patch was a goblin and it was carrying a rusty knife with a blade as long as her hand.
"Stealing! Stealing my berries!"
"I didn't know they were yours!"
"Ignorance is no excuse! Payment! You must pay for the berries, or I will make you pay!"
She stared at the goblin. She remembered money, but who had use for it now?
"How much?" she said, confusion slowing her words. "You want money?"
"Hah! What use is money to us? No, I will have your firstborn."
"Like in... fairy-tales?"
"Whatever you tell yourself, but that is the price. When your firstborn child turns eight, then they shall be mine."
"Of course," she said, wondering why on earth the goblin would think she would bring a child into this miserable, depleted world. "Thank-you."
"I will not forget," said the goblin folding its arms and narrowly missing slicing its ear off. "See that you do not either."
Greg - yeah, we're grateful it wasn't anything overly serious and was remedied so (relatively) quickly.
Well this was a fun departure from your usual. Lots of great details carried be away to this setting. Looking forward to its continuation!
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