[Short Stories] Summer 2022 Story Competition!

[GeneT]

---

Random dice roll : 5 : The twist is that one of the main characters is actually a robot/golem/created being.

Inspiration

I get inspiration from a lot of places and there are probably many sources of faded inspiration that I'm not consciously aware of but definitely have play in what comes out. But, I did want to list some of the things that inspired me to develop the initial idea that then just blossomed after I started writing. First, I support a lot of itch.io bundles for various causes and have way more games from there that I can ever hope to possible play. I tend to read all the games premises and recently I bought the Reproductive Rights Bundle which coincided with the start of this Story contest. After rolling random, I was perusing all these games I downloaded and two games wiggled into my thoughts. One was Singles&Returns - Talking to Strangers on a Bus. I took some bus rules and the idea of a bus trip from here. The other was The Creation , a solo game about being an abandoned Golem and the village is coming to destroy. I've played neither. Lastly, I took fanstastic or maybe weird locations from games like Troika, Electric Bastionlands, Beyond Glittering Sands, Van Wizard, etc, along with some Fae inspiration from past game-play.

Anyway, I hope you all have fun reading it.

 

.... Nothing, Something, Everything (3202 Words) The Lands are tied by a ribbon upon which the Bus travels. But Ryle and Regulation was threatening and hope fled with everything else. Yet in a dark wood of Gander it was built without Name or Purpose. A Golem doesn't have to be what it is made to be and very rarely ever is if given chance and freedom. Just like any else without Chapters already inked. General Moon. House of the Crescent. Last Queen of the Bright. The Maker did not name me. He died before that could be done. I know it took fifteen years for him to figure me, piece by cobbled piece, because he told me so that first day, raving about the importance of his accomplishment. Alone, I spent time learning using his black and red books. Then I named myself, as there was none else to do it, and left. Trees and bright fungi pointed out the path as I trampled unknowingly under a purple sky streaked with glowing clouds. A fierce and foul wind rustled high in the canopy but what of Fear did I know then. That would come later. And now I must write it all down. An Unraveling isn't a thing that makes amends. But should she find this, then she will know how much she was with me in the end. Past a forest of grey trees and colorful cautioning flowers, I trudged through harvest burnt fields until I found a curious mark. Two long lines cut into the crabbing grass and going in this way and that. Ruts into yellow dirt that glittered and sparkled. The dirt was sharp. I know because I bent and dug my wooden, metal, and fleshy fingers into it. The metal ones, numbered seven, came out gouged and tarnished. But my wood and flesh were undamaged, such is the nature of the GanderLands. I walked for ten days until I came upon a rock bench shaded by a silver awning. It was a good place to stop, although I was not tired. My kind never tire, at least in the body. There I waited sitting through darkness, uncertain of whether I should continue to follow the cutting ruts. In the morning, I counted five suns rise, three small and two large. All bright blue in their countenance. This was a different place than the GanderLands where there is only one sun, black and boiling. "Hello." Sitting next to me as best as she could was a thing I didn't know. She was very small. She had the nose of a pig, round and expressive, always glistening with moisture and having numerous small sensitive hairs clustered along the rim. She fluttered luminous wings as she wriggled onto the bench before folding them under her black carapace. She was mostly round in her armor of young leaves and had less the amount of legs than a beetle. A number the same as mine. She wore no shoes and had four and a half toes as far as I could tell. I had toes too but they were all different. Some weren't really toes at all. I tucked my feets under the bench out of view. 'Hello," she repeated. "I'm Last Moon in the Crinkled Spring. But you can call me Moon. Are you waiting for the Bus too?" Here was a little fear. Interesting in its coming. A thing like a small sting. Some days ago I had come to know I was not immune to pain. A hive of crystal bees taught me that. But this was a different thing. An inside thing. Wonderful to find at first until it did not end for moments, each made worse as Moon just sat there looking at me with her fuzzy eyes. I had yet spoken in my life. There was no need to do it when reading my Maker's books, or trudging out of the Grey forest, or following the ruts cut into golden soil. Nor had my Maker wanted it from me when I first woke. I know the sting was a fear of never having heard my voice. Of not knowing the sound of it. And so, as the stinging persisted, I said more than I wanted and less than I desired. "Yes." Moon laughed and my stinging fled. The fear in it was no match for the beauty of that sound. It was then that I felt what life should be even if it was Nothing I thought I could have. "Yes. A good but troublesome name," Moon said. It took me a while to answer such was her laughter in me. "Benzalei is me," I said, hearing the clacking of my voice echo out of my chest. "What is a Bus?" "Safe," she said, her laughing ended. I knew that word. It wasn't used except when needed, which was confusing as Danger isn't a thing one really learns from books. I was about to ask why the bus was safe when, in a rush of lilac whispers, it arrived and Moon and myself were suddenly surrounded by a cacophony of others ready to ride. Standing, my head crashed into the silver awning and I let out air in a rush. My lungs are bellows made of peat and fern. A perfectly suitable material if a bit wheezy when forced. Moon reached up and took my hand and simply said 'Wait." Something happened on my face and Moon made a smaller laughing sound without opening her mouth. "There will be plenty of room for us." "But there are so many," I said, knowing how to count and beginning to tally. "Trust me," she said and I stopped counting. I knew of that word and was wanting to learn it. We waited as the stream of others boarded the bus. Some were almost as tall as I, but willow thin. Others were smaller than Moon, mere motes of brightness. Some had wings and others did not. Some had ears and others did not. Some looked at Moon and bowed and others made a curious sign with whatever fingers or eyebrows they had when passing her. "Why do they do that," I asked. "It is nothing. Come. It is our turn." There was no time for questions when Moon pulled me onto the steps of the Bus. The Bus itself was curiously made. It had yellow metal sides and a white top. Metal like that of my elbows, a few of my ears, and some of the rows of my teeth. I also had some metal toes and, as mentioned, fingers numbered seven. But the Bus had many more legs than I. Hundreds of small black multijointed legs splayed out from under it. A few in front and a few in back were capped with pincers. And I am positive there were eyes embedded in the knee joints of most of them. "Benzalei. Don't dally," Moon said, tugging me in front of the Driver. "You have not ridden Before or After or any Then," I remember the Driver saying. "But the Rules must be followed even by you. Do you understand?" I was about to answer when Moon spoke. 'Yes. I understand." "How many stops do you go," the Driver asked. "All of them," she said. "All?" "All." If there was noise of the multitudes finding seats, of the foul wind waling high near the five suns, or the legs of the Bus eager to run, it quieted to silence, the Driver looking at Moon and Moon looking at the Driver. "What do you offer as a fare?" "My wings and a prayer," Moon said. The Driver nodded and held out a hand with two fingers to accept Moon's payment. Gracefully Moon unfurled her black carapace and let her wings fall away. They shimmered briefly and she held them close before handing them over to the Driver and taking one step toward the seats waiting for me. The Driver looked up from her chair and found where my eyes should have been. I do not have eyes. My Maker didn't think it necessarily as I don't need any to see. "The Bus has rules," the Driver said. "You must follow them. No Unpleasantness. Do not distract the Driver. Do not miss your Stop. Do you understand?" I nodded my ascent. "You may then Board. What fare do you offer?" I looked from the Driver to Moon. She smiled encouragement. I thought of the many words I hade learned reading my Maker's books but none seemed to fit. They were all terrible words. Powerful. Meaningful. But empty. I felt myself and the many parts I could give away. They were all terrible. Powerful. Meaningless and empty. I stepped to leave. "Wait." Moon and the Driver said together. The Driver continued after a stern look at an undeterred Moon. "You have yet to Board and so your breaking the First Two Rules does not count." Pausing a moment only, I returned to the Driver. "I have Nothing." "Nothing is a suitable fare," the Driver said. "It is often more than Something yet always less than Everything." She held out a two fingered hand waiting to collect Nothing from me and so I gave it to her and she smiled, a ridge of tiny triangular teeth along the profuseness of her gums. With a look at Moon and a nod, the Driver piston closed the doors and shifted the Bus into gear. I felt it rise suddenly and wobbled on my feet. I would have fallen if not for Moon reaching out and grabbing my arm to pull me into a seat. We sat there together, her legs dangling past the leatherette of the bench, feet not touching the velour floor. Behind us, rows of seats went back into the never-ending and the chattering of riders murmured with the rush of air as the Bus came to speed. "You fare was necessary," Moon said and then "I have sandwiches." I nodded my ascent, not having courage to ask what her Prayer had been. I knew that word too. It was like Safe and Danger and Trust. It was more than Something and sometimes Everything. "How many Stops are there," I asked, trying not to get dizzied by the blur outside the windows. "More than five-hundred and less than three," Moon said shrugging. She turned to look toward the back of the Bus. It was impossible for me to see to the never-ending but I think Moon could see that far. "There are very many riding. Most will get off too soon. Most will not wait. Fear has no mind." I turned to look, really listening to their murmuring. It was sharp like the golden soil of GanderLands and dark and boiling like its sun. "Why," I asked, a new stinging rising inside me. She looked at me smiling again but it was a different leaning on her lips. Straighter. Thinner. Pressed. "It is not Something for Benzalei." She reached and took one of my hands. The metal, and wood, and flesh of it. I could feel her warmth with almost all of it, but it didn't matter. I knew she knew. And the stinging became both more and worse. She would not let go of me despite my wanting her too. "Does everyone know," I asked. "Does it matter," she countered. "Yes." "A good but troublesome word," she mumbled to herself. "No. They don't know." I understand lying. This was not it. I nodded my ascent. We were quiet then, eating butter and bran sandwiches. I didn't need to eat, but wanted the experience of it. Moon wanted me to experience it too which was Something I knew not the why of yet. We were barely done when the Bus suddenly halted and I lost the rest of my sandwich. It tumbled Somewhere under the driver's seat. "First stop," Moon whispered, moving closer to me. "They will come quickly. Until the Last." At first I watched, mesmerised at those boarding. At the Flint Palace, a River God came bounding in, spluttering at the Driver, only stopping when the Driver started to rise from her chair, anger obvious. "No Unpleasantness," the Driver said. The River God pointed at a boy in plaid knickers clutching a pail full of fish. "No Unpleasantness," the Driver repeated, holding out her hand for a fare. The River God, stymied and beaten, fled in a wave out the piston doors. Looking back, the Driver winked at the boy. His fish gulped air in thanks. The Bus ran. At Nook, a fox in a tailored suit boarded with an alligator bag. At the Mill of Stars, an old man got on carrying a satchel of oats. Then at the Beacon, a gaggle of geese boarded. They squawked and barbled at the Driver until she held up some of her two fingered hands and yelled "One At A Time." After a moment of deliberation, the geese began to sing. The sound a layer of timbres stacked one atop another, somber drones that ebbed and pulsed until even the Bus shuddered under the weight of it. The Driver stamped her free feet at some unheard rhythm, her triangular teeth and gums flashing as she ushered them aboard. The old man shared some of his oats with the geese and they talked for a time about stone and tempos. Moon whispered to me then as the Bus ran and stopped. She told me we were transiting the Line. Districts and Regionalities and Whens all connected in the Link. One after another. Their skies were all different colors. Some had Planets and Suns. And some had nothing but Stars. At one point, the Bus banked hard and came to a stop in a field of jagged copper. The ruts had suddenly shifted but the memory of them was still in place leading to a stop on the other side of a darkened veil. The Driver opened her side window and a hot air blew into the Bus. She sniffed, the eleven holes under her eyes wrinkling. Then she looked back at Moon, a bit of sadness in them. There were five or nine lined up waiting to disembark. The Driver said "It would be best to stay" and all but one returned to their seats declaring a change. Only the old man remained. He spoke words quietly into one of the Driver's ears. She reached out with a two fingered hand to grip the man's wrist and held it firm. "This is my stop," the old man said looking into the Driver's marbled eyes. "I will not change it." Relenting, the Driver dropped her hand from him and nodded her head. Before leaving, the old man gave the geese his bag of oats. One of them warbled mournfully as he left and the doors closed. But the Driver did not put the Bus into gear to leave. We all sat there with the Bus purring under our seats and watched the old man walk past the darkened veil and toward the dead stop in a land with a hungry sky. "What is wrong there," I asked Moon. "Ryle and Regulation." I knew those words. I had read them in my Maker's black and red books. Fear is a thing you cannot learn from books. Nor is courage. I watched the old man crumple. Watched the wind of that place eat his bones until there was Nothing left. I knew both Fear and Courage then. And Sadness. And Anger. I wondered why the Driver had refused to leave at once. To me, it seemed staying broke both the First and Second Rules. I looked at Moon. "The Driver isn't bound by those Rules. Just us." "When is my stop," I asked between Iron Heath and Waters Down. "When do you want to be?" "Many have left," I thought out loud. "More than half too early," Moon said, staring out the windows at the Blur. The Bus moved so fast now that it was no more than a wash of colors unless the ruts bordered on Lands taken by Ryle and Regulation. Those places were either a bruise of greys or nightmare. "Why," I asked. Moon turned to look at me. "Ryle and Regulation will not stop. They will consume Something and Everything until it is all theirs. Only Killing skies and Dead Winds, Lost people and broken dreams left." "The Old man had courage," I said, demeaning. It was the first time I had ever judged anyone. As I said it, I thought it would feel right. I was wrong. Moon did not smile or laugh. She made a small breath. A sigh. It was a thing I knew but didn't until I heard it. She was debating. I could see it and the wrong I had just done her turned in my clockworks. "Your stop is next. Mine is Last." "What is at the Last stop?" "Ryle and Regulation," Moon said. "Why do you wait then? Make your stop mine," I said, understanding the meanings of the words Friend and Lost at the exactly the same time. Moon reached and put one of my hands into both of hers. "I am the Last Moon in the Crinkled Spring. The last Queen of the Bright. The Battle is mine to attempt Benzalei or Something and Everything will be lost and Nothing will remain." I cannot cry. But if I could, I would have then. A tumble of tears fat as suns from the places where my Maker should have put eyes. A sobbing. A shuddering. But things like me are not made for it and you cannot change everything. "I will ride with you then." Moon leaned into me even though my sides are hard. I let her keep my hand in hers. Not because she needed it, but because I did. The Living know little of my friend Benzalei. Of the Driver they have heard. Every Land and Regionality and When has a Festival, has amulets of the Bus, pay a fare to the Temple of Memory. But of my friend they know less. She was remarkable. And she was Nothing of what was meant for her to be. Bound by the Rules, the First foremost, the Driver and Benzalei ejected me from the Bus. I fought them. Struggled. Lashed out and screamed magic. But my friend was immune and the Driver honored my unspoken prayer to end Ryle and Regulation. Something she knew only a Golem might accomplish. On the ruby sands of Parsis, I watched them, Driver and Friend, run the Bus through the Veil to the Last Stop. To Lamentation and Deliverance. To Ryle and Regulation. General Moon. House of the Crescent. Last Queen of the Bright. "You still have time." "No. The Bus is Broken. And most of me went with it," said the Driver. "I'm afraid." "Good," she added, her breathing more and more labored. "How can that be?" "Because you are Bright. And you do not want to go but must." "Yes." "A good and courageous word," the Driver said using the last of her strength to open the Bus' piston doors. "What is important?" "No Unpleasantness. Don't distract the Driver. Don't miss your Stop," I said taking one of the Driver's two fingered hands in mine and waiting until she dimmed before stepping off. She had taken Nothing from me so Everything and Something remained. A fare I would readily pay again. The Driver had given me Moon's wings and I put them on. I didn't really need them to feel light inside and fly. I understood Friendship. Courage. And Laughter. They were all I needed to defeat Ryle and Regulation.

[Wretched Rick]

A story I wrote already, then edited in half. I hope you like it. Feel free to wiki the monk character - the historical note at the beginning is true.

 

Angelic Rage
(Edited down from 3700 words – thus the intro)

I leapt away in momentary fright
But no face I saw, for the shadow was my own
Karl Edward Wagner – Death Angel's Shadow


Historical Note: Adalbert was a French mystic who pretended to the priesthood without the blessings of the Vatican. Adalbert claimed to be able to see the future and read people's thoughts, telling those who came to him that they had no need to confess, since he knew what they had done, and that their sins were forgiven. His "miracles" gained him the admiration of the people and he began to give away parings from his nails and locks of his hair as powerful amulets. He was later charged with, and ultimately convicted of using the names of the “seven arch-angels" during his performances of ceremonial magic. Among others, that of URIEL, with the help of whom he had succeeded in producing his greatest phenomena. In the year 745, Adalbert was convicted of blasphemy and sentenced to be perpetually imprisoned in the monastery of Fulda, only a year after it was founded in the lowlands of Hesse. Adalbert died there a short time later, the manner of his death was purposely excluded from all historical records.

Summary: Michel, a young acolyte struggling with his lessons at the monastery, was assigned to bring Adalbert his meals. On his first such visit, Adalbert had piqued Michel's curiosity and imagination by hinting at the spiritual powers behind his conviction.

That evening, he wolfed down his mutton stew with fervor and rushed back to the kitchen to retrieve Adalbert's tray. His load was even heavier this time, as he set the tray in front of Adalbert. "I brought you some bricks from the ovens to heat your bedding."
Adalbert smiled gratefully and began arranging them. "Stew, is it? Mutton?"
Michel nodded curtly, and waited with a touch of impatience for Adalbert to position himself in front of the tray.
"You wish to ask something of me?" Adalbert didn't look up from his stew.
"Yes. How is it that angels answered your call and did your bidding?"
Adalbert took another bite of stew as he considered his answer. "The charming version of the answer to that is that I was blessed at birth by the arch-angel Gabriel with mystic powers and was later brought relics of great sanctity from across the earth by another."
"The charming version?"
"What I used to tell everyone who asked that question before the inquisitors broke me."
"And the truth?" Michel raised an eyebrow expectantly.
"Is very similar to the church's accusations. I studied some demonology in my earlier days, enough to compose my mystic prayers and a properly aligned circle of protection. You see lad, the demons and angels were one and the same before Lucifer's fall. They are still close enough to the same."
"Close enough for what?"
"To invoke their presence, to compel their obedience using carefully corrupted prayers of exorcism, to protect yourself against their wrath using the mystic circle; all based on the usage of their true names."
"But why would you do such a thing?" Michel felt a chill in his spine, but also a sense of exhilaration.
"The power, my boy! Such power. You see, God warns against the trafficking in unclean spirits, but says nothing of angels. Apparently this was too small of a technicality for the church to accept. They wanted my blood for my self-proclaimed sainthood: nothing more." Adalbert tossed the spoon onto the tray bitterly to punctuate the end of his rant, and then glanced up at Michel as if a new idea had come to mind. "All of my notes are in a leathern satchel with some other personal effects. I don't know why the papal guards failed to seize them, but they made the journey with me here. If you were somehow able to determine where they were kept and bring them to me…"
"Then I would be betraying my order for someone I just met." Michel finished the man's statement for him. "I'll see you for breakfast tomorrow."
As he descended the spiral stairwell, Michel's mind was racing. If the papacy hadn't realized what was in the satchel, chances were that the priests of his order had not, as well. The tower he was navigating right now was normally used for storage, not keeping prisoners. On a whim, he set the tray down at the next door and tried the key. It swung open and he raised his tallow candle high. The dim globe of light showed him a few barrels, a neatly stacked pile of grain sacks, and a worn leathern satchel haphazardly tossed into the corner. Michel rifled through it quickly and retrieved a thick roll of parchment.

A week had passed now, and Michel had been studying Adalbert's notes with every spare moment of his time. That they were in Latin made the task more difficult for him, but he had managed to choose a specific being for summoning and picked out ten pages to focus on that contained the name Uriel.
After leaving Adalbert's supper one night, Michel stopped by the empty storeroom again. He emptied the contents of a sack he'd brought and lit five more candles from the one he'd already been holding. He then drew a broad circle on the floor using a piece of chalk and began inscribing symbols at the five points of the pentacle star he'd drawn within. He filled a tiny brazier with coal, got it burning with a small quantity of pitch, and then threw some incense on it. Michel moved to the center of the star and began reciting Adalbert's mystic prayer, invoking the name of Uriel, an arch-angel renowned as protectorate of nature.
Mid-way through the prayer, the flames in the brazier began changing hues as each of the different incenses burst alight. As the prayer reached a crescendo in its carefully guided rhythms, the flames turned suddenly dark and gave a loud pop. Standing in front of the brazier now, was a most impressive looking man. From the expression on his face he appeared quite displeased, then a little surprised when his gaze took in Michel and the rest of the room.
"For what purpose have you summoned me, youngling?" Uriel inquired in a resonant baritone.
"I… I…" Michel stuttered, not really knowing how to answer the question. To see if I could he thought to himself, but didn't want to say as much.
"Is there some service you wish me to send my legions of seraphim to perform for you?"
Michel berated himself inwardly for not having thought this part through. "A sack of gold and a fast horse awaiting me in the stables would be a good start," he began as if thinking out loud. Perhaps he could begin a new life with no master but himself, no lessons in mathematics, and all the fresh air he could draw into his lungs.
"So greed, then, is your motivation." The look on Uriel's face was heartily disapproving. "I will not help you in this," he answered flatly.
Michel fumbled with a second scroll, the one with the corrupted prayers of exorcism that was supposed to cause torment to the summoned being when its true name was incorporated into the reading.
"Read not the scroll of compulsion!" Uriel's voice boomed in the small chamber. "You have yet to incite my wrath, youngling. Do not overstep yourself further."
Michel's hand was shaking so badly that he had difficulty making out the Latin phrasing, anyway. Slowly, resignedly, he lowered the parchment back to his side.
"The first speck of wisdom you've displayed this night." A ghost of a smile touched Uriel's lips as he relaxed his stance. He had been ready to spring upon the impudent whelp and punish him severely at his first utterance from the scroll. The foolish boy had placed himself inside the circle of imprisonment instead of the brazier. Not that the hastily scrawled circle would have held Uriel with all of its flaws of inscription. The boy's skill in Latin truly was wanting.
Abruptly, Uriel threw back his head, staring at a point in the ceiling. "I sense an old nemesis. There is a debt unpaid that will be settled this night." With that, the arch-angel launched himself into a great leap that carried him through the ceiling as if it were nothing more than illusion.
Finding himself alone once more, Michel tossed the parchments into the brazier with hands shaking so badly they would barely obey. As he fled the storeroom, the warm wetness where he had soiled his robes in fear began to chill his skin further.
The next morning found him at Adalbert's door with another meal tray. As he set it down on the landing to enable the working of the key, he smelled the warm, metallic scent of blood wafting from beneath the door. A sense of foreboding dawned upon him as he recalled Uriel's final words the previous night. He steeled himself for what he would find beyond the massive door and then pushed it forcefully open.
Michel dropped to his knees as they buckled beneath him. He didn't even notice the pain as they impacted the stone flooring, for he was already retching loudly. He'd heard the expression "drawn and quartered," but had never thought to witness such a scene.

[Yoshimi]

Here's my entry using the Summertime theme (3265 words).

 

The luchador billing herself as the Violet Beekeeper pulled off her veil and shed her costume in the privacy of her dressing room, which was nothing more than a corner of the pine-walled gymnasium cordoned off with reed curtains. She pulled on a shirt and overalls, thinking more about seeing her baby at home than her recent victory.

All Robbie Pringle knew of honeybees was from the yellowing New Encyclopedia Americana (Volume Hi to Kn) she had found in her parents' barn years ago, which had occupied her pack ever since. The description of queens and waggle-dancing and precisely engineered wax combs had seemed fantastic and romantic, and she still loved to re-read the entry.

She walked out onto the deck of the Ozarks Lucha Libre League gymnasium. The summer aroma of pine and cow manure was a relief after the mustiness inside, although she instantly began to sweat in the still heat. The deck afforded a commanding view of the mountainous landscape surrounding the only village she had ever known, an oval of thatch-roofed wood lodges on a small plateau. Beyond the buildings, sere bluestem pasture stretched across the hills, dotted with cows grazing amidst stunted shortleaf pines. It was comfortingly familiar to Robbie, but she could not help wishing she could see the land as it was in the old stories. Long before she was born, before The Collapse, they said the pines of present-day Weedmine grew thick as water reeds and taller than a person's house, such as could now be found only in scattered hollows. According to songs some old timers still sang, living was both easy and high in the summertime, when people enjoyed hot fun. But in Robbie's experience, summer was a mostly brown and oppressive period to be endured, after the greens and yellows of springtime had passed.

The old days had also been the time of bees. But their disappearance had presaged The Collapse, and the colorful flowers and sweet fruits of legend were soon to follow. She sighed as she tried to bring the flowers of her picture books to life in her mind, visited by industrious bees.

"Rise and shine." Robbie turned and smiled. Her eyes swept the frame of the man beside her, shorter and slighter than hers. Eustace Marsh, the brilliant apothecary, depended on his wits in the luchador ring, as well as his often ill-fated concoctions. "It's like, I have to devise a utility belt. Shoulder pouches were a bad idea for impact-sensitive stun pellets." He tenderly swept a lock of black hair from her forehead, then the two joined hands and descended the steps to the track below.

As they walked, Robbie said quietly, "I had another of those dreams."

"What, like, the frog man?" Eustace's voice was tinged with amusement.

"Frog-headed god, yes." Her serious tone held a warning.

The wild-haired man fell silent as the two passed Bo Moseby's Trading Post and Dancing Bear Show, where old-timers were rocking in chairs on the front lawn and singing along with Bo's tinny old squeezebox. Just beyond the Post, an artery split off the village loop to wind its way down to the iron mines and the rest of the world. But the pair continued around the oval toward the next spur that would lead up to the Pringle longhouse. When Eustace responded, it was with carefully composed interest. "Like, this frog god was…training you in wrestling moves again?"

Robbie looked sharply at his face, scanning for any trace of irony. But all she saw were the sincere blue eyes of a man who Knew What Was Good for Him. Relenting, she continued, "I remember them when I wake. It's a big reason why I won the tournament."

Eustace glanced at her sidelong. "So…an actual god showed you how to grab a much larger man by his…by pinches of skin, raise him above your head, and throw him into a turnbuckle?"

Robbie replied matter-of-factly, "The Hovering Stinger, yes." They passed the last cottage before her turnoff, a child's face in its window quickly disappearing. Beside the junction where Robbie's spur began its climb, a wooden statue of a woman with a cow's head towered above the grass. While Eustace stood impatiently, she opened an outer pouch on her pack. Extracting a handful of pine nuts and dry hay, she set her offering in a stone bowl at the statue's base and started it burning with a small flint kit. "Thanks for this day, blessings for tomorrow." It was a simple prayer for a simple people. In the last century, life in small human villages like Weedmine was pretty much the same one year to the next, with few people aspiring to anything outside their birthplace. The notable exception being the luchadors.

Her respects paid, Robbie took her husband's hand again and started up the spur. Unheeded in the road a dozen yards back, a figure watched this ritual and smiled to itself within its brown hood, chewing thoughtfully.



The late morning sun had finally risen above the mountains, and Eustace had long since descended to his shop in the valley. The smell of toasted pine-nuts and cheese wafted out the window of the longhouse, where Robbie's parents and grandparents were still tidying up after breakfast and looking after her Bowen. The cowshed was only about twenty yards from the house, its wide front door swung outward into the yard. Robbie hurried across the reddish earth and into the shade of the barn. A cheerful lowing greeted her immediately. She cooed sweetly, "Good morning, Ice Cream!"

The riding cows of Weedmine were leaner and smarter than their counterparts in other places, serving as companions to the villagers as well as mounts and sources of milk. The female in the first stall was striking in being pure creamy white all over. A fat pink tongue licked Robbie's face, who laughed before leaning away. "Let's get you to pasture."

But just then a shadow stirred in the corner of the shed. "Robetta Pringle?" The voice was dry and creaky. Her heart pounding, Robbie's head shot around, her features furious. There were rapid footfalls and a loud thump.

"Aha-a-a-a, one point to the Violet Beekeeper." This oddly bleating declaration was followed by a coughing fit. From her kneeling position atop the stranger, Robbie's eyes grew round. His heavy hood had fallen back, revealing the head of what appeared to be a very old man, but with small horns rising through his white hair, and yellow eyes with slotted pupils that wandered first one way then the next.

Too shocked to think of anything else, she demanded, "What do you want?"

The man cackled and wheezed, then declared, "Aha-a-a-a, I was there, you know. Looked 'em right in the eye and kicked 'em in the giblets." There was a pause, followed by a plaintive, "Can't breathe."

Despite his jarring appearance, the stranger appeared frail enough, and probably was not a threat. Robbie stood, then pulled him to his feet. "Well?'

The goat man took a rasping breath, watching Robbie carefully. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he said as if reciting something long rehearsed, "One hunnerd an' twenny years ago in Kansas, the Swap Brothers led the humans and the old gods against an alien invasion and saved the planet." His eyes regained their focus. "I was there. Kicked 'em square in the giblets."

Robbie covered her mouth, trying to hide her grin at this repetition. "So you said." Anyone growing up in Middle America knew the story of the Rumble for Earth. It was the reason so many kids aspired to be a luchador. The man scowled at the interruption but before he could respond, Robbie blurted, "You were there? That would make you, what, one hundred and thirty at least?" Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Are you a god? Or a liar?"

The man spluttered, "A-h-a-a-a! Not a god! A luchador. I just happened to got good genes. Well, an' then there's my goat pills." The latter admission was mumbled slightly. His rambling gaze locked onto hers once more. "But you met a god, din't you? Ol' Kek's been seein' you in your dreams."

Now Robbie was truly shocked. She fumbled for words for a moment before replying, "Kek? Wait, how do you know about my dreams?" She stepped toward the goat man again, glowering.

But the man held out a hand to forestall her, his eyes rolling back once more as he started to recite, "An' it were foretol' that after one hunnerd an' twenny years of peace, Old Woman would choose a human champion to receive The Gift, on behalf of all her Grandchildren, and Kek the River God would prepare her to win the prize." He trained one eye on Robbie to see if she was paying attention. "That's you. The chosen."

Robbie's gaze drifted toward the longhouse, where her grandparents were busy looking after Bowen. The goat man stamped one foot testily, "A-ha-a-a-a, not them!" His voice dropped into a reverent whisper, "Her!"

More confused than ever, Robbie replied hesitantly, "Her? Me? Um…what prize?"

The stranger moved closer and stared up piercingly into Robbie's eyes, before whispering dramatically, "Bees!"



Robbie had one hand on the head of her cow as she peered at the entrance to the mines. There was a raised wooden walkway here, as the landscape around the mine entrance was boggy. On either side, dragonflies hovered and hunted amidst the reeds.

"Everything looks normal, doesn't it?" Ice Cream lowed supportively. The goat man had explained that during The Collapse, Kek had sequestered a honeybee colony in a secret plane, for when the world was ready for them again. One passage to Kek's plane could be reached via her village's iron mines. But though like all children growing up in Weedmine she had spent many happy days sneaking around the tunnels and caves, she had never seen anything suggesting a magical portal to another plane.

She descended the final twenty yards to the cavern mouth, Ice Cream clopping along beside her. Taking one deep breath, she stepped into the familiar torchlit gloom. Except there was no immediate fork to the left or right as there should have been, and no echo of pickaxes or voices. Merely a single opening straight before her, glowing an eerie blue. She stepped closer to Ice Cream in dismay and placed a hand on the cow's sleek flank. If her bovine friend was spooked by current events, she did not betray it.

Drawing courage from her friend's presence, Robbie proceeded into the passage. Only a few yards forward, the way opened into a large chamber carpeted with ankle-high toadstools radiating pale blue light. A trail wended through the field of fungi, ending at what looked like a solid wall on the opposite side of the chamber. "Weird. Maybe there's a lever or something over there."

She took a few steps into the room, and the mushrooms to either side began to glow brighter, prompting Ice Cream to whine. Robbie looked back over her shoulder. "It's ok! I think it's beautiful." But the cow bucked her head and didn't follow. "Look, I'll show you." As Robbie walked further along the path, more mushrooms flared, and now her senses started to pick up what had been bothering her friend. There was an oscillating tone that she supposed might irritate a cow's more sensitive hearing. But to her it sounded musical and soothing, and she smiled at Ice Cream and tried to wave her on.

In the cow's ears, the noise was actually grating, and in her eyes the toadstools flickered in a way that was not at all pleasant. She didn't back away, as her protective instincts for the human girl were very strong. But panic rose in her breast as Robbie started to sway steeply, and she bugled in alarm when her friend suddenly fell to the path and lay still.

Ice Cream stomped her hooves and lowered her head threateningly. These mushrooms were wrong. But she knew how to make them go away. Shoving her muzzle into the mass of fungi, she began to rip them from the ground with her teeth and chew noisily.



Robbie opened her eyes in flickering half-light. Nearby was a low, repeated groaning and an arhythmic clomping. She sat up painfully from a rocky surface. As her eyes regained focus they met a distressing sight. The cavern where she had passed out was now barren except for scant mushroom stubble illuminated in a new glow coming from the exit archway, but stumbling around the room was her cow, frothing blue at the mouth and with bleary pink eyes. "Ice Cream! What have you done?" She stood and rushed to her friend's side. The cow burped. A memory returned of a field of blue mushrooms and a sensation of growing fogginess in her brain. Realization dawned. "Oh, no!" Ice Cream wobbled and collapsed onto her belly. Tearing up, Robbie knelt and lay her head on the cow's flank.

"She will live, Robetta." The voice was resonant and feminine. Robbie looked up, her pulse quickening. Framed in the archway was a tall figure with the body of a human woman but the head of a shaggy gray cow. Long lashes framed gentle black eyes, and imposing bronze horns spread from her head.

Robbie whispered hoarsely, "Horath?" Struggling to find further words, she shuffled backward several feet on her hands and knees and bowed her head, trembling.

The creature entered the cave and crouched beside the stricken cow. "Ice Cream is severely intoxicated." Robbie looked up and beheld her goddess hold out a handful of pine nuts and hay to her friend, who nibbled feebly at the fodder until it was gone. "This was your offering to me after your victory in the ring. These seeds and fibers have I blessed, so that your friend will recover from the consequences of her own sacrifice."

The wrestler rose to her feet. "Thank you, Gray Lady."

The goddess gestured to the exit archway and said serenely. "Your quest lies through there, but Ice Cream cannot go with you."



The next room was about 20 feet in all dimensions, and lit by torches along the walls. Facing away from her in the center was an iron statue of a muscular four-armed man on a low stone pedestal, clad in a unitard. With her pulse rising, Robbie walked around to the front of the statue at as far a distance as the room would allow. Carved on the front of the pedestal were the words Linus the Golem, and clasped from behind by four thick iron arms was her husband. He was gagged, and his eyes grew wide when she came into view. "Eustace!"

He gave a muffled shout, and Robbie ran forward, only to receive a ringing backhand slap from an iron fist that sent her stumbling backward to fall into a heap. Dazed, Robbie shakily stood. The wall just beside her looked to actually be a stone door, with no visible hinges, knob, or lock. Above the portal were carved the words Oil Linus and as her head cleared, Robbie saw that there was a small alcove beside the portal, in which sat a metal oil can.

Robbie called, "I think if I oil the statue, it will let you go and we can get out of here. If I can avoid getting my teeth knocked out." At that, Eustace tried to yell even harder, but she grabbed the oil can from the alcove and turned to dash back to the golem. But as soon as she touched the can, Eustace screamed. The arms were tightening their grip.

The young luchador crouched slightly as she studied the metal man to try and discover a place where she might squirt some oil. Eustace started to squirm frantically, his face turning purple as he yelled wordlessly. The arms continued to squeeze. Robbie ran around behind the statue and jumped on its back, hooking her left arm around its neck. But the golem paid her no heed as it continued to exert crushing force.

Robbie managed to get her feet between the arm joints on either side and hoist herself up into a standing position. But she could see nothing that looked like a hinge, a seam, or even a hole. As she leaned over the monster's shoulder, Eustace's eyes rolled up toward her and he cried unintelligibly, "Mmz Nnn Lmm! Nnn Lmm!"

Starting to tear up in desperation, Robbie looked down at her husband, and noticed that the rag that bound his mouth was in fact very loosely tied. Dropping the oil can to the floor, she fumbled with the knot with trembling fingers and soon had the rag pulled free. Eustace gasped and gritted his teeth at the pain, then hissed, "Oil Linus! It spells Illusion. It's an illusion, I think. Just…walk through."

Robbie nodded and jumped down then ran to the door. It still looked like a slab of solid stone. Behind her Eustace cried out and began choking. She placed both hands on the door and pushed, and nearly fell forward as they sank right through. Immediately the golem's four arms dropped to its sides. Eustance landed prone, struggling for air.

The door vanished, and Robbie was bathed in amber light from the other side. There was a loud humming, and a voice familiar only from her dreams said, "How about that, looks like you made it! Hurry along, now, I got places to be. Some of them all at once."



Robbie emerged from the mines, Eustace partially slumped on Ice Cream's back by her side. The world had changed. Nodding purple bells and delicate white sprays of blossoms dotted the wetlands on either side of the track. Further up the trail as the bogs gave way to drier uplands, the grasslands were a rainbow riot of colorful umbels, spikes, and star-shaped blooms. As they started up the path, there was a growing drone behind them, and suddenly the swarm burst from the mine entrance, a blizzard of buzzing sulfur and amber bodies blotting out vision on either side as it swept past the trio before dispersing across the landscape. But although the volume of the droning ebbed, it did not fully subside.

Near the top of the path boisterous voices were clear above the buzzing in the grass. Cresting the slope, an even more wondrous sight met their eyes. In the very center of the Weedmine oval, a short, stout tree with gnarled, spreading branches stood, its foliage dotted with small white flowers. Villagers young and old stood with mouths open, or pointed and shouted to each other. Bo Moseby stood at the railing of the Trading Post, calling to anyone he thought hadn't heard yet, "It's an apple tree! Seen them in almanacs. An apple tree!". Bees criss-crossed among the blooms, and in the center of the trunk was a large hollow, with the busy insects steadily flowing in and out.

Ice Cream lowed excitedly and Robbie patted her head with a smile, then reached up to hold her husband's hand. Eustace leaned down and whispered hoarsely, "What did He say to you?"

Robbie studied the apple tree. "Kek?" She adopted a folksy accent. "Bees'll make a hi-larious gimmick in the ring. And remember, kid, there are no forbidden fruits. But I wouldn't eat too much in one sitting." The young lovers mulled over the words of the god amidst the new sounds and smells of summer.

[writelite]

 

Eydiss Enchanted, by writelite - 2255 words
summertime, wishful thinking, simplicity, wasted ice cream

The door cracked open, a pair of cautious eyes peering inside. In the room’s center, a large water reptile was floating, its slimy scales shimmering with candlelight. Close by, the wizard stood unmoved and proud, his gaze fixed on the beast.

‘Enter!’, came the command, and Garm stepped in, hesitating. ‘Clo-ser...’, followed, on a tone of sweetened malice. The goblin dared a few more steps. Then, suddenly, the large jaws opened, and the crocodile jerked towards the door. The wretchling panicked and fell...

‘Hah-hahahaha!’ cascaded over his head. ‘It is in my power, completely!’ boasted Halagren. Then, turning towards an imaginary opponent, he gloated: ‘Albur, old fool, you found the pattern, but were afraid to use it at its true potential! You made a deal instead for a few crumbles of what could have been all yours...’

The goblin managed to get up, and stood in waiting, still shaking.

‘Is everything ready?’ the wizard said, harshly, descending from his moment of triumph.

‘Yes, Master,’ came the meek answer. ‘They are all sound asleep, surrounded by our bow-hands.’

‘Good...’ said Halagren with a self-satisfied smirk. Then, piercing the reptile with his eyes, he plunged it into slumber. ‘The dragon, I will take care of.’

Outside the window, oblivious stars blinked over an unsuspecting valley. For miles around Mount Everdome, nature and villages lay tired and content in the perfumed coolness night brought. That extra month of summer kept spirits high and helped fill the barns and pantries. All thanks to Albur, the wise man, and his gnome friends. It was them who taught the bringer of cold, the frost dragon, that milk comes from cows, and tastes just as good. And it was Albur who revealed to the young sky lady the secret of ice cream, showing her she can make it herself, with help. A little ice cream, to be satisfied, were previously life had to fall before the wintry appetite.

Since their agreement, they met each year for a month, in a spacious mountain cavern, and labored on the culinary treat. The wizard told stories, the dragon listened enchanted. Her even, peaceful breath blew over the milk pots the gnomes gathered, while they kept stirring. Now and then, there was something to throw in for flavor, as tiny sprites wondered inside the cave carrying fruits and flowers.

A month’s worth of ice cream in storage, Eydiss would spend the next half of a year in gentle flights over the land, laying or raising blankets of cold with a soft-most touch. She would return to the cave, each time, to enjoy a new gem of her treasure and the story fragments her memory and the ice cream surprised her with.

But that morning she didn’t awake. No one in the cave did.

The rock chamber was sunk in a gloom of unnatural sleep. A mass of goblins swarmed about, carrying arrows struck bodies out, and more milk pots in. In their midst, darker than darkness, Halagren stood majestic and ominous, his gaze anchored onto the dragon’s body. It was his ice cream now, his summer – and everyone else will pay for their share!

Barely noticeable, a light shook and a hum took over the cave. Minions scattered... Soon after, eyes appearing from hideouts. Garm stepped out first to affirm his status, then rushed behind his master’s cape. Halagren sneered. It was only that she snored.

~ Done playing catch, Eydiss jumped happily from the cows dream to a knights’ tournament. A feast of colors, of shouts and neighs swirled around her, so vividly. People waved at her from the crowd, among the many ribbons the wind fluttered. A handkerchief stood out, let fall by a graceful, lace-adorned hand. She advanced towards it. A knock. She turned. A knight had crossed his lance with ...hers. She was a knight too! The way cleared, her would be opponent at a far end. The horses started to run. A mass of metal and determination, the other knight drew nearer, nearer. Then her horse took off. And in an instant she was high above the multitude, the castle walls, the country… ~

The wizard’s magic coursed unimpededly along her body’s channels. It was as he predicted. A dragon… It was only a giant lizard, and magic flew through her as through a gecko. And to think of all the warnings and doom sayings. ‘Ha!’ scoffed Halagren under his breath. Ramblings of cowards and weaklings. He knew the truth. And there was proof.

~ The dragon girl was gliding now above heavenly waters. Cloud wisps and tows rolled underneath her, ever entwining with threads of her shadow. There was warmth - pale, harmless - and light all around. The sun she could guess somewhere above. She flew, or she was carried rather by a soft breeze of a feeling - of origins, of belonging. Ahead, far in the distance, a point felt like home. And she knew there a nest, and parents. Would she see them again?

More dragons broke out of the clouds pattern, and spiraled forth and around her. They seemed familiar and yet strange. The cold scales wheezed and drew on the sky artful arcs, bright, blue, her own shape twisting and sliding among them... Soon, she lost track of everything outside their play. Unnoticed, clouds and rays begun to change form... ~

The wizard's eyes grew with surprise, and ill joy lit his face: The dragon's energy had joined his. It moved with his will, and echoed deep in the well of unbridled magic within him. 'Yes... Yes!' It was like he had always felt - he was capable of that power! 'It was... destiny!'

Swollen with pride and the promise of great wealth before him, Halagren followed the energy pattern with renewed pleasure. The streams ran along the well known reptile paths, stronger or paler, twisting or flickering, as if playing… ‘What? Flickering?!’ Halagren focused harder.

~ Of sky foam and sun honey, a citadel’s shapes had slowly grown under her spread wings. And Eydiss saw the other dragons descend and diminish, and change… They looked now like some gnomes she knew, running in front of her. They turned their faces at times, but she could not see features. They called, but all she heard was a tinkling of silver bells. Yet she thought they meant: ‘Hurry up! Follow us! This way!’ She was running too, now, as with little gnome legs. A sharp turn – the wide street left for a narrow alley… ~

‘No!’ What is this… ‘Not that way!’ He tensed. And with his will’s effort, magic again went where it was supposed to.

~ A wall… Where did they go? Eydiss stopped and looked back. She heard a voice calling her from the street: ‘Back! This way!’ But it was not a tinkling… and she had this sensation that something was looking for her back there... Now a bell sound! She ran that way. A door opened. A corridor, stairs, then another door. The gnomes were in a courtyard where alleys crossed. A man was with them. An old man that she recognized: ‘Albur!’ He smiled, as if saying: ‘You’re safe.’ But he spoke not. Yet as if reading his mind Eydiss saw, from a distance, doubles of them all running somewhere behind, on main streets. ~

It all seemed under his control, now. But doubt plagued the wizard’s mind. He felt like the life streams tried to escape him, and spent more effort to keep them in line. Then... they again flickered and still managed to run in a way he could not predict.

The great beast moved. The dark critters froze. ‘Master?’ tried Garm. But there came no answer. The wizard’s brows had lowered and his desire now lit a face which began to contort.

‘No!’

~ The old man led them around a few corners, up to a tall house with many windows. A knock of his staff, and the wall turned like a book page. A forest now opened ahead. ‘Stay close!’ a thought came. And they continued into the darkness, Albur ahead as their light. Behind them, the citadel’s sky darkened also, as if with thousands of hungry birds... ~

The old sayings came out of memory to pester him. Halagren just shook them off and drove on. So what if the pattern was changing. He’ll follow it and still be in command. Yet he felt… he began to feel like the effort was pulling at his being, straining his life force. His fists clenched.

His vision began to cloud. The beast’s scales now reflected a light far greater than the few lit torches could bestow. ‘Snuff… them… out...’ came through his teeth, and he closed his eyes. ‘He does not need them. It was a matter or mental control, anyway.’

‘You… will do… as I say!’

~ From the branches above, suddenly, a net of wings and beaks descended upon them. ‘Spread! Now!’ rang the silent cry and they all jumped in some direction. She followed one of the gnomes, then took a left when he went right. She ran. ~

The life streams, they went all over the place… Halagren followed one, jumped to another. They didn’t listen! They split and forked, so, so many of them, into patterns so complicated that he could no longer perceive fully…

The wizard felt as if the cave’s floor ran from under his feet. He was exhausted, almost. And the dragon turned and groaned more in her sleep.

The goblins began to snick towards the exit, carrying a few pots of ice cream among them.

He heard that – his dream of wealth’s last breath.

Despair washed over him, but a deep rooted hate raged up and quickly chased it away. He felt it filling his brain with renewed strength. His fingernails pierced his palms. ‘One last time!’

~ The wood-ways grew narrower and more entangled. Light bruises shot hurt in her small body, and every four or five steps she now stumbled. ‘Go on! Go on!’ tiny tinkling sounds echoed towards her from afar, and ahead she could guess a guiding glimmer. She somehow knew that all others were safe, but her… Something black, something menacing seemed to have caught her trace and was getting closer, ever closer. She jumped over that root raised to trip her. But pressure of some sort lay upon her, making her land much quicker and almost throwing her to the ground.

Just then, a firm hand caught her arm and pulled her forcefully forward. In her legs she felt strength arise and a gentle wind of a whisper gave her a few yards’ push: ‘Go on!’

Something from inside her had caught on that call’s intent. She felt it, and felt as if starting to grow and change as she went ahead. And the wood walls bowed and made way for her.

A shriek sounded behind, or a howl. She was too far now, anyhow, for it to matter. And too large. But what she started to catch glimpses of, through the trees, was her match. And was waiting for her...

The way cleared more and more, towards the scenery of a great mountain face. A few more thumps, and the flap of wings raised her into the air. Might gathered in her claws, and – some willing, some pushed by that energy from inside – she threw herself towards the danger looming right in front.

But as she drew close at great speed, she saw what it was – a cave entrance. And at its bottom, barely perceptible now in the light of the place, she noticed Albur and the gnomes. They smiled, she felt, as a warmth growing into her heart. And then… they vanished…

She continued inside. Her dark vision switched on.

A great dragon’s body lay sleeping across from a short black stalagmite, as it seemed. But the dragon – the dragon was her! ~

Eydiss awoke. And she was hungry. She looked around. The stalagmite had fallen and was trembling. Her eyes looked past that, but she could not see the gnomes or the wizard. There was spilled milk and a strange stain covered many of the ice cream pots. A sudden feeling told her that something very wrong happened... Movement. She turned abruptly.

The black rock was trying to crawl towards the exit. One step, and she caught it under her claw. In that moment, she recognized the dream feeling, which echoed of all the evil deeds she could but guess. She roared. Halagren turned to lolly. One flip of her wrist.

‘Yeah… she knew it would taste bad.’

Gone the bitterness, she felt empty. It was a while until she even looked at the cream pots. Sadness haunted her hearts’ outskirts, and she knew not why. Nor would she willingly guess… In the end, she did approach them, and – at a touch – understood.

At first she felt like bursting, Everdome turned into a volcano of hail and snow – nature’s wrath! But she remembered the wizard, the kindness he taught her treat mankind with…

So she just mourned, crouched at the feet of her good memories – her big eyes lost in the cave’s emptiness. Days passed. Weeks perhaps.

When ready, she flew out, drank a cloud’s worth of rain and sealed the cave and the past in thick ice.

Weather changed, as it was due to happen. Yet the cold season remained forever as mild as in the times of Albur and his friends. She made sure it was so.