Tag Archives: short story

The Last Journey

Posted on by CM Schofield
Black and white image of train tracks criss crossing like an X

The door was stuck. Completely and utterly. It rattled with the movement of the train, budging just enough to tease. The carriage grew warmer – did it really, or simply an imagining, a symptom of the incarceration? My fine silk shirt stuck to me like cling film. My cell mate aboard the carriage was down at the other end and shook their head, hands falling limply from the door. They’d already missed their stop, of course they’d give up so easily.

I took a few steps back and rammed my shoulder into the door, even though I knew it opened by sliding. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t move. The heat crawled its way up my chest and through my shoulders, into my throat and mouth, choking me, and with it a taste of fury at the ridiculous circumstances of the morning which had resulted in me having to use public transport. My fellow captive in the faulty carriage opened their mouth and, with a single one of my glares, they closed it.

The train seemed to move ever faster, the strange sideways pull amplifying, the feeling of my organs sliding lanced a dread into my bones as we hurtled down the tracks. The light from outside vanished as we entered a tunnel, the windows becoming vacant voids of black. A faint wave of nausea eased up my body. I’d travelled this line many times, back before I could collect cars like trading cards. There were no tunnels on this route. I turned back to my fellow captive aboard this ghost train. Or I would have done, if they were there.

I spun, again and again, dashing between the seats. They were gone. The incessant, burning heat of the carriage, crawling over my skin like ants, ceased as if a bucket of ice water fell over me in cascades of confusion and despair. My flesh stung as my sweat crystallised, freezing along the lengths of my arms, through my scalp, down my back, making me one with my sodden silk shirt.

I spun a final time, the film of ice crackling with my movements and I came face to face with my fellow captive, stood uncomfortably close to me. At last, I recognised their face, and I knew I would never leave that train carriage. Something in the eyes, a glint of emptiness that reflected the abyss within. It was strangely liberating in a way, despite the mile wide terror that wedged itself into my being. It was all over now.

“I thought I had 10 years.” None of my fear was in my voice, just resignation.

“It’s been 10 years,” the demon said.

“Oh.”

The demon looked at me in their human guise, eyes twinkling with amusement and hunger, and I realised that, instead of money, perhaps I should have made a deal for better time keeping.

The Summons: Part 3

Posted on by CM Schofield

Start with Part 1 here!

Harris forced them forward another two steps, a panicked sound escaping their throat. He let go of their shoulders and Jay realised what was about to happen. They just had the time to snake a finger through his belt buckle before the push came. A sudden burst of force against Jay’s back sent them shooting forward faster than they could keep up with. Their arms straightened as far as they could go and pain shot through their finger, but the buckle came free as they stumbled away.

Harris swore but he sounded far away now. Jay floundered on, unable to right themself with their hands still bound behind their back. They lasted three more steps before they finally lost their footing but the cold, hard smack against the stone floor never came.

Face first, Jay collided with what must have been Gelethil’s chest, his arms wrapping around them and supporting their weight. His touch wasn’t warm – it was hot. Falling against him had the same effect as stepping into a steaming shower on a cold winter’s day. He lifted them easily back to their feet and Jay tried to pull away but he held them still, firm yet gentle. One of his hands slid down their back until it reached Jay’s own. He carefully prised the belt buckle away from them.

Good, he thought after a few seconds, keeping them softly pinned against his chest with one arm. This will do nicely.

Jay’s body was so tense it ached. Here they were – in total darkness, held captive by a demon. Just this morning they were on the bus to work. His claws brushed against their back and their mind ceased to function. Gelethil must have sensed it, giving them a gentle shake.

We’re almost there, he told them. I still need you.

Jay just about managed a nod, difficult with their face pressed against him. They were less inclined to pull away now that their skin grew used to his heat, realising just how cold they had truly gotten. A shudder ran through them and Gelethil held them slightly tighter.

“You see?” came Caine’s echoing voice. “You’re fine.”

An almost inaudible whimper escaped them. With his other hand, Gelethil patted their head in a rather similar manner to how someone slightly afraid of dogs might pat an Alsatian.

Answer them.

“Fuck you,” Jay said, the sound muffled by Gelethil’s chest.

Caine tutted. “Now, now, all I need to do is flick a switch and you’re trapped with a desperate beast. Does that sound fun to you?”

Her conversational tone infuriated them. Gelethil stopped patting and moved his hand back to Jay’s. With a simple flick of his finger, the rope was severed. Their arms fell to their sides and they flexed their digits as the blood flooded back.

Give me your hand, he said and they held one up in the darkness. Gelethil placed the belt buckle into their palm. It already radiated heat. Caine was speaking again but Jay wasn’t listening as the demon put his hand over theirs, closing their fingers around the square buckle. He guided them deeper into the darkness.

Caine cleared her throat pointedly.

Gelethil crouched down to the ground, taking Jay with him. Such low level agents these must be, to be so foolish.

Agents? What’s going on?

“Do you want these lights turned back on?” Caine persisted. “Answer me.”

Jay glanced up and saw the silhouetted outlines of their captors against the eerie red glow. Gelethil guided their hand down to the stone floor.

She’s going to- Jay began, but he didn’t give them a chance to finish.

Do you feel the binding? he asked, pulling their fingers along the rough stone and onto something smooth. I can’t damage them myself.

“That’s it,” Caine said, her heel clicks sounding. “I warned you.”

Jay saw the shadowy shape of her arm moving up to the switch on the wall and held their breath. A slow, deep rumble of laughter emanated from Gelethil.

“Yes, you did,” he said aloud, his voice a low and satisfied purr.

Jay’s jaw dropped and time slowed. Their captors panicked and Caine hit the lights. Gelethil screamed, throwing Jay away and falling to the ground. Harris reached for the dial, cranking it up. Jay’s eyes burned and thick, black smoke erupted from Gelethil’s skin. They looked down, one of the pristine, obsidian lines running right between their knees. In a split second decision they chose what they prayed was the lesser of two evils.

Jay raised their hand up, bringing the edge of the buckle down on the paint. The tiniest piece of black flecked off, twirling through the air and landing with a gentle pitter on the stone.

The silence was striking. Both the smoke and Gelethil were gone. On the other side of the room stood the two captors, appearing frozen in place. The pair shared a glance and Harris dove for the door. He battered the thing but it would not budge.

“What do you want?” Caine asked, her previously authoritative voice trembling.

That rich laugh came from directly behind Jay and their heart rose to their throat. He was free, they knew. He was free and he was powerful.

“You’ve already given me everything I want,” Gelethil said. His hand lightly curled over Jay’s shoulder and they glanced at those long, frightening claws.

Caine paled. “It was all an act,” she said, the horrifying realisation shaking her. “The lights, the language…”

Jay’s mind raced, blood pounding in their ears. Had this all been about them?

“It was her,” Harris shouted, pointing at Caine. “She’s one of them! It’s just a job to me!”

Anger flared in Jay’s chest as they recalled the people coming for them, stopping the bus. They remembered the blood and the bodies, and their fear melted away in the heat of their outrage.

“She didn’t kill those people,” they spat. “You did.”

“Excellent,” Gelethil said. “He dies first.”

The room dropped into darkness. No red glow, just a crushing black that made Jay momentarily fear they’d gone blind. The warmth of Gelethil’s hand left their shoulder. Far ahead of them, something swiped through the air, followed by an agonised scream. Jay shuffled backwards in the darkness, a thick tremor in their limbs, until their back hit the wall. Caine shrieked, first in fear and then pain. Jay cradled their head, covering their ears, trying to block out the wailing, clattering and tearing sounds. The spattering. The pleading.

They buried their face in their knees and became so efficient at wishful thinking that all they heard was their own sobs. Time passed. Eventually they became aware of the stillness in the room. They risked a glance up. The room was light again. The opposite end was painted red. They retched. Sat cross-legged before them, covered in blood, was Gelethil.

“What an odd sort of day,” he said conversationally. His hands rested on his knees, blood lazily dripping from them.

Jay opened their mouth and air came out. No sound. They tried again to no avail.

“At first I truly thought you were one of them, you know,” he carried on. “I’m pleased you aren’t.”

“Why?” Jay managed, nothing more than a breath.

He shrugged. “Makes things easier. My escape, and now the rest of our business together, I expect.”

Jay shuddered.

“You’re cold,” Gelethil said, extending a bloody hand. “Come here.”

They shook their head frantically and tried to huddle closer to the wall. “What business?”

“These people, this… ‘organisation’ has been summoning demons and binding them. I want to kill these rats and free my brethren so we can return to our home.”

“Home?”

Gelethil’s eyes flicked to the floor and back up to Jay’s again. They felt a little sick.

“It’s real?” Jay asked.

“As real as I am.”

“What do you need me for?”

His tail flicked from side to side behind him. “Information.”

Jay’s gut roiled. “I swear I don’t know anything.”

Gelethil shuffled closer, leaning forward with a glint in his eye that caused Jay to tense further. “Not yet,” he said. “Torture is unreliable. You can read minds like a book.”

Jay considered his words. He was right, even if it did take somewhat more effort than that. Their mind crept back to the blood splattered bus and they looked up at the crimson stained walls. Jay probably wasn’t the first innocent to be taken but they might very well have been the first to live. Their brow hardened. Jay wasn’t tied anymore and the people who had wronged them were gone. Their heart was steadying. It was worth a shot.

“You want to stop this organisation, free your people and what? Just leave?” they asked. Their sense reached out, subtly picking their way into his head, like mental fingers flicking through the files of his mind.

They found purchase.

“That’s all I want,” Gelethil said, holding their eyes. “We’ve no interest in this realm.”

Able to focus, their sense held. It was the truth. Jay thought once more of that blood smeared bus and smiled.

“Alright,” they said. “I’m in.”

I hope you enjoyed and if you did, why not check out some of my other short stories!

The Summons: Part 2

Posted on by CM Schofield

Read Part 1 here!

“Well?” Caine asked.

“I’m getting there, give me a sec,” Jay snapped, scowling.

“Harris,” she said with a sigh.

The man’s fist pounded into Jay’s jaw, knocking their head to the side, splattering blood across the floor. It was dazzlingly bright in the pure, white light. The punch hurt. A lot. Jay groaned, closing their eyes. The initial sensation subsided quickly but a strong, pulsing ache was left behind. When Jay looked up again, they flinched: Gelethil stood at the edge of the runes closest to them. He was far taller than Jay had guessed – taller than any human. His face was stern and cold. With a squirm from their stomach, Jay noticed the thin haze of smoke rising from his flesh. The light was literally burning him. His next thoughts sounded incredulous.

You truly are a prisoner.

“Find out what we need,” Caine said. “Or that’ll seem like nothing.”

Jay’s mouth tasted of iron. Yeah. I am. They rolled their eyes. Thought it was a trick?

He nodded.

They want to know what your price is, Jay projected. Whatever that means.

Gelethil snarled, his ears dropping flat along the side of his head. I am no Bargainer, feeding on greed. This little organisation thinks they are so clever. Pah! They are insects, playing with things they do not understand.

“He says he doesn’t have a price,” Jay relayed to their captors. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

Harris stepped behind Jay and grabbed their hair, jerking their head back. They cried out but fell silent as something cold pressed against their cheek. They glanced down to see a knife glinting there.

“An answer or an eye,” he growled. “Pick.”

“I can’t make him talk,” Jay spat back in a poor attempt to hide their terror.

A low, feral rumble drew the attention of all three humans.

What’s happening? Gelethil asked.

The blade was pressed harder against them and a sound escaped their throat. “They want an answer!” Jay cried out, both aloud and in thought.

Gelethil showed his lengthy fangs in a sneer. Idiots can’t even summon the right demon and they think they could handle a Bargainer?

“Tell it these lights only get brighter,” Caine said through grit teeth.

They’re going to torture you, Jay pressed on, limbs trembling. The blade bit their flesh.

How?

The lights. They get stronger.

He growled and swore but then his ears perked up above his head, a wicked smirk creeping onto his face. Tell them I want you.

Jay balked. “What?” they asked aloud, stricken.

“What did he say?” Caine demanded. Harris flicked her an uncertain look.

Tell them, Gelethil insisted. Trust me or trust them.

Great choices. You want to EAT me, Jay thought. With their chest still tight, breathing took focus.

I was thinking of your other suggestion.

Harris moved the blade closer to their eye, a hot dribble of blood running over their cheek.

“Me,” Jay said, barely a whisper. “He wants me.”

That gave both captors pause. The pair glanced at each other before the woman nodded. Jay held their breath but Harris simply withdrew, taking the knife away. They released a shuddering exhale as the pressure was removed from their flesh.

Gelethil’s grin darkened. It seems you are an acceptable price. Ask the bitch what she wants.

What do you want with me?

Ask her, he replied curtly.

Jay’s mouth felt dry as sand, despite the blood. “He’s asking what you want,” they managed, at length, to say.

Caine chuckled. “Excellent. Tell it we’ll get to that after I’ve asked it some questions.”

Jay relayed the message as if on autopilot, too stunned for anything more. Gelethil threw his head back and laughed, a deep and rolling rumble. He then shook his head.

Tell them that isn’t how this works.

Jay did.

Caine glowered. “Turn up the lights.”

Harris mumbled discontentedly but reached for a dial on the wall opposite the switch and turned, eliciting a click from it. The brightness of the room doubled. Gelethil screamed and dropped to his knees, clutching at his eyes as thicker steam plumed from his skin. Jay shuddered, his agony pulling them from their shock.

“There are four more settings.”

Jay glanced uncertainly between the dial and the demon twice before relaying the message. Gelethil said nothing, curling over in his anguish. Jay chewed their lip anxiously. On one hand, he was terrifying and would kill all three of them given the chance. On the other, Jay and this demon were both captives, both wronged by these people.

“He said make it dark and he’ll talk.”

Caine took a long moment to consider the offer, brow furrowing theatrically. Taking her time, she reached up and flicked off the light, plunging them all back into the eerie red. Gelethil gasped and there was a soft thud that Jay assumed to be him falling to the ground.

Sweet darkness, came the velvet voice of his mind.

Jay exhaled slowly. I told them you’d talk if they killed the lights.

“Now,” Caine began, “to my questions.”

She had a series of queries about the dark world below and the truth of demons, which Gelethil answered tersely. Thanks to their talent, Jay had always suspected the world was not as mundane as advertised, but hearing such things discussed so candidly was chilling. The questions moved onto magic and the answers became slower and increasingly vague until she had to ask questions exceedingly specifically. Jay’s mind ticked through the exchange. Enough time passed that they began to feel brave again.

Has anything you’ve told them been true? They could practically feel his smirk from the darkness.

Of course not. This is not knowledge for mortal minds, much less these morons.

What about the things you told me?

My name is Gelethil, he replied. And I do very much intend to devour them both.

Jay’s shoulder was nudged, a reminder of the presence of Harris and his knife, and they relayed more of the demon’s bullshit.

And me? they asked.

He was silent for a time. You never told me your name.

They hesitated. Jay.

A telepath is a useful thing, the demon mused. Almost a shame I can’t make a true bargain for you.

Jay’s skin crawled.

Yes, a pity, Gelethil went on. Still, I’m sure we can come to some arrangement. You can tell them I’m done answering questions now. They’re not getting anything else until you’re with me.

“What?!” Jay exclaimed aloud.

“What did it say?” Caine asked. She rose from the desk, interest piqued.

Jay opened their mouth, heart thundering, but no sound came.

You need to listen very carefully, Gelethil said.

“What did it say?” she repeated, this time a barked order.

Answer her, the demon said, a surprising softness to his voice. Make sure she knows she has no choice.

Harris took a fistful of Jay’s hair and they grunted in discomfort.

When they bring you, you must grab something sharp or hard. You MUST.

I’m tied, I can’t-

Do it! he commanded, making them flinch.

With voice quaking and no other plan, Jay gave Gelethil’s demands to their captors. They braced for a punch that never came. Caine gestured and they both moved behind Jay, far enough that the ensuing whispers were inaudible. Jay glanced around, desperately looking for anything that might fit the bill. It was difficult in the gloom but a faint glint caught their eye. Harris’ knife was sat upon the desk to their side. Jay’s hands slickened with perspiration.

What’s happening? The demon asked.

I don’t know, I can’t hear, Jay replied, feeling sick. I don’t like this, I don’t trust you. They flexed their mental muscles to try and pick at his brain again but to the same result. They needed focus and none of that would come in this state.

It’s me or them, he shot back. I won’t hurt you. I need you.

And when you don’t?

Silence.

Gelethil? Jay ventured, breath quickening.

The only sound was the steps of their captors returning. A near silent whine escaped their throat. They released a short, startled yelp as something grabbed their wrists. Harris was untying the bonds that held them to the chair. They instantly felt sick with regret.

“No!” Jay cried, limbs surging with desperate strength as they writhed against their bonds. “He’s gonna eat me!”

“Not until he’s free,” Caine replied, a cruel sneer on her face. “He needs you at least until then.”

Jay swore. Profusely. “You can’t do this!”

Come, come, little one, the demon crooned.

Jay, far less substantial than the bulky Harris, was easily pulled to their feet and dragged towards the darkness. They bucked and struggled but there was no give. Only one option presented itself – appease the demon and hope for the best. It wasn’t a great plan.

They rammed their shoulder into Harris with all the strength they had, causing him to stumble ever so slightly into the desk. He chuckled, amused by their pathetic efforts. So amused that he never noticed Jay’s fingers curl around the knife handle. A brief thrill went through them before something hard slammed down on their hand. They grunted and felt the knife pull away easily from their grasp as Harris righted them both. “Nice try,” Caine said, placing the tome she had used to assail Jay’s hand on the desk. “But you’ll need a little more than that to defend yourself from that thing.”

Read Part 3 here!

The Summons: Part 1

Posted on by CM Schofield

Jay was not having the best day, trudging god knew where with their hands bound behind their back. They’d given up struggling – that only resulted in exhaustion and pain. Between the bag on their head and the binder on their chest—which should have come off hours ago—breath was short. Jay didn’t know for certain why they were here but they could certainly guess. Their talent, unusual as it was, must have been discovered. Jay knew this because it wouldn’t work on their kidnappers.

As they were roughly pushed into an icy cold room, something stirred. Fear crushed the last breath of air from them. There was something in the room. Something inhuman. Jay could hear its ragged breath, hear the soft scraping of claw on stone and, most frighteningly, Jay could hear the creature’s mind.

Finally feeding time, is it? the thing wondered, thoughts oozing with gleeful malice.

“At last,” came a cool, feminine voice from directly in front of Jay. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

The mental image of white lights, electrodes and scalpels crossed their mind, as had happened many times on the journey here. Along with the image of the bus. Jay shuddered, red flashing before their eyes. How many people had been on that bus?

“Mmmph umph,” they replied, as good an expletive as they could muster through the gag.

“The subject has been… uncooperative,” said a voice to Jay’s side. One of the kidnappers from the bus—a chunky, block—headed man if they recalled right.

“As has ours,” said the feminine one. “It’s about time they met.”

“Are you sure we should be rushing into this, Caine?” the man asked.

“Why don’t you leave the thinking to someone who’s a little more than a paid grunt? I know what I’m doing.”

Jay was forced deeper into the room as the man grumbled something foul under his breath and shoved down onto a chill metal chair. Rope was threaded between their still bound hands and used to secure them tightly to the seat. What sounded like high-heeled shoes clicked across the floor towards them.

“Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here,” Caine said. “There are many people out there who’d kill to get their hands on you, to study your gift. You aren’t here as an artefact though – you’re here as a tool.”

The bag was pulled from Jay’s head, their eyes filling with dull red light. The room was long and sparse. Close to one side was a sharply dressed woman in a skirt suit—Caine, presumably—and to the other was the squarish kidnapper they expected. Both wore a band of metal around their heads, glinting in the crimson glow. Some kind of blocker? Jay wondered. In front of them, the lengthy room tapered into darkness. From the shadows, that soft scrape could be heard pacing back and forth.

“You’re going to communicate with the beast,” Caine continued. “Ask it our questions, give us its answers.”

Enough with your pomp, the creature thought, just give me the meat. Its impatience was palpable, emanating from the end of the room.

The man to Jay’s side stepped up to them, jerking their head to the side as he cut the gag free. Jay gasped for breath, still fighting their constricted chest, and flexed their aching jaw.

“What is it?” Jay asked.

“That’s none of your concern,” Caine said, pacing slowly to close the distance between them both. In a sudden movement, she grabbed a handful of Jay’s short hair and yanked their head back. The woman glared down, eyes cold and empty. “Your only concern is self-preservation. Believe me when I say it will be a difficult task that will require all of your concentration. Understand?”

Jay did their best to nod with their hair still in Caine’s bear-like grip, and they were released, head falling forward jarringly. The woman ambled to a low desk by the wall, the echoing of her heels filling the room again, and leant against it.

“Now,” she said, reaching onto the desk and clicking on a recorder. “Ask the beast its price.”

They screwed their face up. “What?”

Caine flicked a hand dismissively. “Harris.”

The man to Jay’s side balled a fist and took a step toward them.

“Okay, okay, I’m doing it!” Jay quickly added. They turned their attention from Caine to the shadows. It wasn’t really an improvement.

Scraaaape. Scraaaape. Scraaaape.

Jay pushed their fears away as best they could, focusing. It was always easier if they could see the person—or thing—but they were skilled enough that it didn’t matter much. They inhaled slowly and began to project.

What are you? Jay thought at the creature.

The pacing stopped abruptly and Jay felt eyes on them.

It speaks the infernal? the creature mused. A moment passed then the realisation struck, that Jay was in its head. Jay didn’t need to see its face to know, they could feel the change on the air – and so could their captors. Both of them straightened, becoming more alert.

Jay sensed the thing throwing itself towards them and screamed just as a deafening thunderclap rang through the room. Everything that followed sounded muffled and far away. More thunder rang out, each strike bringing a flash of light. Jay saw the thing in brief glimpses, watching as it hurled itself against an invisible barrier. In one flash Jay saw a torso, frigid blue in colour. Another revealed an arm. Despite the hue, both looked human but it was a boar-like wail that came from the darkness.

Caine calmly reached behind herself, flicking a switch on the wall. Pain seared Jay’s eyes as brilliant white light flooded the room. Their eyelids were promptly jammed shut but even then it still hurt. The creature’s wailing intensified and they could narrowly hear it scrambling about. A last single thunderclap sounded before calm descended. As their ears began to recover, Jay heard sobbing.

First my body, invaded and violated, and now my mind, came wretched thoughts. They would take from me everything and leave me a husk.

“Tell that beast the light will stay on until it has answered our questions,” Caine said. Her voice was utterly unchanged. Unfeeling.

Jay peeled their eyes open, adjusting to the blazing, clinical glare. The room was properly visible now, a long, grey rectangle of smooth concrete. At Jay’s end were a few desks with paperwork, computers, the recorder and other equipment that they didn’t recognise. The other end was devoid of any furnishings but was covered in a web of black painted runes. The symbols were not like anything Jay had seen before, sharp angled and complex. Right at the far end, huddled in the corner, was the creature.

Human in shape, its skin was vibrant azure. Its only attire was a pair of ragged black trousers, a long, slim tail protruding from the back and wrapped close to it defensively. It faced away, giving the room a good view of the ridges that ran down its back and along its arms. Its hands and feet had long, black claws. Pointed ears rose up far above its head, quivering.

“Tell it!” Caine barked, and Jay flinched.

“All right, I’m doing it,” they replied, voice cracking. They returned focus to the miserable creature.

I’m sorry, Jay thought at it. I didn’t mean to hurt you. They reached out with their mind but with the stress and anxiety they could not concentrate enough to find purchase there. They clenched their teeth, exhaling sharply.

I am a prisoner here, came the deflated reply. You experiment on me. Burn at my flesh with your light, and you do not mean to hurt me?

Look at me, Jay urged, I’m as much a prisoner as you. They kidnapped me to talk to you.

Tell them to return the darkness.

They won’t, Jay told the creature, a little of their courage seeping back. Not until you answer.

It released a long, slow whine.

“Is it cooperating?” the woman asked.

“Slowly,” Jay said.

“Ask it its price.”

Jay took a deep breath. Who are you?

They care? the thing thought bitterly.

I do.

I was Gelethil, it replied. He was strong. Fearless. Now I am a worm, caged and broken.

That makes them the pricks, not you, Jay thought to it- to him. One of his long, sweeping ears twitched. How can I get you out of here?

That ear flicked again. You would help me? I would have gladly eaten you.

A cold prickle ran over their flesh, but they forced a calm demeanour. Eat them instead.

Finally, Gelethil turned his head from the cradle of his arms. Greasy black hair framed his face and his eyes were slits, braced against the light. His thin-lipped mouth burst into a wide, menacing grin, baring pointed teeth.

I like you, he thought.

Read Part 2 here!

The Tower of Storms: Part 4

Posted on by CM Schofield

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Tamin had descended the stairs a half an hour prior. Baird waited, back pressed against the wall adjacent to the entrance. The only entrance. They were at the top of the tower here, with nowhere to go should things go wrong. A good few things could – Tamin betraying him being at the top of the list. He hoped against that for several wildly varying reasons.

Something stirred below. A voice. Baird held his breath and tightened his grip, sword in one hand and the mark of Oblear in the other. In Baird’s former cage was a makeshift dummy constructed from straw and armour taken from the dead. It was a poor likeness but the plan wouldn’t allow the sorcerer to stare for long. Echoing footsteps rose from the stairs.

“Idiot boy,” the elder grumbled, voice carrying up the stairwell. “There’s no way that fool could damage my bars, I don’t care what chemicals you thought you smelled.”

He reached the top step, striding past Baird into the room. A thrill went through him – this might actually work. The sorcerer halted.

“What the-“

Baird lunged, bringing his sword down in a sweeping arc towards the fiend’s back. With unnatural speed the sorcerer half turned and looked at Baird with wide, manic eyes. In the time it took for Baird’s sword to move an inch the sorcerer thrust out his hand. It felt like he had just been slammed in the chest by a bear. He took off from the ground and was thrown down the stairs. The impact knocked what little air he had left completely from him. His armour protected his bones from the solid steps but momentum and gravity sent him tumbling down the rest of them, landing in a dizzy and aching heap, wheezing for breath.

By the time he had his senses the sorcerer was already stood over him with a satisfied smile. Shouldn’t have taken the pendant off, Baird thought as a hacking cough racked his body. I hate magic. His sword could have been anywhere but the chain of Oblear’s mark was still wrapped around his fingers. At least he still had that – and the elder sorcerer hadn’t noticed it yet, instead calling for Tamin. He appeared from behind one of the painted wood partitions on the other side of Baird, looking timid.

“Come here, boy,” the father said and Tamin reluctantly approached. “Now is your chance to repent for this morning.”

“Yes, father.”

Uh oh, Baird thought.

The elder sorcerer turned his attention to the still struggling adventurer. “You’re going to tell me how you got out of that cage.”

Ratting out Tamin would just get them both killed. Plus Baird wasn’t exactly the type to bend to his enemies’ will. He was much too stubborn for that.

“Rot in the Pit,” he spat.

“As you wish,” the elder said before nodding to Tamin.

The young sorcerer paled. He lifted a trembling palm toward Baird. Baird froze, his hope extinguished under a volley of ice water. Tamin’s mouth twitched, eyes watered.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Baird didn’t know what to say. The young man was terrified of his father. This life was all he knew. All Baird could do was brace himself for pain. Tamin thrust his hand forward and he winced.

A gust of wind blew through the room. It tingled Baird’s skin but assailed him no other way. The elder sorcerer exclaimed in surprise as his clothes passed through his flesh as though through water, billowing out and falling onto the steps behind him. It took both Baird and the sorcerer himself a moment to adjust to the fact that he was suddenly stood there in nought but his boots.

Baird was the first to react, pushing himself up with one hand and throwing the mark of Oblear hard at the wretch’s chest. The sorcerer thrust out his hand and a look of panic struck his face as the sigil sailed past his fingers. Baird grinned. The sigil hit the sorcerer square in the middle of his saggy, sallow chest.

He opened his mouth but no sound came, face twisting in agony. The sigil stuck to him and the flesh around it turned grey, blossoming in a grotesque wave across his body and turning to dust. He crumbled away until there was the clattering of bones into a dusty pile. Baird held his breath, watching the remains, but no retribution came. A small, pained sound came from behind him.

Tamin was on his knees, face in his hands. The weather raged on outside. Baird pulled himself up and crouched next to Tamin, wrapping his arms around him. Tamin’s whole life, everything he had ever known, just disintegrated before his eyes. It was seconds before the young sorcerer’s arms were around Baird’s neck, face sobbing into the metal plated crook of his shoulder. It could have been relief or despair. Probably both.

Baird resisted a long moment but could no longer wait, hating himself a little for his lack of restraint.

“How can I stop the storms?” Baird whispered into his ear as he held him.

Tamin pulled back from him and wiped his eyes, keeping his head down and avoiding Baird’s gaze. He rose to his feet and headed for the other partition, giving his father’s ashes and bones a wide berth. His movements bordered on mechanical. Baird felt a pang of guilt as he followed.

“What happened to him?”

“The mark turns the user’s magic against them,” Tamin said, voice small. “The magic that kept him alive past his years reversed.”

Baird placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

They rounded a partition and came to a grand bedroom, lavishly plastered in rich fabrics and gold adornments. At the end of the master bed was a mahogany pedestal, a glowing blue orb upon it. Turbulent mist twisted and warped beneath the surface. Baird was drawn to it, soothed by it. Warming, unseen tendrils snaked into his being, calming his bruises and setting his mind at rest. He was unaware of his hand moving slowly toward it until Tamin grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t,” he said. “It makes people strange. Like father. Like mother.”

Baird’s skin crawled and he withdrew his hand. “What do I do?”

“Shatter it,” Tamin said, voice cracking slightly. “Set her free.”

Baird shook his head clear as the orb’s influence took another stab at him. He glanced behind himself and saw a small foot stool. Not wanting to risk the thing’s spell a moment longer, Baird grabbed the stool in both hands. He spun, bringing the makeshift bludgeon down on the orb with all his strength.

This was it, his moment, his self-appointed destiny. It all hinged upon the word on a man he just met.

The orb did not shatter. The stool sunk into it and it burst like a soap bubble. Mist from within swept into the air like a puff of pollen. Baird stumbled away but Tamin stayed put, releasing a giddy laugh. Baird panicked. Had he been played? The mist engulfed Tamin and he collapsed in a haze of blue, falling to the floor. Baird backed against the partition wall as the blue spread but it did not approach him. A warm, pleasant voice filled his mind, forcing upon him a brief wave of euphoria.

The ancients will not forget this heroism.

The mist was gone. It didn’t so much vanish as it just wasn’t there anymore. Worry struck him as he realised the voice was the last thing he heard. He smacked his ears with his hands but became confused as his armour rattled. His jaw dropped. He clambered to his feet, dashing past an unconscious Tamin, and approached the window.

No rain lashed against the glass. No wind howled, rocking the building. In that moment, Baird experienced silence for the first time in his life. It frightened him, the vast emptiness of it, the sheer depth of nothingness. Before that fear could grow too deep, the sprawling black clouds split like curtains and a beam of golden light fell upon his face. He began to tremble as he lifted his hands to his cheeks. It was warm.

Baird dropped to his knees and laughed. He’d done it. He’d actually done it. He laughed some more. Of course he had. He’d always known he could. Definitely. He pushed thoughts of the cage away and pulled off his gauntlets, wiping the joyful tears from his face. He loosed a deep exhale and buried his triumph. He needed to check on Tamin.

The young sorcerer hadn’t moved since he collapsed, breathing softly. Baird knelt next to him, carefully brushing the hair back from his bruised face. He looked so peaceful it was almost a shame to wake him. With his other hand, Baird softly tapped his shoulder.

“Tamin?”

It took a couple of attempts before Tamin’s eyes fluttered open. Baird frowned when they did – they were a rich, swirling blue. This faded so rapidly, returning to the proper soft grey, that Baird was certain he’d imagined it.

“Are you alright?” Tamin said as he tried to focus his weary eyes.

Baird blinked. “Me?” he asked, incredulous. “Of course I am! I’m a famous adventurer! You’re the one who collapsed.”

“Oh…” He closed and opened his eyes a few times. “Yes, I am well,” he replied. Physically at least, Baird thought. A sadness hung about him.

Baird smiled. “Good. I have something to show you.”

He helped Tamin to his feet. He was unsteady and shaken so Baird took the liberty of wrapping an arm around his waist. Purely for support. Tamin didn’t complain, leaning his weight against Baird as he was guided to the window. He gasped as they stepped into the warm beam of light, face filling with wonder at the landscape before them, laid out clearly for the first time in both their lives.

“It’s… incredible.”

Pride swelled in Baird’s chest. He had done this. Of all the heroes who had come and tried, it was Baird who had succeeded. Released the Glen. Avenged his father. Without Tamin though, he never would have. He grinned as he looked out of the window. He couldn’t quite see Glen Feen but the view was more than a victory for him. Flat, barren and laden with water, to Baird it was beautiful. He pointed to the horizon.

“You see where the sky touches the land?” he asked. Tamin nodded. Baird looked down at the slight man and their eyes met. “Just beyond lies your new home.”

They smiled at each other and looked back to the landscape, damp and bedraggled as it was. At his side, Baird’s fingers lightly grazed against Tamin’s. Slowly, their digits twined together as they both watched the clear blue sky before them.

And Baird would even have been telling the truth, if they had been looking out of the other window.

Fin!

The Tower of Storms: Part 3

Posted on by CM Schofield

Part 1 / Part 2

Baird sank to his knees, still clutching the bars, and hit his head against them. The pain took its time in subsiding. Baird breathed through it, letting his mind clear, and when it passed he got to work. First he tried to examine the lock only to find it absent. Nothing physical held the cage closed. Next he examined his belt. Most of his provisions were still intact. He had two different corrosives and tried them both. Neither effected the bars, dripping away as harmlessly as water. The second did a number on the stone floor, sizzling with activity, but he had nowhere near enough to burn a gap he’d fit through. He was well and truly trapped, now in a cell with at least quarter of the floor covered in flesh eating potions.

Baird slumped against the back of the cage with a despondent sigh as he looked to the skull of his cellmate.

“Am I arrogant?” he asked it.

The skull did not respond. For now, he was taking that as a good thing.

Baird rested his head against the bars. His list of ideas had been reduced to sitting there waiting to starve to death. This genius could yet be thwarted by being tortured to death. He’d have to wait and see. He had planned for many eventualities but being taken alive hadn’t even occurred to him. The great Baird of Glen Feen would never get captured, his own words from a few years ago rang in his head. He cringed and despair saw his weakness and pounced.

It hit him like a horse at full gallop, a cold hollowness in his gut where hope and pride once lived. It was all he could do not to cry out. He wouldn’t debase himself in front of that sadist or his son. He was more than that. He was-

Baird bolted upright. His son! His son who, with hindsight, seemed a far cry from his father. His son who, against direct orders, spared Baird’s life.

“Tamin?” he called as softly as he could. The last thing he wanted was the elder to hear. “Tamin, can you hear me?”

There was a shuffle from across the room and he felt a faint spark of hope. He glanced at the stairs and risked another whisper, eliciting another shuffle.

“I’m not supposed to talk to you,” came back Tamin’s small voice.

“You were supposed to kill me though,” Baird replied. “It would appear you have an issue with authority. I can relate to that.”

“Please,” Tamin said desperately. “He’ll punish me.”

“He’s going to kill me.”

There was silence for a moment before the young sorcerer’s face appeared from between two rows of cages.

“If you’re so afraid of him then why not kill me?” Baird asked.

Tamin rested his back against a cage and drew his knees up to his chest. “Sometimes they leave.”

“I’m not the first you’ve let go?”

He shook his head. Things began to make sense. Only in recent years had deflated wannabe heroes returned. Before that, nothing. By the gods.

“You’re not like him,” Baird ventured.

“I just…” Tamin trailed off, staring at the ground. “I don’t know why we have to kill. I don’t know why we need the storms.”

A thrill went through Baird. “The woman on the lower level… Your mother?”

Tamin nodded. “She wanted to stop the storms.” He wiped a tear away with one of the long sleeves of his cloak.

“He killed her?”

“He’ll kill me too if I help you.” The young man’s eyes met Baird’s. They were stormy grey. Tormented.

“I’ll kill him first,” he replied, pulling himself to his feet. “I have to. Do you have any idea what these storms have done to us?”

Tamin’s jaw trembled as he shook his head.

“Let me go,” Baird said. “Help me and I’ll show you what we’ve had to endure. Take you to the Glen and show you what we’ve lived like.”

Tamin’s head lifted, eyes wide. “You’d free me?”

Baird blinked, speechless. Then internally cursed himself. It hadn’t even occurred to him that the young man was a prisoner. Parents don’t need bars to hold their children captive. Tamin was one of the people he was trying to protect. He pulled one of his gauntlets off and pressed himself against the bars, threading his arm through and holding his hand out to Tamin.

“Come to me.”

He looked startled a moment but slowly rose to his feet. He approached Baird’s cage with caution and took an age to raise his hand, quivering like a leaf. Finally their fingers met and Baird stared into his eyes again. There was something there, inexplicable yet powerful. He felt for this man. Something made Baird desperate to protect him. His resolve hardened.

“I swear to you, Tamin, get me out of here and I will stop these storms. We will both leave here together as free men. I swear by the ancestors of the Glen, I will make this true.”

Tamin trembled, water welling in his eyes. Baird took his hand, smooth and warm, and pulled him close, eliciting a gasp. Baird threaded his fingers through Tamin’s and reached his other arm through the bars and around his back, holding Tamin against the cage, against himself. Baird towered over him. He could see the small man’s face clearly, slim, and sharp. 

“I swear to you,” Baird whispered, drawing his face closer to Tamin’s. “Help me, and I will see you free or die trying.”

Tamin’s voice caught so he simply nodded. Baird’s hope ignited to a flame. Pulled by Baird’s grip, the small man suddenly jerked closer, pressed fully against him, one hand resting against Baird’s breastplate. The bars along that side of the cage were gone. Vanished, as though they never were. He turned his face back to the young sorcerer. He’d done that without lifting a finger or uttering a word. Baird was free. He squeezed the sorcerer’s hand before letting go and gently cupping the side of Tamin’s face.

“Thank you,” he said. Tamin winced and Baird lifted the stray lock of sable hair away from his cheek. It had been concealing a deep purple bruise, peppered with cuts. It wasn’t fresh. “I’m going to kill him and then you’re coming with me.”

Tamin nodded and said nothing. Baird forced himself to let go of the man and retrieve his sword from the cell floor. He was free again and it felt good. He did however have more pressing matters to attend than hugs, such as killing the sorcerer that hundreds of adventurers before him had fallen to. Great. No problem. He stepped out of the cage and Tamin backed away, still skittish. He did a quick check over his arsenal as he thought up a plan.

“I need him thinking nothing is wrong,” Baird said as he worked his hand back into his gauntlet. “I need you to go down there just as you normally would.”

“I’ve never been up here before,” Tamin said, wringing his fingers together.

“Never?” Baird asked, lifting his head to peer at him. Tamin nodded. “What made you come up today?”

“You.” Baird’s eyebrows rose and Tamin’s mouth flapped open and closed. “I- I mean, you’re different. You’re special.”

The adventurer straightened, smirking. “Am I now?”

“I mean… You can do it.”

This gave him pause. “What do you mean?”

Tamin pointed to one of the sigils on Baird’s chest. “Oblear the Devourer.”

“Yes,” Baird said, picking it up. It was the solid silver stick figure with a shield over the chest. “She led the ancient crusades against the Mages of the West.”

Tamin took another step back and put a hand to his heart, where the sigil had pressed against him. “I could feel it. Burning. If it touches his flesh, he’ll die.”

Baird’s heart fluttered. I knew I could do this.

“He won’t let you get close,” Tamin said rapidly.

“Not without a little misdirection,” Baird said, letting the pendant fall back to his breastplate with a clink.

“I… I thought I just had to let you out. You want me to help kill my own father?” Tamin asked.

“Yes,” Baird replied, blunt and absolute. “He hurts you, keeps you prisoner. He killed your mother.” He held Tamin’s eyes. “And my father.”

“I…”

“Please Tamin,” Baird said. He hesitated. The next words were difficult. Agonising, even. “I need you.”

Wordless, Tamin nodded.

Part 4

The Tower of Storms: Part 2

Posted on by CM Schofield

Read part 1 here!

Baird balked and turned on the spot, sprinting for the stairs, throwing himself down them three at a time. Like a clattering juggernaut, Baird hit the ground floor and rounded on Frenzy, sliding to a halt. Someone in a long, dark hooded cloak was softly patting the horse’s nose with one hand and feeding him a carrot with the other. The figure was startled and turned to him, dropping the carrot. An unperturbed Frenzy casually bent his neck down and retrieved it. Baird’s heart was doing triple time. He had finally seen his legendary adversary. It was a little underwhelming.

The sorcerer appeared to be a young man, about Baird’s age, slight and porcelain. He also appeared to be terrified, quivering like a rabbit. His eyes moved from Baird’s face to his chest and back again. Baird grinned deeply – the sorcerer must have recognised one of his protective sigils, one that was effective. His work had paid off.

“At last,” Baird said, deepening his voice to sound grand. “You, vile sorcerer, shall finally meet your e- HEY!”

The sorcerer raised his hands with a flourish and within the space of a second he disappeared from toes to head, as though he were a rapidly drawn up blind. Baird cursed and stomped his armoured foot. Frenzy shrugged.

“Bastard! Coward!” he spat. “I’ll find him Frenzy and I’ll kill him! You see his face?” He frowned, remembering sorcerer’s visage, and shook his head. “ONE of these trinkets works and HE knows it!”

Frenzy blinked.

“I just… Why did he give you a carrot?” Baird’s eyes went wide. He rushed to Frenzy’s side. “Was it poisoned? How do you feel?”

Frenzy blinked again, thinking he’d be a lot better if this idiot went and did his job so they could both go home.

Baird spent another anxious minute with the horse but it seemed more irritated by his fretting than it did sick so he resumed his climb of the tower. The first three floors were much of the same. The five after were simply deserted rather than derelict. There was nothing except a thin layer of dust across the hauntingly empty floors. The tenth flight of stairs took him to one that was both the same and different. Utterly deserted like its predecessors but absolutely spotless. The faultlessly clean windows meant that this floor was brighter than the others, only accentuating the difference. The floor glistened, pale stone marbled with blue tendrils. Baird’s steps echoed gently as he approached a window. The weather was fierce as always, battering against the glass and howling like a league of wounded animals. He had never been so high up but couldn’t see far before everything turned into dark grey haze.

Before today is through, he thought with conviction, I will stand at this window and see all the way to the Glen. So distracted Baird was by his fervour that he didn’t realise he was looking in the exact opposite direction to Glen Feen.

He continued to scale the endless supply of steps past many more pristine and empty floors until something was different again. A soft blue light came from the top of the next staircase. He carefully unsheathed his sword. With renewed caution, he carried on upward.

As he ascended the last steps, a large glass sarcophagus came into view alone in the centre of the room. He paced closer. Azure light radiated from it, soothing and peaceful. Inside lay an immaculate woman. The tint on her lips and the darkness around her eyes added to the unnatural stillness telling Baird she truly was dead. The faint thrum of magic was present. Preserving her, Baird guessed. He wondered if it was grief fuelling the sorcerer’s torment of the land and scowled at the thought. No good woman would want such suffering in her name.

He glared at the next set of stairs. He must be getting close now. The sorcerer clearly wanted her near him. He stepped past the coffin and started upwards again. Nearing the last steps, he rose up into a room so lavish it could have belonged to the Duke. Everything was rich, dyed and velvet. There was a creak above Baird and he looked up to see a bundle of extravagant furniture suspended over his head. Then drop. He dove forward onto the thick, spongy carpet, rolling and springing back to his feet. The furniture clattered against the stairs.

“Why aren’t you dead?” came a voice, deep and menacing.

Baird spun to face the sorcerer. “Ah-HA- …ah.”

The man before him was more than double the age of the one he’d seen before, with a long, greying beard and the trappings of an especially vain king, all jewels and finery.

“Give me some credit,” he said. “You’ll need more than a sofa to-“

A low coffee table shunted toward him, straight into back of Baird’s knees. His limbs flailed as he sprawled across the carpet. The man—the sorcerer?—sighed. “Just another fool with a sword.”

Baird raised his chin and sneered. “Not quite.”

He yanked one of the glass bulbs from his belt and hurled it at the sorcerer. There was a soft ‘thwp’ sound as it collided with the sorcerer’s glorious crimson robe and again as it impotently dropped to the carpet. The sorcerer raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him and Baird grinned before burrowing his face in the soft pile, covering his head with his hands.

The bulb exploded, showering the room in tiny shards of glass which tinkled against Baird’s armour. The sorcerer wailed and yellow streaks of wild magic crackled around the room. Shelves were sheared in two and cushions exploded in puffs of feather down. Baird sprang to his feet, darting for the only exit – the stairs leading up. He shot up onto a floor like the last but partitioned. Furious, uncontrolled magic followed him so he carried on, ignoring the separate rooms to his sides and running for the next set of stairs. He needed just a moment to compose himself.

With far less bounds than there were stairs, Baird was at the top of the next flight with his back pressed against the wall, breathing hard. It wasn’t the extravagant bedroom Baird was expecting. Before him was a latticework of cages, dark and shadowy with boarded up windows. It stank the foul, foetid stench of death, stinging at Baird’s nostrils. Some of the cages had skeletons or badly decomposing bodies. Some wore armour Baird recognised.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” said a small, shaky voice. Baird caught sight of the younger sorcerer. He looked afraid. “No one should.”

Baird raised his sword. “I can’t let you continue to torment the realm.”

“He’ll kill you,” the man said, backing away.

“I’ll kill you both first.”          

“Tamin!” boomed the elder’s voice from Baird’s side. Startled, Baird stumbled deeper into the dungeon. “I told you to kill this wretch.”

“I thought he was leaving,” Tamin wailed, fear thick on his face.

“I said kill,” the elder spat, backhanding thin air. Tamin was lifted from his feet and launched across the room, slamming against a cage so hard half the room rattled. He slumped to the ground out of sight. The elder looked to Baird and shook his head. “Don’t have kids,” he advised.

He swatted the air in Baird’s direction. Nothing happened. He gave until the old sorcerer looked truly confused before allowing himself a grin.

“Some kids do their homework,” he said.

Baird struck at him with his sword but the sorcerer recovered quickly, conjuring a metallic staff from motes of light to block the blow. He was freakishly strong, stopping Baird’s arm dead. The shock through his limb was so painful he almost lost grip on his blade. The sorcerer grabbed him by the throat and shoved. Baird staggered backwards into a cage, tripping on bones and crashing against the bars. The door clanged shut and he felt sick with panic. He kicked at it but it didn’t even rattle.

The sorcerer’s shadow fell over him and Baird looked up into his sneer. There were a few bleeding cuts on his face and a burn on his chin. “On second thought, I’m glad Tamin didn’t kill you. Such an arrogant little boy. I look forward to hearing you beg.”

Baird went cold as the sorcerer turned away. He scrambled to his feet and shook at the bars. They didn’t budge. He watched with growing despair as the sorcerer disappeared to the lower levels. He had failed. The sorcerer had beaten him without even trying. And now he was going to die.

Read Part 3 here!

The Tower of Storms: Part 1

Posted on by CM Schofield

Baird stood in the musty stable strapping Frenzy’s saddle in place. The door opened and a furious, icy wind swept through, disturbing hay and toppling buckets. Rain and sleet splattered across the wooden floorboards, soaking the straw as several horses grunted disapprovingly.

“Duke’s hairy arse,” someone grumbled as they slammed the door shut, muffling the hideous weather outside. It continued to howl and roar around the building. “Ne’er gets any better, does it?”

Baird smiled as he secured the final strap of the saddle. “Give it a couple of days.”

The man, Erlon the stable master, laughed as he shook out his cloak. Enough water poured from it to make a puddle around his feet that Frenzy took to lapping at.

“Aye, about that,” Erlon began. “I thought it best to collect your stable fees before you left, if you know what I mean.”

“I know precisely what you mean,” Baird said, fishing around in the coin pouch at his belt. “You’re afraid that I shall be so mobbed by adoring fans upon my return you’ll never get near me.”

“Sure,” Erlon said. “Let’s go with that.”

Baird flicked a coin to him and returned to tending his horse. Erlon had to juggle a few times before he got a proper grasp. When he did, he scowled.

“Aye, and the rest of it,” he said, brandishing the coin. “This is a half.”

“Erlon,” Baird began, turning to the man with an easy smile. “Come now. Just think how much business you’ll get when people find out the saviour of the Glen stabled their horse here.”

Erlon held his hand out with a glare. Baird kept his earnest grin firmly affixed but Erlon did not budge an inch. After a moment Baird finally accepted his loss, pouting.

“Oh fine, take it,” he huffed, digging out another coin and flicking it to Erlon with a touch of venom.

“What’s wrong with you, boy?” the stable master snarled as he retrieved the coin from the dirty floor. “Not like you to be so tight fisted.”

Baird focused intently on Frenzy as he ran a brush needlessly over the beast’s coat. “I just… I wanted to give that to my mother.” He then shot a sharp look at Erlon. “Just to tide her over until my return.”

A half sovereign would tide the woman over for weeks, never mind his short trip. Erlon looked down at the coins in his hand and then up at the well-stocked horse. Well stocked with weaponry and armour. A glance didn’t reveal much food or camping gear. “This is all you’ve got left?”

“It’s the off season,” Baird said with a noncommittal shrug. “Won’t be until the festivals that all the bandits show their heads again.”

Erlon sucked his teeth. It was true enough and Baird had been buying unusual and expensive equipment for his go at the quest, attempted by many over hundreds of years and completed by none.

“You’ve waited this long. Why not leave it one more half year?”

“I’m done waiting,” Baird replied. “I’m finally ready.”

Erlon sighed and shook his head. “Here,” he said, thrusting his hand out to Baird. The adventurer lifted his head and the stable master dropped both coins into his palm. “For your mother. She’s gonna have enough to worry about.”

Baird quickly looked away, tucking the coins into his purse. “On my return you’ll be repaid tenfold.” He gave Erlon a furtive glance and returned to the finishing touches with his horse. “Thank you.”

The stable master nodded. It was the closest to humility he’d ever get out of the little shit. “Be careful. And don’t be stupid. A lot of folks have actually managed to come back in recent years.”

“Unsuccessful.”

“Think of yer ma,” he persisted. “No one’ll judge you for coming back.”

Baird turned and looked at Erlon levelly. “I will be back, long before those coins run out. I’ve slain more than anyone in this Glen, mundane and magical alike. I will kill that sorcerer, Erlon. Not even the gods can stop me.”

He went to his mother’s house direct from the stables. She was delighted to see him, despite berating him for dripping all over the floor. He gave her the coins, which she repeatedly tried to give back, and did a quick inspection of the house to ‘ensure there weren’t any leaks.’ There was enough in the house she could sell to keep herself fed, if anything happened. Not that it would, obviously, but it was reassuring to know.

Then there was nothing else for him to do but set out on the road. He’d waited for this his entire life, dreamed of the moment his blade severed the sorcerer’s head and the storms that had plagued the Glen for centuries fell silent. He’d tried to imagine it as a child, shoving his head under pillows or hiding in cellars but the constant roar of the wind and the rain could not be suppressed. Baird’s hands shook with excitement, hardly able to believe it was finally his turn. He would be the one to bring justice for the weather goddess.

The journey was wrought with gale force winds that caused Frenzy to stumble; with rain half ice that mercilessly pelted Baird’s body, penetrating his thick travelling gear; with such poor visibility that he may as well have shut his eyes. So like a trip to the baker’s, just longer. There was no shelter on the road and while trying to sleep Frenzy made an exceptionally poor and cantankerous windbreak. Rumours told him that long ago, before the winds, trees were a common thing – that there had been whole forests of the things. Now only the most gargantuan of them remained upright and even fewer alive thanks to the constant storms.

Despite everything—his growing hunger, exhaustion and cold—he soldiered on. The route, at least, was in his favour. So travelled the path to the tower was that what had once been a beaten track was now practically a road. It was more frequented than most trade routes. His lack of needing to pack up camping gear and Frenzy’s slow yet unfaltering gait meant they made very good time. Most horses tired quickly in the weather but Frenzy was bred to be a cart horse, not some idiot mercenary’s steed. After three days of journeying a tall, thin shadow began to stretch up past the horizon, a grey omen barely visible against the rain and clouds.

Baird grinned, water dripping down his face from his somewhat ineffectual hood. “Good job, Frenzy,” he said, giving the horse a slap on the side of the neck. “This is it. My destiny. I just know it.”

If Frenzy could have rolled his eyes, he would have.

Over the next hour, the tower grew up high into the sky until the base was just visible through the weather. From then, it took even longer for the tower to start feeling as though it was drawing near. Eventually, it loomed over them both.

Baird looked up at it with a wide smile, his face pelted with rain and his hood filling like a water skin. After a moment it slipped from his head, depositing the water onto a disgruntled Frenzy’s back. Baird leapt to the ground, stumbling. The wind here was the worst he’d ever experienced, to the point where he was astounded that any manmade structure could have survived all this time. He drew his sword and stalked forward as best he could braced against the gale, ready for assailants to jump out at any moment. Frenzy, thoroughly unimpressed, plodded after him.

Baird approached the doors, easily three times his height, with caution. He’d fought magical types before and didn’t believe a single sorcerer could not have met their match after all these years. The number of challengers compared with the number who actually came back was not promising. Sword raised and ready, his foot touched the steps. The doors swept slowly backwards into the tower of their own accord. Baird hesitated, then shook his head.

“Come on, boy,” he said. “Let’s see if there’s another way in.”

They circled the tower, finding excesses of uneven scrub and solid masonry. There were also skeletons. Lots and lots of discarded skeletons. It didn’t take long for them both to be staring into the gaping maw of the same doorway again, inviting them in from the fearsome storm. There was a flash across the sky, accompanied by the rumble of thunder. Frenzy nudged Baird’s shoulder with his nose.

He approached the doorway. Everything inside was still. He crossed the threshold, stepping out of the rain. The tower’s base was a single room, gloomy and derelict. The floor was dim and dusty, fallen victim to time and neglect. There were marks in the dust and not just Baird’s, easily identifiable due to the water droplets all around them. A wide, spiralling staircase led up. The dust on the steps had been brushed by something as well. With quick, graceful steps, he checked behind each door and scouted the room, finding nothing malicious. Satisfied that he was alone on this floor, Baird brought Frenzy inside and the doors swung shut by themselves. Baird exhaled and took to strapping on a few additional pieces of armour.

He pulled a belt from one of the packs on Frenzy’s back, covered in thick glass bulbs with powders and liquids. He might have been a cocky bastard but he always made sure he was prepared. Especially where magic was involved. All of his trinkets, talismans and potions had, after he’d given his last sovereign to his mother, left him penniless. He took some ancient wristbands and tied them on, the warm, pink stones clacking quietly together. It took time to strap every piece of protective gear he had to various parts of his body. His years of delay had been filled with research. He might act arrogant and fearless but he valued his life. His self-assurance came from a lot of hard work.

Hands trembling with anticipation, he placed the chain of the final protective sigil—a shielded silver stick figure—over his head, to let it sit upon his breastplate. He was ready. His whole life had been building to this moment and he was finally ready. He patted Frenzy with a wide smile.

“When we return, my friend, it shall be as kings.” Baird turned and made for the stairs.

Frenzy would have liked to point out that they lived in a duchy. Alas, what with being a horse, he could not.

Baird had mostly stopped dripping by the time he began his ascent of the stairs. The first floor looked much like the ground floor and there was disturbance apparent here as well. There was something in this tower and it wasn’t a rat. As his foot touched the first step of the next flight of stairs up, a piercing whinny came from below.

Read part 2 here!

Autumn

Posted on by CM Schofield

It happened with the turn of the leaves, when things change from green to precious gold. I didn’t know what I was looking for, just that I was looking. I didn’t need anything to search for because I never found it anyway. Just looking was enough. The shiny disk of the metal detector glinted in the sun, offering promises never fulfilled. I didn’t mind. It was a nice excuse to go outside. I always needed one; I could never allow myself to enjoy the world without some tangible reason for it. So I looked for metal.

Then one autumn’s day I actually found some.

The detector startled me as it bleeped wildly – after all, it was a sound I’d only heard once before, when I tested the thing as it came out of the box. I stared at the flat, bare ground before me, confused as to what came next. I’d never anticipated this moment. Eventually I got onto my knees and dug into the soft earth with my hands. It wasn’t particularly cold yet and the soil came away easily. I kept digging and never found anything but I was so curious I couldn’t stop. When I got to about a foot down with still nothing, I tried the metal detector again. It bleeped, so I kept digging.

The sun was setting and I was still digging. I would periodically check to see if the mystery item was still there. It was. I kept going, until I was certain I’d gone down further than the metal detector’s range. My hands bled but by that time I couldn’t feel them anyway. I plunged them down to take another scoop of earth and they smacked into something cold and hard. I dusted the loose soil away frantically, revealing something smooth beneath.

I frowned. The full moon was high in the sky, casting silver light into the hole. It was a face. A metal face with dead, circular eyes and a hollow rectangle for a mouth. Everything smelled like soil and blood.

“HELLO.”

I flinched at the metallic voice. It hadn’t come from the face. It had come from behind me. From the metal detector.

“GREETINGS.”

I looked back to the face. Both eyes were lit with a soft blue light, the left one flickering. My mouth was dry and slowly the feeling was returning to my hands. They burned and shook.

“IS IT TIME?” asked the metal detector. I turned and picked it up, inspecting it. It looked normal, with no spot I could guess at as being speakers.

“Time for what?” I asked it, feeling silly.

“IT IS TIME,” said the face behind me, and something hit me on the back of the head.

I fell face first to the ground and darkness took me, and when I finally woke again Edinburgh was already gone.

Day and Night

Posted on by CM Schofield

When the sun is high, the world is full of the babble of laughter and voices. Cars rumble past in a persistent, growling stream. Little bells jangle as the shop doors on the street open and close, the crinkling of shopping bags constant.

Only twelve hours later and those sounds are gone. The babble is replaced by a cool silence to those who do not wish to hear the night. My steps are gentle footfalls on the concrete. A soft rustle to my right – just a cat inspecting a bin. At this time, my breaths are loud and the soft breeze whispers to me. Just as I feel peace in this serene nightscape, there are footsteps behind me. I turn quickly. But behind there is only empty space and the footsteps remain. When the sun is high, the world is loud and I am safe from the sound. But it isn’t.

It is dark and it is cold and still the footsteps remain.

Thin banner with blurred out lights at night.