Micro Fiction: The Shroud

Here’s some micro fiction set in the world of Airtha. (I’ve added some links below for some other fiction and worldbuilding.)

The Shroud

Maerlja’s energy poured into the cloth as she finished the last stitch. She ran trembling fingers over the embroidered pattern and runes woven in the secret language of the Rún. Her eyes strayed to where Eoghan lay asleep. His battle wounds were grave. She could not let him die. Not him.

She covered Eoghan with the healing cloth and life drained from her even as she kissed his pale lips. “I love you,” she whispered as they led her away. Her white funeral shroud hung heavy from her shoulders. “He will live,” she said. And smiled.  

"Her energy poured into the cloth..."

Who are the Rún?

The world of Airtha: “The Shroud” is set just after the Midland Wars – here are the links to the five parts.

Part 1 - The Midland Wars

Part 2 - Sanctuaries

Part 3 - Rise of the Fáll

Part 4 - The Southern Lands

Part 5 - The Oath Breakers

My new Tumblr page “My Pen in My Hand” is up and running!

Monday Fiction - A Drink of Water

Or, Something from those dusty scrolls at the back...
I'll be honest. I wrote a new ending for Price of Freedom this weekend. Why? Because I suddenly realised that this new ending was what I was looking for all along for the end. But that also means quite a bit of rewriting. So, for this week, I bring you an older piece of Airthai-fiction for your Monday Fiction fix. Enjoy!


A Drink of Water

Aran struggled along the dusty path and realised he was utterly lost. The sun sat wrong in the sky, the Red Mountains looked wrong, the road showed no sign of soldiers passing. He stopped and looked around him. Somewhere he had taken a wrong turn. He felt at his breast for the letter stowed there – a message he was to take to the Awíkla. He was to send news that a passage to the Lost Ones had been discovered and more soldiers were needed. A sudden gust of wind whipped the red dust around him and Aran shielded his face with the light coloured cloth which he wore around his neck. The valley which he had reached by taking the wrong turn was as desolate parched as the rest of the western part of the Sundered Lands.

He tried swallowing, but his mouth and throat was too parched. He felt at his pocket for the letter. He had to get more soldiers to the pass. He had to keep on running. But where to? The glare from the sun made his surrounds wavy and indistinct and he could not distinguish whether the small outcropping he saw was boulders or nomadic tents. He could see no-one and only the droning of cicadas sounded in his ears. Or maybe it was just his thickening blood that sounded a warning to him to get to water. He shook the dust from his clothes and looked around again. Would he have better luck continuing along this road, or to turn back?

In the end he plodded on, hoping some shade and water lay before him – and that he would reach it before succumbing to the heat. By the time he reached the next crossroad his head was pounding and the pain reverberated through his whole body. He wanted to cry, but even tears would not come. He squinted against the sun and saw a statue that gladdened his heart. It was a black stone dragon. The carved stone stood stark against the red and yellow stone of the surroundings.

The messenger stumbled to the dark pillar of stone. Surely in this wilderness the pillar would also show where a well is? He wiped at his face and neck as he looked around at the ground around the pillar until he spotted the low stone covering of the well. With his last strength he moved the stone lid and peered down. The low well was empty.

With a cry of despair Aran fell to his knees and started sobbing. Why did he have to die like this? Why would his god let this happen? He was, after all, on his way to the Awíkla! He was serving as best he could. The pain in his head and body intensified and he could not summon strength to stumbled more than a few steps at a time. Was there no one that could help him? He fell again and caught himself on bloody palms. Then he saw another figure approaching.

He forced himself upright and waited, not sure if the figure was even real. The figure was not wearing the light armour of the soldiers or the robes of the Awíkla. And surely a S’wíkla wouldn’t travel all alone in this wilderness? Then he saw the light blue band around the man’s waist. The man was of the Aíhla! Aran drew his knife from his belt and waited for the man to attack. He was a S’wíkla, after all, and would not die without a fight.

The Aíhlaê drew closer and, when he was nearly ten metres away, spoke. “I am Leshem,” he called and revealed his face from beneath its light colouring. “You are lost?” he asked before Aran could answer. “I have not seen any other Awíkla here,” he called and stepped closer. “You look near death, friend, let us help you.”

Friend? Us? Aran glanced around – and saw two other figures approaching in the distance. The rush of blood blocked out all sound as the man who called himself Leshem walked still closer. When the Aíhlaê reached for his belt, Aran attacked with all the strength he had left, and struck straight for the Aíhlaê’s heart. His blade struck true and he fell on top of the dying man before forcing himself to his feet to face the other Aíhla who were approaching. Aran pressed his left hand to the ground as he got up and felt mud between his fingers. He glanced down, saw the Aíhlaê’s water skin spill its contents into the red dust, and realised that the man had not reached for weapon. But it was too late.

I found a picture of a dragon egg!

Or, the joy of finding a photo that matches a description in a fantasy story.

When I first wrote about the dragon eggs in Airthai – and more specifically at the start of “A Dragon’s Freedom”, I described them as looking like white quartz and the cliffs where the dragons’ nests are as having red sand…

The eggs looked like oblong pieces of milky quartz washed to smooth perfection by river water. Five of them lay in an indentation in the earth, baking in the sun. Around them a circle wide enough for the mother to land in was cleared. The nest itself was not much to look at, little more than loosely-packed soil and trampled brush. - "A Dragon's Freedom"; Cross and Cosmos Issue 5.

(For the rest of the story, click here.)

And then I came across this photo by Don Shearman – how awesome is that!

A Dragon Egg

A very warm thank you to Don for the use of this photo.

PS. I'll post the fiction piece I had planned for today tomorrow to keep the posts from getting too long. 

Fiction Monday: A piece from a WIP

Sometimes you write something perfect the first time – or, at least, as near to perfect as you can. Sometimes you just need to put it aside for a while before a rewrite. And sometimes you find out that the piece you’re working on will needs some more work; or have gone from light-hearted fun to something more sinister in a world you want to know more about. And then you realise you’re going to need some more rewrites before you’re completely happy with it. But this is the story so far…

Alenisse, the Wizard's Apprentice

(Being part 2 of Wizard and the Shadows)

Alenisse had followed the other refugees to the south, fleeing the northern lands wrecked with war. She had been stupid – waiting through all the rumours and never believing that war would truly come. And then it had been too late. The redeemer was not in the north and the wizards were left with no other choice but to flee to the south as well, following the Skadu'sdinge that spread from their Lord, bent on taking on all of the lands for themselves.

She nearly caught up with the wizard She'ne'ar in Dorburg, but found that he had left a day after arriving. He had been like a father to her, and, like her, could feel the tug of the Shadow and know the fear that clutched at your heart as a product of the Shadow. He was moving fast, following the Skadu'sdinge and she would follow him. Perhaps he had a rare gift and sensed the redeemer further south. She felt nothing until she had passed through Dorburg.

The tug on her mind led her into the valley with its various settlements. Terraced fields lay green and fresh and she could almost forget the stench of smoke and battle that had wrecked her home. The people on the farms took in some of the refugees – mostly those strong enough to work or old enough for their pity. She could not stop, no matter how tired she was. Not now. Not with the tug of the Shadow growing stronger. She was gaining.

She followed the road and the tug of the Shadow to a village and the end of the valley. Refugees huddled in the muddy streets, some begging for money, food or work. Some had enough money to rent a room in the inn and or afford a warm dinner. She made her way to the inn, fighting to keep back the tears from fatigue and the pain of her bruised and blistered feet. He would be waiting there, she surmised, waiting for a message or a sign.

She was still some way away when she saw the wizard coming from the inn and stumbling away from her. Her heart beat faster and she pushed the pain in her feet and body aside. With short, nervous strides she followed him through the village. When he spoke in the ancient tongue, she heard the words echo in her mind. The Fear started to grip her and then she, too, started speaking in the tongue, driving the Shadow away.

The wizard turned a corner and Alenisse had to run a few steps to keep up. As she turned into the next street, a blinding pain shot through her mind before pulling away. The Skadu'sdinge knew she was here, the thought flashed through her mind before another flash of pain pelted her. She sank to her knees, unable to fight the pain in her weakened state. Then, suddenly, the pain was gone. The Shadows had found other prey. She stumbled to her feet again. 

When she caught up with him, he was already fighting the Skadu'sdinge, his strong voice accompanied by swirling wind. Inside the house she could just make out the boy he was protecting. The people in the streets fled from the place, some making a sign against evil. Alenisse yearned to follow them, to obey the hammering of fear that begged her to get away from this place as far as she could. With her last resolve she urged her body forward to help her master. But then the old wizard's legs buckled and he fell, the wind dying even as his heartbeat slowed. Alenisse ran over, cursing herself for being such a coward. She knelt by the old wizard, the tears she had kept inside so long flowing free. She put her hand on his brow to try and calm him. To try and keep him with her. “Rus in vrede, my vriend. Hê rus op jou nuwe pad," she uttered between the tears, wishing the sound of her voice would let him notice her as well before he passed. But he only looked at the boy. The boy who did not even know the ancient tongue or why he had been chosen.

She wiped the tears from her eyes while fine ash fell all around them. He had destroyed the Skadu'sdinge plaguing the boy this night. And now she would take up the fight. She will have to be strong. The Shadow still spread its fear and she felt the incessant tug on her mind. She rose, turning in the direction of the tug.

A dark figure materialised from the shadows, in his hand a dagger of pure shadow. Alenisse swallowed. This one would not be driven away or destroyed by uttering a few words. She became still inside, pushing aside the fear that emanated from the Shadow being. In the silence she found the source of power inside of her. She reached out to the light and drew upon its energy. She lifted her hands, stepping between the Shadow being and the boy, telling him to stay behind her. The power she unleashed slammed into the Shadow being and he took a step back, ash falling from his chest. He laughed hollowly, turning his featureless head towards her. But he reached his fear and shadow past her to the boy. She hit him with another blow of power, this time targeting the faceless features turned to her. He howled, ash falling from the shadow-face. Alenisse smiled. There was some things the Shadow could not take from humans. She reached inside of her, gathering up as much light and power as she could.

"Na die verderf met jou," she said under her breath and released a flow of power. The power was this time lit with a blinding light. The Shadow tried to duck around the flow and stabbed with his shadow blade at Alenisse. He was able to cut her arm before the lights engulfed him. His pained howl was cut off abruptly. Ash rained to the ground.

Alenisse felt the peace of the power remain even though her power was all spent. She sank to the ash strewn ground just as her master before her.

The boy neared her, his face smeared with ash and tears. Alenisse reached up to her neck and took the orange stone set in silver, giving it to the boy. "Go south," she said, placing the stone in his palm. "The stone will lead you. You are the one, you are the saviour of our people." His face seemed to be lit by sunlight and she smiled even as her sight dimmed.

Wizard