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| >> Static Item >> Short Story >> Fantasy >> ID #1225068 |   |
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The Necromancers Story
Chapter Two: The Brettlewood “I grew up very, very far from here, in a small village on the edge of a great wood. It was in this great forest, the Brettle, as they were called that I was walking one afternoon, hunting for mushrooms. I very soon lost the trail I was using, as happened often to people in the Brettle and wandered for several hours until I saw a small cottage in the midst of it all. It sat there, hugged by the trees and foliage away from the entire world. “Thank goodness I had come upon it, because I hadn’t eaten since that morning and it was well after supper by then, but I smelled a delicious aroma rising from the chimney of that little cottage, and so made haste to its front door. I was greeted by a handsome young man, dressed in simple clothes and stirring a nice kettle full of stew. Bading me come in, he set a place for me. As we dined on his simple fare, which to me was quite the feast after wandering around all day as I did, we spoke of why it was he lived in the middle of the vast Brettles, and why exactly it was that he kept his door open for strangers to walk in, for it all struck me as quite odd. “He tells me that that cottage where he lived was the very cottage in which he was born, and that the bed in the corner was the very bed he was birthed on. His father had built it as a getaway from the world. For in his fathers youth was when magic was really beginning to be a nuisance. Everyone seemed to be suddenly finding that they had some magical power or another and that some were good, and some were bad. It wasn’t long before he too, began to feel odd things happening to himself. For though he moved far away from society, The Great Change came overcame him too. “Nothing out of the ordinary really happened to him, except that those lost in the woods would oddly always find their way to him. Every day when he went out, more and more people would meet him and ask him the way to the paths, and it wasn’t long before he needn’t ever go out for them to find him. Every day, they were knocking on his door. Finally, he just began to leave it open, for they came, day and night. “And these folk were strange folk too. They would converse, as everyone does, but of things long passed, of distant places, places he’d never heard of or of immense tragedy and illness. It was all rather depressing to him that the only people that seemed to call at his doorstep were, and it took him quite a few years to realize it, and quite a few more to admit it to himself: dead. “They were lost souls: none of them meaning harm, just needing direction as they were caught in between worlds. Finally, it began not to bother him. Though strange and disarming, they were not dangerous. He took pity on them and pointed them always in the direction of the sun. “One day he was out walking, coincidentally mushroom hunting as I was and he met a beautiful young woman. She was different than the rest you see, for she spoke of current times in the same small town that he’d grown up in that lie just on the south side of the Brettlewood. She had run away from the world, much as he had. Her family had thrown her to the streets, telling her that if she did not run away, they could not keep the rest of the ordinary and the GeldMajikus from stoning her to death. “She was a SnakeCharmer. It was sad that, after having hidden it for so long that she had finally been found out. The man took pity on her and let her live in his little cottage with him, and together they were happy, him with the dead and her with the woodland serpents whom she swore never told her to do a lick of evil in all her life. One day a soul of a reverend was wondering through and his father had had the idea that they should be married. Since, for a long time they had been living in sin, the woman agreed. “They were happily married for sometime when his wife finally became pregnant. The man no longer fancied himself youthful and was glad to see that he would not die with no one to leave his fine little cottage to. His wife however, was quite worried. She was afraid, of course that their child would be stricken with the stigma of a MalMajikus. Who would want their child to be banned from decent society on pain of death? Her concerns were especially obvious because both of the poor child’s parents were so stricken. “But she still cared for the child inside her, for she loved her husband much, and she knew that her boy, for she somehow knew it would be a boy, could always be raised and live in the perfect seclusion that the Brettlewood offered. The day he was born was a happy one, and both the serpents and the lost souls in the Brettles gathered to welcome the babe into the world. They cooked a feast of nuts and mushroom and three dozen squirrels stew which they ate for the next thirteen days of the celebration. It seemed to the man that his life had at long last come full circle. Never had he dreamed that his life would ever become so near normality, but now with a wife and a fine healthy son…he knew that although he’d the stigma of the MalMajikus, he was blessed. “The child was naught but four months old when one morning the man woke to its terrible wailing. It was an oddity, for his son was always the most pleasant and happy of babies. Raven, as they had named that baby boy, had in fact not shed a tear since the night of his birth. Rising from his bed the old man took the boy in his arms and saw that his wife was no where to be seen. He searched day and night for a month, but all he found was an envelope hidden underneath the babies cradle addresses to her son. “Filled with mourning for her loss, her husband could hardly help but open the envelope and read for himself why his wife had abandoned him and their child. “My Dearest Raven Brettlewood, “My son, you do not know me, but I am the woman who bore you. I know not what your father will have told you about me, but I am no monster. I did not leave you because I am a heartless, soulless creature. I have left you because I am human and I am afraid. When you grow you will be one of three things. You will be ordinary if life has blessed you, you will be a GeldMajikus if life has made you lucky, or you will be a MalMajikus. “I pray that if you grow to be a decent person like your father, an honest and likeable individual. Fate has chosen an interesting path for you to follow, and I know that your life is one that will be very special. Likely however, luck will not be on your side. With you father and I being MalMajikus, the chances are overwhelming that you will also be thusly stricken. I’m sorry to be that one to tell you; because your father is too kind hearted a man to let you in on the ways of the outside world. “I know that while you age you will be curious about the places outside the Brettle, and god-willing your father will despair you to go out there. The people in this land, from the tiniest farms to the greatest cities in the realm are of one mindset. Since the Great Change, the people have become divided. There are good and there are bad and there are ordinary. And the MalMajikus, this that you will likely become are scorned by them. They will see you, and know you by the shamefulness that will grow to hang heavy on your brow. These people, though some may be decent and god-fearing, will not hesitate to bring a horrible mob upon you. “They will tear you into shreds; stone you, ridicule you, and spit into your face. Their children will laugh at you, their wives will throw sand in you eyes and they will bury you in a shallow grave – all because you were born our son. You will have no freedom or justice, no equality, no chance to defend yourself. To them you are lower than livestock, and it is all because of us. “Your father and I never intended to bear you into their world. Please son, forgive me for bringing to you into their hands. Because like me, you have little choice but to bear the stigma and also like me, you will likely inherit my curiosity. I know that you will be helpless but to venture out among them. I’m sorry. I love you and hope that you will overcome the odds that fate has set against of you. “I have left to go into this world to prove this to you. Worry not, by the time you’ve read this you will have seen the proof you need.” “Of course Jarvis, he was not allowed to know about this letter until much later in his life. He was raised to think that his mother had died giving birth to him and his father never once mentioned to him his necromancy or her SnakeSinging. As a matter of fact his father told him nothing about the Great Change, or even magic itself. Raven was kept in the dark about the ways of the outside world. “He was raised a happy youth, carefree and innocent. Like the wind, he ran through the forest, learning the run of every stream and hidden path. He learned all he could about the creatures and their ways, played in the leaves and swam in the pond. It took him until he was nearly eleven to realize that he’d never met another person except for his father before. Then he was sad. “It soon became quite obvious to his father that the happy child had begun to bear the same burden of curiosity that his mothers’ letter would warn him about. However, he tried not to worry, for his son although curious – seemed content to wander the woods, and never asked questions. Raven was quiet and observant, and smart as a whip – not the child that a parent has to constantly worry about…until one quiet autumn night, when they were walking back from the pond after a long day of fishing. “Father. I saw a man yesterday in the woods.” The boy said simply. His father was silent. Although he’d waited a long time for this day to come, he found himself totally unprepared. Looking around in the failing daylight, the boy sighed. “Actually, I saw a few men yesterday.” Still the old man was silent. “So, the boy went on. “One was a hunter. He had a bow on his back and a spear in his hand. He saw me and walked right up to me.” The boy looked to his father for a response but found nothing. “He told me he was from Grandetha. That he was well-known there for bringing back the biggest deer. Another was a farmer from the Miina Plaines, whom told of bandits whom lurked in the woods. I told him I was always careful of strangers.” Raven smiled and looked up at his father whom walked in silence and looked straight ahead. “There were two men from Omrinia, whom I couldn’t understand, and a third from the Tridath School in Fronlieth who spoke of the stars and their movements.” The boy was getting excited now as he spoke, his body shaking a little out of fear of his father’s reaction. “They all asked me the way out of the woods. So I told them the quickest way of course…” “Taciturn, the father walked faster towards the cottage, his heart racing, and tears forming in the corner of his eyes. What he’d feared for his son was coming to pass, and he had no idea how to act or what to say. Eleven years of avoiding the outside worlds and all their evils had been a huge burden. How strong he’d had to be for so long so that his son would know peace! “He was so lost in his own thoughts he nearly missed the woman who had stepped out from behind a small ash tree. The setting sun bright orange and the clouds vibrant violet, she seemed to glow in a magical light. Stopping in his tracks he put out his arm to catch his son by the arm. “Father!.” Raven said with a smile on his face as he tried to free himself from his fathers grasp. Frustrated he turned to yell ‘Let Go.’, but he stopped when he saw the look on his fathers face. Almost like a smile, but somewhat like fright mixed with regret, Raven found himself crying. “Oh, don’t cry please Raven.” Said the lady. Her long blonde hair looked lustrous and shined in the waning light, her big brown eyes were sad. “Uther tell him not to cry for me!” She shook her head and lowered her eyes. But the old man was crying too. Wiping at his eyes he couldn’t help but weep seeing the beautiful young woman before him. His sons own brown eyes were wide with wonder and confusion. “Oh…Viv…I don’t have to tell him! He can see for himself.” The old man was holding out his hand, trying to reach out for the woman, but she seemed to be constantly moving backwards. Now the woman lifted her head and broke into tears. “Things are different than we thought Uther… that is all I can say. I have went into the world and been stoned because of what I am, instead of staying where I was loved and special. I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry I left Raven. Our son will bear the same fate as I, you know that!” Her figure ripple, distorted by the breeze and the boy watched with wide eyes now. “Viv, I have lived all my life in this cottage and never sought out adventure like you. He may be like me and live to be an old man…” But Uther didn’t seem to believe his own words; he body looked old and tired. “I wish that much for him, but one day the world will come and find him, Just as I came and found you, and he will make up his own mind.” In that instant, the lady vanished into the last bit of light from the setting sun and the old man looked down at his boy. Dirty tear-smudged cheeks glowed under the stars and two eyes shook in their sockets with confusion. “Come, let us go home where we can talk.” Said Uther, as he took the boy back to the cottage where they sat up for hours talking about the world outside the Brettle Woods. “That boy buried his father, and lived until his mid-twenties in the cottage before I walked into his life. Of course, he waited to tell me this story until the day I left….” There was a silence as she finished the story, and she turned to Jarvis whose face was inches from her own. His eyes were doubtful, but he had a half-smile on his lips. Rook sighed and took his cloak that she’d been using as a pillow out, and shook it. She’d become strangely cold. Wrapping it around her, she felt his warm magic emanating from it as if he’d just taken it off a moment before. Jarvis stood and went to the cave opening. Outside the trees were leaking their sap through giant gashes in their sides and the leaves on the ground had shriveled, dried and burst into flame. Dead animals littered his view, and he immediately cast a silent spell so that they could not see/smell them. It was disgusting, but the worst part was that somewhere there was a Necromancer, and a very powerful one, still lurking in the 13 Mile Wood. “So why is it that no living persons except, of course… you and the mans mother ever made it into those woods? How come only the dead were allowed there?” His back to her, he listened but heard her answer in a whisper. “You don’t believe me.” She was curled in his blanket now, half-asleep. “The Brettles were so bad around the forest you could only be let in by magic. I had a charm so that I could get in to get the mushrooms…” Turning around he saw that she was nearly dreaming. “What exactly are Brettles?” He asked, crouching beside her and tucking the blankets around her. A moment of silence passed and although he had more pressing issues to deal with, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She was beautiful and slim, with long dark blonde hair and two large sad brown eyes. Her skin was very fair and her cheeks were lightly freckled. Two large pillowy lips parted to answer him finally. “Thorns.” “Thorns!” He exclaimed, his voice reverberating around inside the cave, waking Solace from her sleep and scaring Rook into sitting upright. The man paced in the cave with a purpose, his mind on fire. He was trying to remember something, something important, something very important about thorns. Where had he learned it, or heard it and why was he only remembering bits and pieces. Then a light turned on inside his mind as the memory fully awoke and he stood akimbo and stared down at Rooks frightened face. “Lady Lawsatrike!” He said triumphantly at last. Shaking her head she smiled and shrugged her shoulders, eyes wandering to the corners of the cave. “Lady Lawsatrike, the first GeldMajikus?” He insisted his voice excited and a story behind his eyes, ready to burst out of his mouth, but Rook didn’t know what he meant, so she just waited. “Yes?” She said finally. “And how would I know who Lady Lawsatrike is?” “She was the great Oracle of Mavendy! She predicted the Great Change and founded the city as a haven for the magical; she’s the one who invented the 13 Mile Wood to protect us. She prophesied the coming of Eofus Madhavan, and the 3 year war and the march of the undead upon Mavendy. I mean this is amazing. Do you know what this means?” He was waving his arms in the air, his tall lean body eager to spill out the story, but holding back slightly for affect. “A great black bird with fly from its nest in the thorns and alight upon Mavendy, filling it with the powers of the moon and cutting off the hand of evil with its own sword.” He raised his eyebrows awaiting some kind of reaction from her, but he got nothing. “Your friend, the Raven, who lives in the Brettles, or thorns. He has a dark power. Also known as a power of the moon, and has the same weapon as Eofus Madhavan or the same sword, the ability to control the dead and undead! This is amazing. We have to go to the Setiglynn at once!” Her eyes were wide open and frightened by his realization. Mouth agape, she couldn’t find the words to describe what she had to tell him. “But Raven is sssscared of the outside world.” She said with a stutter. “And regardless, you wouldn’t be able to get into the wood to find him. You should just leave him alone! That’s all he wants, is for the outside world and all their judgments to just leave him alone if they aren’t going to see him for a person instead of a MalMajikus!” Jarvis could tell she was very angry as she yelled, her mouth in a frown and her brown deeply creased. She was afraid for her seemingly-innocent friend, who’d been raised to fear the outside world and never wanted to be a part of it. “Besides!” She said sharply. “We can’t even get out of this cave, let alone go all the way to the Brettles!” And then, like it had been waiting for her words to cue it all that time. The siren stopped. Although she couldn’t hear it, she knew it. Looking up into Jarvis’ eyes, she saw he knew it too.
© Copyright 2007 Rookssolace (UN: darklydreaming at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
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