Angst Box Set 1

by David Pedersen

  “No, I think...this time...” Ivan unceremoniously leaned over and threw up.

  Angst sighed, reaching over to grab Ivan’s armored wrist to keep him from falling out of his saddle. Both horses had stopped and Angst looked back at the others as everyone caught up. They didn’t want to be here, and it showed in their eyes. “We’ll pull west a bit and see if that helps.”

  Ivan merely nodded and wiped his mouth before agreeing to move forward.

  Night came early in Grayhollow, the setting sun quickly hidden behind the towering tree line. The forest was dark and quiet, and their small campfire didn’t seem to reach far beyond the circle of tents.

  “I suppose I’ll take first watch again,” Angst announced, looking forward to time without uncomfortable stares and annoying Ivans.

  “I’ll join you,” Hector said abruptly, stretching his legs as he stood.

  “Me too,” Dallow stated. He used his staff to push himself off the ground.

  Angst sighed before faking a smile; their sudden interest in accompanying him sounded too planned for his comfort. “That would be great, thank you.” He walked beyond the boundary of the firelight. Dallow grabbed an arm-length branch from the fire to use as a makeshift torch.

  After a minute of walking through the woods, Angst stopped to face Hector and Dallow. “Are you both tagging along to argue more or simply to criticize what I’m trying to do?” He wanted to get their concerns out of the way or scare them back to camp as quickly as possible.

  Hector shook his head. “You wallow too much, old friend. Everyone just feels a bit lost. We don’t know where we’re going.”

  “I still think we’re doing the right thing, finding the source of the problem and not just discovering that muck,” Angst replied defensively.

  “I’m not arguing that, Angst. That’s why we’re all still with you. It’s just that a guide would be nice, or maybe a path...” Hector paused and gripped Angst’s arm. “Shhh,” he whispered before Angst could question him.

  Dallow placed the burning end of the stick on the ground, and stepped on it quietly to put out the fire. Darkness engulfed them and seemed to amplify every sound. After several incredibly long seconds, a hazy blue light rose from the ground. It seemed to be everywhere, stretching deep into the forest well beyond their view. The light was a stark contrast to their colorless day as it hovered low, waiting like a silent audience anticipating a singer’s first note.

  “A Mendahir Rise,” Dallow whispered reverently. “This is truly a rare sight. I don’t think anyone has reported seeing a Mendahir Rise in several hundred years.”

  A procession of shadowy figures floated up an invisible path. Hundreds of Mendahir appeared and disappeared like twinkling stars. Their shapes were illuminated by thin beams of blue light that shot up from the ground as the Mendahir passed. They moved through trees and branches like a river that never strayed off path.

  Chryslaenor glowed softly, and Angst was surprised to hear the song in his head become a low, respectful dirge. “What are they?” asked Angst.

  “Memories,” replied Dallow quietly. “They were a magical race that lived in Ehrde thousands of years ago. It’s been written that they haunt these woods, but they do as much haunting as a rainbow hovering over a waterfall. They aren’t real. Well, they’re a phenomenon, like a ring around the moon or an aurora in the northern night sky.”

  Angst nodded, though he didn’t quite understand. “Then why are we being quiet?”

  “The Mendahir, as a race, were killed millennia ago. They are no longer, and all that remains are these shadowy echoes,” Dallow whispered solemnly. “It’s tradition to be quiet out of respect.”

  “A bit of a coincidence they show up tonight, isn’t it?” Angst asked as he stepped forward for a closer look.

  “Angst, no,” Hector whispered harshly.

  Angst waved him off and walked to the edge of the Mendahir Rise. Standing closer, he could almost make out faces that seemed long and sad, as though wanting for something that couldn’t be found. It took several minutes for Angst to realize that the faces were suddenly looking at him. The procession had stopped, and a tall floating Mendahir made its way over to Angst.

  Angst’s heart was racing. He considered reaching for his sword, but the steady dirge Chryslaenor sang gave no indication of danger. One of the apparitions stopped within arm’s reach of Angst. It was mostly a tall, non-descript haze of dark fog, but for brief moments, the fog solidified enough to form a face. It had black eyes with glowing blue pupils, which looked up at Chryslaenor. The Mendahir’s mouth grew into a smile too wide for its thin face.

  “Hello,” Angst stuttered, at a complete loss. “I’m Angst.”

  Its gaze caressed the sword for a long while before making eye contact with Angst. Trying to understand the Mendahir’s expressions was as useful as imagining which animal a cloud looked like. He thought he saw a smile and a nod, but more oddly felt a sense of relief. The smile, or whatever it was, transformed to a frown. It lifted an arm and pointed over Angst’s shoulder. In his mind, he heard an unearthly whisper, “Your guide is here.”

  Rose’s scream echoed through the tall trees. Once again he was at a loss for words. Angst nodded respectfully at the ghostly Mendahir before turning to run. Hector had already left, but Dallow waited for Angst so he could follow the glow of Chryslaenor through the dark woods.

  “I’ve never seen a rainbow do that, Dallow!” Angst yelled, tripping over a root and catching himself before falling.

  “That wasn’t supposed to happen. I don’t understand,” Dallow replied, shock and denial in his voice.

  They reached the campfire to find Hector standing by Rose. Her hand shaking, she pointed at something over the fire. Ivan and Tarness were looking up with their weapons at the ready. Ivan was visibly unsettled, shaking in his armor, but stood his ground.

  Floating five feet above their campsite was an enormous, glassy orb. It appeared mostly empty except for a pool of red sloshing liquid resting at its bottom. The bubble looked like any blown by a child during a spring day—if the bubbles were made from red soap, large as a cottage, and filled with a pool of blood.

  “What now?” yelled Tarness. “Is that blood?”

  “I don’t know what that is. We aren’t even supposed to be seeing colors,” Dallow replied. He tried to step in front of Rose, protectively attempting to block her view, but she shoved him out of the way.

  “What do you suggest?” Angst asked Hector.

  “Are you kidding? We need to leave. Now,” Hector said.

  “Dallow and Rose, grab some torches,” Angst yelled. “Ivan, Tarness, get the horses.”

  “Angst, the horses are gone,” Tarness replied.

  Smaller bubbles floated by their heads. One of the bubbles had apparently sucked in a family of rabbits, and was slowly making its way to the larger one. It melded with the giant bubble, that shortly after, reverberated with loud sounds of eating, the crunching of bone and the appreciative smacking of lips. The monstrous orb, or whatever was inside, had an appetite.

  Angst looked away from the sphere to his friends and found everyone staring at it as though mesmerized by the hideous sight. “Hey!” he yelled, loud enough to get everyone’s attention. They blinked quickly, tearing their gaze away to face him, slightly dazed. “Run!” he yelled. They ran.

  More trapped animals floated by as if part of a gruesome parade. A frightened deer, followed by a fox, then a small angry creature nobody recognized trailed behind, each encased in an orb, which floated to the large one over the campsite. Everyone ran as fast as they could in the dark forest, for about fifteen seconds. Something seemed to keep them from rushing away. The ground became like wet sand, and then mud, and then small bubbles appeared at their feet.

  Hector and Tarness immediately stabbed at the bubbles with their weapons. It was like trying to puncture a marble with a fork—the orbs deflected every weapon strike.

  Angst didn’t want to accidently hit anyone wi
th Chryslaenor in the dark, so he focused his effort on the ground. He hoped that creating a small quake would free the earth of its orb-creating curse. Angst immediately realized his mistake. The bubbles came with more frequency, and the group was soon surrounded by them. The small bubbles merged and solidified, becoming a single ball that lifted them all off the ground together.

  “Uh, oops,” Angst said apologetically.

  They all glared at him then stabbed and poked at their bubble prison.

  Before they were a full foot off the ground, Angst carefully turned to face away from the bubble wall so his sword wouldn’t stab anyone by accident. The tip of Chryslaenor tapped the orb, which instantly shattered. They fell, and quickly picked themselves up to start running again.

  Their second attempt at running away was thwarted when another bubble quickly imprisoned them, but this time Angst was prepared. With sword in hand, he purposely popped the orb. They’d been carried faster this time, and were captured by another large bubble before reaching the ground. Three and four and five bubbles later, they continued floating toward the giant bubble that made loud chewing and smacking sounds. Angst stopped swinging.

  “Wait, why aren’t you popping bubbles?” asked Rose in a panicked voice.

  “This isn’t working.” Angst held Chryslaenor in front of him, ready to defend against the oncoming threat.

  “What are you talking about? We’ll be there any second,” Ivan yelled in alarm.

  “You better get ready then,” growled Hector, grinning wickedly. His wolf-like eyes flashed in anticipation of the coming battle.

  They braced themselves as their bubble met its target. The two orbs didn’t merge instantly, but instead slowly rubbed together as though positioning for a perfect union. The delay only made it worse as they waited for the bubbles to merge.

  The interior was more disgusting than he could have imagined. The horrific gamey smell of freshly dead carcass was overwhelming. The bubble was lined with animal bits, feathers, and bones, all marinating in a shallow pool of fresh blood. At the center was a dog. If you could call it a dog. It was ten feet tall and black as night. The monster had six legs, one of which it was licking clean. Thin bony protrusions covered it like a dangerous black fur. It looked up at them with four glowing red eyes, and its three tails wagged, thudding loudly against the side of their prison.

  Angst shook his head in disbelief. “Bad dog,” he said coldly as he lowered Chryslaenor and popped the bubble.

  They landed with a hard crash. Bones and blood showered the campsite. Exposed to the night air, the dog-thing yelped and howled in pain. The beast had fallen onto a tent and toppled to its side. Smoke rose from its body as it flailed and attempted to get up. Bubbles quickly began forming around the creature.

  “Don’t let it get inside another bubble,” warned Dallow.

  Angst picked himself off the ground and leaped forward, plunging Chryslaenor deep into the monster’s side. Thick orange smoke billowed from the wound with a loud hiss.

  The ground continued to produce bubbles.

  “Everyone back!” Angst commanded. With a deep breath, he let Chryslaenor take over. In a whirlwind, he darted around like a hummingbird, destroying every orb as it appeared, until they finally stopped.

  After the bubbles were gone, he watched in horror as their enormous, very hungry assailant completed its transformation, deflating into an actual dog. The extra legs withdrew back into its body and black fur replaced the boney protrusions. It was still alive, and they all stood back. Warily, a small black lab pup looked at them all with tired, sick eyes. It tried to get up, wagged its tail feebly, then fell over with a pitiful yelp. The pup whimpered in pain as the large gash along its side sputtered blood and smoke.

  “Kill it,” Ivan pleaded to Angst.

  “No,” argued Rose. She stepped forward, but Dallow held her back.

  “That’s not a good idea,” Dallow warned, holding her arm.

  Angst brought his sword to the fire and set the tip inside. When he felt that Chryslaenor was hot enough, he returned to the pup. “Sorry, boy.” He held the tip to its side, cauterizing the wound. The dog howled pathetically before passing out, the soul-wrenching sound echoing through the dark woods.

  “What was that all about?” yelled Tarness. He stomped around, brushing at his arms and legs as though trying to rid himself of what he’d just experienced.

  “I was told that this is our new guide,” Angst replied.

  23

  Public discord was good for business. Though Graloon would’ve preferred happier times, people didn’t tend to cure depression, or oppression, with milk. How many revolutions had been started by angry men sipping lemonade? A few alcoholic beverages, sometimes a few more, some angry talk, and unfortunate circumstances could be the ingredients for brave souls, or foolish ones. For the last several evenings, his bar had become the headquarters for just such malcontents.

  It wasn’t unusual to find all the tables full at the Wizard’s Revenge since the room would grow or shrink as needed to accommodate its guests. It was, however, unusual to have so many tables filling the room, and most with customers Graloon didn’t recognize. With mugs of ale in hand, he made his way through the maze of patrons, both familiar and unfamiliar, listening to snatches of random conversations.

  “...it was like they didn’t even believe me. They kept asking me the same questions again and again!”

  “I finally had to show them how I wield magic, like cleaning dishes could kill the queen. Then they started asking me what my friends could do, and they took notes the entire time.”

  “I heard they arrested Jeynson, that guy who could juggle balls of fire and water, when he said the queen deserved whatever happened to her. Guy never knew how to keep his mouth shut.”

  Graloon delivered the drinks to a few impatient customers before making his way back to Heather at the bar. She was dressed a bit more conservatively than his other barmaids this evening, but customers liked that her smile and laugh were genuine. Graloon chuckled. The other barmaids had been more than a little upset the night Heather started, when she made more tips by being herself instead of falling out of her clothes.

  “Thanks again for the help, Heather. The crowd is getting bigger every night, and we’d be at a loss without you,” said Graloon in his gravelly voice. “Are you all right? You seem a bit pale.”

  Heather straightened out her apron and smiled, pulling her curly brown hair back to keep it from her face. “Just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well with Angst gone. I appreciate the distraction of working, though. It’s so much better than being at home by myself.”

  “You know, I’ve been thinking about that. We have extra rooms here. You would be welcome to stay until Angst returns,” Graloon offered. “With all that’s going on, I’d feel a bit better knowing you’re safe.”

  Heather cocked her head. “That’s very kind. I’ll consider it.”

  Graloon looked away from her to admire the full tables while rubbing his ample gut. Something about a group of men at the bar caught his attention, so he casually inched closer and listened.

  “In my day, we would’ve taken the castle by force,” slurred a drunken old man. He’d been perched on a nearby bar seat since lunch and was now deep in his cups.

  “In your day, you would’ve been hung for saying that. Then hung again for wielding magic,” retorted a younger man sitting next to him. “The laws have helped us more than hurt us. It’s not like everyone is getting locked up or hunted down.”

  “You mean they haven’t locked us up... yet,” said a very tall, muscular man with a rich, booming voice. Most patrons near him went quiet, taking immediate notice of his impressive presence. He walked along the front of the bar, preening for attention. The man was thirtyish-years-old, with greasy blond hair pulled tight into a long ponytail, which rested on one shoulder. Unfortunate pockmarks dotted his long face and tall forehead. “Mind my words. They’ll keep asking, and pushing, and taking away rights
until there’s nothing left.”

  A few at nearby tables nodded in agreement. Another young man thrust his tankard of ale upward, its contents sloshing dangerously, and yelled, “Yeah!”

  Graloon didn’t recognize the speaker as a regular, but did recognize him as the type of wannabe that lurked for opportunities. Graloon looked at Heather and rolled his eyes, jerking his head in the direction of the ‘entertainment.’ “Here’s another one who thinks he can become a ‘leader,’” he whispered grouchily. “One more know-it-all who knows nothing. Just taking advantage of all the frustration, if you ask me.”

  Heather chuckled, wiping her hands on her apron. “Isn’t he the second ‘ponytail’ this week?” she whispered.

  “Third, by my count,” Graloon replied gruffly.

  The pockmarked man wallowed in an overly dramatic pause before speaking louder so even more could hear. “Can any of you honestly say you want things to continue in this direction? The queen chisels away at our rights, while we do nothing. She gets attacked, and who does she investigate? We still do nothing. Soon they will be arresting us, for doing nothing. Look how many of us are here. We must number a hundred. How many does it take to start a revolution?”

  It appeared to Graloon that several of the speaker’s well-placed friends were spread around his bar, each about the same age and nobody he recognized. They did their best to muster support from all ends of the room.

  The unfortunate-looking man was now loud enough for everyone to hear. “It must start now! It will start now! We can pull together, march to the queen, and demand change!”

  “Can you all pay your tab first?” Graloon yelled. Everyone within earshot laughed.

  The man’s head whipped around, his ponytail slapping against his cheek. He stared at Graloon with fire in his eyes. “Don’t you understand?” He pointed at Graloon and then at his audience. “These people have had enough! This isn’t the time for jokes. This is the time to fight!”