Angst Box Set 1

by David Pedersen

  At the end of the hallway was a wall with another carved handprint and similar symbols.

  “Dallow, what does this writing say?” Angst asked.

  Dallow made his way over to peer at the wall. “It says, ‘Push to rise.’”

  Angst put his hand in the etching, waited, and walked through.

  “Can’t we discuss these things before diving in?” asked Hector with annoyance.

  Dallow shrugged. “You want to go next, Rose?”

  “What, to be groped again when I fall through?” she said.

  “He groped you?” Dallow asked, his eyebrows raised.

  Rose rolled her eyes and pressed her hand to the wall carving. She too disappeared.

  This time there was no tripping, and Angst stood further back. “That’s where I appeared as well, so I’d suggest moving this way.”

  Rose walked over to him. He purposely bumped her with his shoulder in a teasing manner. “It’s all a bit odd, isn’t it?”

  She smirked at him, and they were done apologizing. “I’m trying not to think about it. I just hope we’re safe. I don’t exactly have a giant sword for protection.”

  “Sure you do,” Angst said.

  Everyone followed, one at a time. This hallway mirrored the other, but unlike the first, it had a recognizable door at the end.

  “What do we do now?” Dallow asked as they stood in front of the wooden door.

  “It’s a door. Open it,” Angst suggested.

  Tarness turned the handle. Momentarily blinded by bright warm sunlight, they all squinted and reared back before going outside. After days of dark, cloudy weather, their eyes adjusted to the brightness slowly. Beyond the door was a grassy courtyard filled with people. It took several seconds for the people to realize they had visitors, but they didn’t seem surprised and watched in apparent interest as Angst and his friends walked onto the grass.

  It was as if they had entered a dream, leaving the dreary grays of forest and suddenly walking into a world of color. A beautiful city surrounded them, blinding light reflecting off tall, white marble buildings. Each bore banners of deep blue with gold trim. A variety of richly colorful flowers bloomed from large planters smartly placed along every path. People in the courtyard were garbed in comfortable, bright-colored togas and sandals. They were all Angst’s height or shorter.

  “Look, we’ve found your people,” Rose whispered to Angst with a mischievous smirk.

  “Where did all of this come from?” Hector asked, his wolf-like eyes wary. He looked to Dallow, who simply shook his head while attempting to lift his dropped jaw.

  A stunning young woman approached Angst. Her mane of light-brown hair hung gently over her tanned shoulders. She had a small nose and full lips, her smile dimpling her cheeks at seeing them. Her robes were deep blue, held together by a soft golden rope. As thin as Rose, she was several inches shorter than Angst. She stopped a mere breath away and looked up at him.

  “Hi,” Angst breathed with a broad smile. “I’m Angst.”

  She frowned and leaned her head to one side so she could better view Chryslaenor. Her expression reflected her surprise, and she walked behind Angst to get a better look. Angst eyed his friends, raised one eyebrow, and shrugged, politely waiting for the young woman to finish her inspection. She ran her finger along the flat of the sword, and several glowing symbols briefly appeared on the blade. Her entire face suddenly filled with happiness. She walked back around and gave Angst a lingering hug he happily returned, grinning at his friends the entire time.

  “Here we go again,” Hector muttered, shaking his head.

  “What do you expect from people wearing bathrobes,” Rose said tersely, assessing the young woman from head to toe.

  The attractive young woman grabbed Angst’s hand and rushed him through the courtyard. She was saying something in animated tones, but he couldn’t understand a word.

  “I think she’s speaking in Acractic, but she’s talking so fast I can’t follow,” offered Dallow as he scrambled to keep up.

  She ushered them through the heart of Gressmore Towers, a full and busy city they’d unexpectedly found in the middle of empty tundra. Angst glimpsed roads and shops, all teeming with hundreds of curious people. As the group progressed, they slowly amassed a following of robed fans, each of them chatting excitedly. Five minutes later, they entered a large, official-looking building with twenty-foot-tall marble columns. Their entourage remained outside. The young woman guided them through various stone hallways, gripping Angst’s hand the entire time, as though afraid to lose him.

  She pushed through a large pair of ornate wooden doors, and they followed her into a library impressive enough to make Dallow squeak. Books floated around the room, approaching and departing an elaborately carved marble table at the center. At the head of this table sat a man who looked as solid as the stone pillars holding up the city. He wore armor similar to Angst’s, though his was gray instead of black. His brown hair, streaked with white, was woven into a long braid. His tanned face was round, and his dark eyes appeared very tired. Next to him, a giant sword hovered on its tip, identical to the one on Angst’s back.

  When the man first looked up from the books he had been studying, he seemed distracted, as though lost in thought and annoyed at the interruption. The young woman spoke to him in rushed sentences, still holding Angst’s hand. The man shook his head as though noticing everyone for the first time. He stood, and advanced toward them quickly. The man ignored Angst’s proffered hand, walking around him to view Chryslaenor. After several moments, he forcefully turned Angst around and gave him an intense brotherly hug.

  “Uh, I sort of liked it better when she hugged me,” Angst said uncomfortably.

  The man and the attractive young woman laughed. He patted Angst soundly on the shoulder and pointed at the sword. With no idea what the man was saying, he just smiled and nodded.

  The man reached forward and removed the sword from Angst’s back, holding it out in front of him to inspect it, as though it were his own.

  30

  To the best of common knowledge, Chryslaenor had not been picked up, used, or even swung about casually in recorded history. It had been considered a stunning feat for Angst to wield the sword. For this mystery man from a mystery city to nonchalantly take the blade from his back and lift it with such ease was dumbfounding. The older man smiled as he inspected the length and breadth of the beastly weapon. He nodded appreciatively and lowered the sword, setting it in its resting position over the floor.

  Angst felt the cold chill of shock grip his heart that this stranger could wield his sword, and his face must have shown it. The man began talking, and while Angst couldn’t understand him, he recognized the apologetic tone. He didn’t know how to reply, and assumed it wouldn’t be understood anyway. With a curious smile, the man pointed to his own identical sword and waved Angst over to it.

  Angst looked at the other sword, hovering imposingly on its tip. He didn’t understand what was expected of him until the young woman took his other hand. With a friendly smile, she led him to the sword, and rested his hands on the hilt.

  “Dulgirgraut the Defender.” The words echoed through Angst’s head as he hefted the sword and held it aloft. It was different, this sword, much different. In spite of being identical in size, it seemed heavier and the weight felt balanced closer to the blade’s tip. When Angst held Chryslaenor, it sometimes glowed with shades of blue while Dulgirgraut’s glow was dark green. Dulgirgraut’s song wasn’t the same. Chryslaenor often felt, and sounded, enthusiastic. There were always distant notes in Angst’s head that seemed to elicit a sense of urgency. Dulgirgraut played a careful, more somber tune. Angst could sense why this sword was called the defender.

  The man had set Chryslaenor on its tip to hover over the white marble floor. Angst lowered Dulgirgraut with the intent of placing it beside his sword. The thought of hefting two giant swords simultaneously made him chuckle, so on a whim, he reached for Chryslaenor. The man and
woman yelled what must’ve been a warning, but it was too late.

  Angst’s muscles locked into place. It was like holding lightning in one hand and thrusting the other into freezing water. If the swords were brothers, they hated each other. An electric bolt from Chryslaenor tore through his right half and crackled around the outside of Angst’s body. The attack stopped at his chest, where Dulgirgraut defended with painful wave upon wave of glowing green light. Angst was immobilized, unable to do anything but watch, immersed in sensation, as his chest prepared to explode. His teeth chattered violently as lightning wove through them. Thunderous reverberations crashed through his head, and blood trickled from his ears.

  The young woman stood before Angst with her tiny wrists pressed together and palms facing him. Symbols haloed in yellow and purple light flew from her hands only to bounce off Angst’s chest. The man muttered words and swept his arms in complicated movements. He stopped and reached for Dulgirgraut, attempting to wrench it away. He was instantly thrown into the air in a blast of green light. The man flew over the table and deftly rolled into a standing position. Nothing they did could free Angst from the feuding storms he held.

  Finally, Tarness walked around to face him. “Sorry, Angst,” his deep voice boomed over the chaos, and then he punched Angst hard in the face.

  Angst woke an hour later to find himself lying on the library table with the pretty young woman standing behind his head. The palms of her hands felt cold on his temples, and she was muttering something in their language.

  “Hello,” Angst said. His jaw was sore, and he practiced moving it around. He sniffed and smelled the coppery scent of blood.

  The woman opened her eyes and looked down at him. Her shoulders dropped, and her face relaxed. She smiled tiredly at Angst and said something he couldn’t understand then peered toward his feet where the older man stood. The man said something that sounded angry, but also made no sense. He shook his head. They were both frustrated, and the man spoke to her.

  She walked around the table and took Angst’s hand. “Um, how do I tell her I’m married?” he asked aloud.

  She giggled and placed her other hand on his forehead.

  “Wait, did you understand me?” he asked.

  She said something that sounded like a different language than she had been speaking previously.

  “Does that mean no? What if I said you’re strikingly attractive and my wife would beat me if she knew I was holding hands with such a lovely young woman?”

  She blushed a bit, and spoke again in what sounded like yet another language. The first language came from the back of the throat, the next rolled off the tongue silkily, and the third used odd clicking sounds.

  “What if I said that attractive young women like you made me feel old and fat?”

  The woman giggled once more. “I would say you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself?” she said in an airy voice.

  “Hey, I understand you.” He pulled on the hand he’d spent so much time holding and kissed it. “Hi, I’m Angst.”

  She gently removed her hand from his and blushed again, very becomingly. She executed a little curtsy. “I’m Aerella.”

  Angst sat up slowly, with every muscle and joint screaming in pain. He awkwardly swung his legs around to a sitting position where they dangled over the edge of the table. Scar made his way over and sat in front of his feet, waiting patiently. Angst reached down to pet him.

  “I can fix language for your friends now,” Aerella said. “I could understand yours fine, but it was complicated finding a translation. I’ll go get them.”

  “Wait. You understood me all along?” Angst asked in surprise.

  She winked and smiled before turning to leave the room.

  “Everyone did,” replied the man in a guttural voice. He sounded tired and wary. “No wonder your wife beats you. Is your name really Angst?”

  “Heh, yes, yes it is.” Angst leaned and reached to shake hands with the man. His friends entered the room and walked over to the table. Everyone seemed relieved that he was all right, but Angst could sense that they were all troubled by what had happened. He introduced them. “This is Rose, Tarness, Dallow, and Hector,” he said, indicating each one in turn.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. Welcome to Gressmore Towers. Please call me Anderfeld, and you’ve, uh, met my daughter, Aerella.”

  Daughter? Angst raised his eyebrows, and Rose snorted. Aerella had just finished touching everyone’s forehead. “I’m sorry for any discomfort I caused by holding your hand for so long,” apologized Aerella. “I needed some time with your language and physical contact makes the translation process quicker.”

  “Shame, and here I was hoping it’s the local custom,” Angst lamented facetiously.

  “It’s not,” Anderfeld warned.

  “What do you mean, the translation process?” asked Dallow, his curiosity hungry.

  “The people here are from many different places. Magic imbued in the towers allows us all to communicate, but this requires a complex spell of translation.” She handed Dallow a book. “I believe you were trying to read this while waiting for Angst to recover. You should be able to now.”

  He touched it, and his eyes flashed white momentarily before he handed the book back. “Fascinating. I was concerned something was wrong with me. Thank you.”

  “You’re a reader?” Anderfeld asked.

  Dallow nodded and smiled. “I would very much like to spend some time here,” he said, looking at the books hungrily.

  “I think that’s an excellent idea,” Anderfeld agreed, studying Dallow before turning to Angst. “But first I have much to discuss with Angst. Aerella, would you mind showing everyone our city? We can all meet again shortly at dinner.”

  She nodded and walked toward the entrance. “Please come with me,” Aerella said cheerfully, waiting for the group to follow her.

  Everyone paused uncertainly and looked at Angst.

  “Think you can keep from dying for awhile?” Hector asked.

  “I promise, no touching anything I don’t understand. For now,” Angst said with a huge grin. He held off wincing and groaning until after they’d left. “That really hurt.”

  “That’s because, by all rights, you shouldn’t be alive. Al’eyrn tend to pop out of existence when holding two foci at the same time.” Anderfeld’s thick gray eyebrows furrowed with confusion. “I don’t completely understand why you’re still here.”

  Angst had cocked his head to one side and attempted to clear out his ear with a finger. “I think the translation isn’t coming across very well. Did you say Al-y-airn? What’s a foe-key?”

  “Al’eyrn and foci. Yes that’s almost correct.” Anderfeld observed him analytically. He walked around Angst, examining his armor, tapping it in several places with the back of a knuckle. He shook his head with frustration and sat hard in a sturdy, high-backed chair. Anderfeld put his large hands together and rested them on his chin thoughtfully. “Angst, what year is it?”

  Of all the questions he had expected to be asked, this was not one of them. “Uh, well, it’s 3039.”

  Anderfeld’s expression had been one of deep reflection, but this was immediately washed away by a deeper sadness. “Who passed the sword to you, Angst?”

  “Passed? It was a decoration I grabbed in a moment of need.” Questions were beginning to build in Angst’s mind, but he decided to wait.

  “A decoration?” Anderfeld asked with a mocking laugh. “After two thousand years, are all traditions gone? What about the other foci?”

  “Two thousand years? Others? Anderfeld, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The others. The foci, the armors, the tomes, the Vivek?” The blank look on Angst’s face seemed to answer Anderfeld’s questions, and he pointed at Chryslaenor. “This is all that’s left?”

  Angst looked over to where Chryslaenor hovered and merely nodded.

  “Then the burden you carry is very great, Angst,”
Anderfeld said profoundly.

  “It always has been,” Angst said with a sigh. “I have questions, but I don’t feel like we have much time. I can’t say I begin to understand what’s going on here,” he looked around the room, “or even what you’re talking about, but Ehrde is facing a crisis, and I think my friends and I are the only ones who can make things right.”

  “What’s happening in the world? Please tell me,” Anderfeld said patiently. He seemed to be a man used to listening, and giving counsel.

  Angst explained what little he knew about the Vex’kvette and the creatures that had been created by it.

  “It sounds to me like magic is breaking free again, but why would it need to?” Anderfeld’s brow furrowed once more.

  “Magic breaking free? Magic isn’t even legal,” Angst replied defensively. “Even the magical creatures have been hunted to extinction. Anderfeld, I don’t know how things work here, but magic had almost been completely wiped off Ehrde until the Vex’kvette appeared. Now, magic creatures are back and eating people.”

  “That’s what the fools get for trying to dam it up. It’s like stopping a river. The water still has to go somewhere.” Anderfeld slammed his fist on the desk. “Balance has to be maintained, and now it’s being restored forcefully. What about your sword? How did you come by that? Tell me everything.”

  Angst told the story in its entirety, from lifting the sword to locating Gressmore Towers.

  “So one of the most powerful weapons in the world had become your kingdom’s biggest joke?” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Fate often has a cruel sense of humor.”

  “Where do the swords come from?” Angst asked.

  Anderfeld sighed deeply. “They are the foci, relics of power and purpose. At one time, there were dozens, but these may be the only two left. I honestly don’t know where they came from. I only know that they’ve always existed.”

  “You’ve used that term, Al’eyrn, several times. What does that mean?”