Legacy
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Garuda Lal raced to the beach with the rest of the village children, to see the Storyweaver, OrmRilElIonanAedairee, the elder mothers dubbed the nameless man, He-Who-Came-With-The-Sea. Garuda slid her slim frame through a wall of charcoal-skinned youths until she reached the center of the respectful circle they gave the pale man with hair and beard of snow. A smile creased his sun-darkened face as her little sister presented him with his favorite drink of fermented goat’s milk flavored with honey from the neighboring village.
“Story!” An unknown voice demanded from the crowd. Soon a chorus sang for the old traveler, “Story! Story!”
The Storyweaver silenced them with a raised hand and a deep smile. “And what shall we hear today children?” He asked in a youthful voice bellying his age. Nimble fingers strummed a beautiful harp. “Shall I speak of the emperor who enslaved his people with a cunning trap? Perhaps a tale when dragons ruled with an iron hand. Hmm? Or the story of the Warrior and his journey through the void? Perhaps the story of when men ruled and war ravaged the land.
Garuda raised her hand and jumped, laughing at the last. Women owned the land while men worked it, as it always was. And people killing one another? Preposterous! “Tell us of the Star Goddess.”
“Ahh,” Eyes blue as the sea danced as he acquiesced, “The goddess who saved the world. So be it.” Storyweaver cleared his throat and sipped his brew until the crowd settled down for a long tale. “The Endless Night fell upon the world. A purple sky stole the moon and stars. Terrors descended upon the world killing all life. They burned with it you see, desired it, and hated the fact that they could never have it. Amid the chaos, a champion rose, beautiful and terrible to behold…”
THE END
About the author:
L. D. Dailey, a happily married father of four, slaves as an engineer during the day and dreams of becoming a published author throughout the night.
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More Stories from the author:
Fallen Empire
Riri Gast maneuvered her gilded war chariot behind a rise representing the natural border separating the cities of Asnium from the Libaias Empire. Her trio of horses, seeming to sense their master's apprehension, whined soft neighs while excavating the ground with steel shoes. She reassured the animals with an expert twist of leather reigns. A clean-shaven spearman sharing the chariot nodded in approval as the morning sun glistened off his baldhead. A scruffy archer, his pale skin a stark contrast with the spearman's ebony hue, flanking her right grunted a confirmation while unbuckling a simple leather cuirass. Riri pocketed the respectful gestures as a sign that the men would follow any competent leader, regardless of gender, regardless of deformity.
Captain Gast sensed a palatable tension while surveying her company of war chariots. She shared their trepidation as they changed into soiled cotton robes, obeying their benefactor's need for stealth. A miscalculation meant war against the fabled One Hundred Legions. Three thousand mercenaries stood little chance against one hundred thousand infantrymen.
The sound of approaching footsteps and foreign words caught Riri's attention. In the distance, a procession of hideous ogres, two thousand strong, marched toward the impromptu camp. Riri swallowed rising bile as the dread of the undisciplined hordes accompanying the Black Knight proved far more palatable than the imaginary threat of facing the One Hundred Legions. Suppressing memories of their weeklong march proved difficult, as scenes of ogres devouring captured enemy scouts arose unbidden. She did not begrudge the death of Asnium's enemies encroaching upon their lands, only the manner of it.
Symbol of the Order
Sitting in front of a sacked mosque, the watcher strained weary eyes against the rising sun obscuring the Temple of Solomon. A new day in the Holy Land did little to stave off the chill. The beggar-in-disguise pressed his rags, newly acquired from a deceased contributor, tighter around his slim frame.
The Byzantine cursed the name of Emperor Alexius, even while serving the man as his spymaster. "Jerusalem, the Kingdom of Heaven." A cynical snort answered his own mutters, "Nothing here but a den of thieves, murderers, and rapists. These fools pose no threat to the empire, just Christian wolves killing Muslim dogs, the whole lot of them."
Legacy
Dexterous fingers, more accustomed to stringing the harp strapped to his back, clutched the eyelid of the water dragon in a fearful grip. To the bard’s great shame, his girlish squeals filled the salty air as the sea drake uncoiled and stretched toward the cavern underneath the mysterious sky-town floating above the sea. As the beast accelerated toward the small opening, Krastyo Gurav surmised a problem and shouted to his sister, calmly meditating at the creature’s crown within an ebony cloud of wind-whipped robes. “Bakarne, its head’s too big!”
Bakarne’s tattooed hands waved him closer, as milky eyes stared with a blind nonchalance that unnerved the musician. Krastyo shook his head and slammed frightened eyes closed, shoulders hunched as he braced for impact.
Something thick with corded muscle seized him as prideful laughter filled his ears. “Come brother! No one will sing of the bard murdered by a flying mountain.” Air currents shifted about him as realization dawned that his younger brother threw him. He threw him- amid the sea- atop a suicidal dragon- and laughed!
Tormented Souls
Levi turned the ebony Dodge into a ravaged driveway meandering toward the desolate barn he overheard local drunks joking about earlier. The poor bastards, some legends were true and not to be mocked. “Just like those old fossils said. Nobody here.” A calloused hand rolled down the window and Levi peeked up at a silhouette of the full moon peeking through a cloudy sky. “Yea. Night’s right.” He peered at his twin sister and nodded, clenching fists against encroaching fear, “It's time.”
Trembling fingers reached out, tugging on his plaid shirt while Shelly’s other hand massaged a charcoal, multi-shot rifle loaded with silver tinted bullets. “Levi, the moon. Is this a good idea?”
Levi frowned, feeling the tug of an old scar curving along the contours of his face from eye to lip, but hesitated to lambast her up and down the countryside as was proper. I ain’t scared! Yet, his body sat frozen. A memory of pa before they closed the casket, his body unnaturally shredded, pierced through apprehension to where vengeance lay beneath. He stared into azure eyes with hardened resolve. “Lock and load.” He stormed out of the old pickup, determined to end yearlong hunt, alone if necessary.
Tribute
“There she is,” someone barked from behind, “Alert Sir Bohl.” Khrys spun and confronted a trio of guards. One bowed toward the holy man, “Pardon’s servant of Haldaorf. Perfunctionary Cedric Bohl ordered the guard to find his daughter and bring her back to the temple.”
Anger spurred Khrys’ feet forward. He unsheathed his sword. “You will not touch my wife.”
“Wife?” A short aristocrat stepped into the temple with azure boots. Matching hose and doublet completed the ensemble as Perfunctionary Cedric Bohl studied the newlyweds. “I think not. Stand aside, boy- Ah,” recognition widened his chestnut eyes. “The peasant whose defiance attracted my disgraceful heir’s notice.” More guards flanked him as he continued. “You do realize how flighty she is. Irresponsible. Lazy! She’ll play with you and toss you aside when you begin to bore her.”
Celine whimpered and seized Khrys’ back. Khrys hunted for words and found none. The kettle-bellied spiritualist saved him with a meaty finger wagging at the intruders, his wine-soaked beard bristling with indignation, “They spoke the words in this holy house! Honor their vows or the gods will destroy you.”
“Holy?” Cedric gaged the conical temple with darkened recesses, the crude pews facing a raised altar adorned with axe, sword, shield, and helmet. “I own pigs that rut in comelier places. Tell me, holy man. Did you know that you just married the High Priestess of Marrinae to a homeless fisherman? No? I assume I’ll h
ave your discretion in this manner? Ah, good.” Cedric’s perfect bow mocked the deflated priest.
Khrys wracked his brain for an escape and settled on diplomacy, sheathing his weapon. “The ceremony will kill her, my lord. The Old Gods-”
“Yes, yes. Superstitious, down-country nonsense. The Halfman was right- about you and her. I will pay dearly for this night.” Cedric retreated. “Take her. Kill the boy if he resists.”
A Wasted Life
Squeezing his slight paunch between a maze of empty desks obstructing a direct path, the weary cop meandered his way to the women's restroom, now the co-ed bathroom because of a bad pipe. In the triple-stalled bathroom, the officer stared at a pathetic image in the mirror while washing his hands. Tired, sunken, azure eyes stared back. A wrinkled hand traced the lines along his clean-shaven face. One more and you can turn me into a raisin. Combing over an ever-expanding bald spot in a futile attempt at concealment, he once more contemplating shaving all of the silver hairs and being done with it, and once more rejecting the insanity. Look like one of those Saturday Night Live Coneheads if I did. Straightening the chestnut tie, the vice detective pursed reed-thin lips as a chocolate stain revealed itself. Fifty-bucks down the drain. That's enough for one day. Time to go home.
Three minutes later, the officer began the journey