+JMJ+
Gray
Time Day 2
One
never knows what they have until it is gone. By staying on Graystark
Island, I pushed my luck. I should have flown back to the Desolate
Island as soon as I realized how to fly the trunk. That would have
been the most honorable thing. I promised to return for the
Enchantress Eleth, but I broke my promise. Now I am trapped in a cold
cell. At least I am not starving. There was a chipped pot full of
water and a hunk of moldy bread, on a bench in the cell. A feast fit
for a prince, if he is hungry enough.
Gray
Time Day 3
I
awoke with stomach pains. I knew that there had to be a downside to
eating moldy bread. I was groveling on the floor, when that wretched
Eldark came to spew his empty threats on me. Could he not see that I
was suffering enough?
“Do
you know what my person does to trespassers?” he growled. I thought
long on this subject. I really would have liked to guess right.
“Wine
and dine them on cream and the fatted calf?” I guessed. It seemed
reasonable.
“Wrong!”
he bellowed, “I slice there heads off and catapult it into the
Divide! Then I hang the body up on the wall to scare any further
intruders away.” I gulped and touched my neck. It liked being
attached to my head.
“Do
you know what my father does to people who cut off his sons' heads?”
I asked stiffly.
“Nothing!”
he jeered. He was a remarkably good guesser.
“He
lays ruins to their homes and families!” I bluffed.
“I
will look foreword to confronting him!” Aldark retorted and walked
off. I must say things could have gone a lot better.
Gray
Time, Day 7
Alia
finally found me. The tower is not exactly that big, I am surprised
she did not find me sooner.
“I
thought you had gone back to the skys.” she said in surprise.
“Your
father cut off my freedom!” I grumbled, she drew near and gripped
the bars of the cell.
“What
is freedom?” she asked.
“When
you have choice.” I said bitterly, “To make the right decision!”
“You
mean I have the ch- um- freedom to let you out of that cell?” she
asked.
“You
get the main idea.” I said.
“Oh
I could not let you go!” Alia cried, “My father would be so
angry.”
“See
you have no freedom!” I yelled and kicked the door so hard my foot
tingled. She fled. I felt guilty for losing my temper.
Gray
Time Day 9
I
waited all day yesterday for Alia to come back, so I could apologize,
but she never did. It was a bitter night. Today I went around the
whole room kicking the wall to vent my frustration on something. And
what should happen. but a secret door opened up in the wall. It was a
foot tall and two feet wide. I got down on my belly and wiggled
through. I nearly had a heart attack when the door shut and trapped
me in that black tunnel. So there was nothing to do but go on. The
air got stuffy and I kept tasting soot in my mouth. But eventually I
came to an opening. There was a twenty foot drop to a stone floor. A
stiff straight back chair and a desk was the only furniture. I
panicked. How was I going to get out of the hole? Presently a door
opened and Aldark came in. As he passed under me I dropped. I swear
it was an accident. I crashed into him and the two of us went down in
a heap.
“What
on Graystark?” he yelled. I scrambled to my feet and made a beeline
for the door.
“You
infernal wretch!” Aldark yelled, “Get out of my tower!” I would
have been happy to oblige, only I didn't know where the door or my
trunk was.
Gray
Time Day 10
Salt
kept me eating and drinking the best food in the tower. She also
provided me a secret cubby with very comfortable cushions. It was
wonderful. Or it would have been. But Alia was ignoring me. I tried
to follow her one day, but she hid. It was almost dark when I finally
cornered her against a wall. I was determined to find out what was
wrong.
“Let
me go!” she cried. Then I noticed one of her eyes was swelling
shut.
“What
happened to you?” I cried in a rage, “Who did that?” I was
ready to kill the offender.
“My
father punished me for talking to you, please leave.” she
whispered. I felt sick. She was sending me away, but even worse that
lout had dared to strike her.
“I
will kill him-” I began my face livid.
“Just
go!” she said. So I went.
Gray
Time Day 20
I
have gone through Greengrove, Sha, and many cities on Kildimere,
telling stories and storing my vast wealth in banks. Of course I
avoided Kalor and soldiers. I no longer had an stories left about my
own family. So I started recounting tales of my off worlder cousins.
Mother's brother, Won had some real ridiculous narratives to share
about them. My cousins are children of father's sisters. I dragged
the stories out a bit to make them more interesting. My most famous
story was called “Cinderella and the glass slipper.” Other
favorites, included, “The Girl and the Beast,” “The sleeping
princess, the fairy and the stumbling prince” “The Frog Hero”
Rapunzel of the long Braids” “The girl with the Snow White skin”
“The Pea Test” and “The Princess and the Seven Swans” All of
them were really outlandish. I of course do not believe that any of
the events in the stories ever happened. Won is such a liar. But his
wife is worse. I mean so much worse. She has a strange name too.
Blanche. But I will spare you the details. Off worlders are very
strange. I found the more stories I told or researched in old book
halls, the less time I had to think of Alia. If only I could forget
her. She had made it clear that she did not want me to come back.
Gray
Time Day 25
Today
I was in the middle of telling a story about two brothers who both
swore to die for the other. The younger brother kept his promise and
came back to switch places with his unfortunate brother. Suddenly I
stopped. The old hero of this old tale had kept faith in exchange for
his life, but I had failed to rescue an Enchantress after promising
to do so. If I ever wanted to be worthy of Alia, I should start by
keeping my promise to Eleth. I finished the story with less
enthusiasm then when I began. I would have to take my earnings to the
bank. Then tomorrow I would head back to the Desolate Island.
Gray
Time Day 26
My
affairs are in order. My room at the Inn paid, I am prepared to go
back to Desolate Island. I am not sure why I avoided this task for so
long.
Gray
Time Day 27
I
climbed out of the trunk, not onto the hot sand of Desolate Island
but onto the cold stone floor of Alia's tower.
“What?”
I yelled, “How can I keep my promise if you bring me to the wrong
place, you stupid trunk!” the lid dropped closed on my hand. “OW!”
I yelled. Salt came running up the stairs in surprise.
“Mistress
Alia, come quick!” she cried, “Master Yaron has returned!” Alia
did come. Her long black hair flowing like a river down her back and
sparkling with gold and silver string. Her dress was made of a
beautiful filmy white cloth over a silver background. She looked like
a star.
“Yaron,
why did you come back?” she asked as she directed a piercing look
on me. Her eyes were like two chips of blue ice.
“Madame.”
I said with an elegant bow, or as elegant as it could be with my hand
still clamped between the lid and box of the trunk. “I am a
renowned story teller.” I continued, “I have come to share my
finest with you as a gift for your kindness.” Alia sat down on a
chair and crossed her arms.
“Tell
me the story of a girl in a tower.” she ordered. Without even
blinking I told her the story of “Rapunzel of the Long Braids” I
stressed all the parts with the cowardly hero, as he was very funny.
Both Salt and Alia were laughing by the time I finished. Grinning in
triumph, I climbed back into the trunk.
“Farewell
Ladies, I shall return another time.” I said gallantly and closed
the lid. I do not know if they protested or not. I did not feel up to
another farewell.
Gray
Time Day 28
This
morning I burst out of the trunk and into the fresh air, to find
myself still on top of the tower. I could hardly believe my eyes.
“You
have got to be joking!” I gasped.
“Why
are you back, you impudent boy?” a voice boomed. My hair stood up
on end and I turned to face Aldark. I opened my mouth, but nothing
came out. He shot out one arm and grabbed me by the neck. I clutched
at his hand. He was trying to kill me. It was time to employ some
real soldier experience. I lifted my leg and kicked.
“Oof!”
he gasped. I flipped out of the trunk and drew my dagger. He backed
up. “State your mind, boy!” he growled. There was a different
look in his eyes. Could it be respect? Why would anyone respect
anyone that just kicked them? Why I probably had just destroyed any
chance of ever getting Alia now.
“I
have come to ask for the hand of Lady Alia in marriage!” I blurted
out. I was surprised at myself. His eyes narrowed.
“Name
your choice of challenge.” he said, “You have to convince me that
you are worthy of her!” I was surprised. I had expected him to kill
me for asking. But what kind of challenge could I be impressive?
“Story
telling.” I said, “I will tell the greatest story you ever
heard!” What a way to be unimpressive and braggy in one breath.
“A
story you never told before!” he barked.
“You
mean I have to find a new one?” I gasped in dismay. It took many
retellings in public of new stories to get them told proper like and
just right.
“You
have one day to collect information.” Alark said coldly, “Good
day!” he walked off, leaving me fuming.
Gray
Time Day 29
Thank
the Heavens! The trunk moved. But it brought be to Greengrove Island.
What can a bunch of reclusive men and boys share with me. But I swear
I shall pick up one tidbit for my new story. I must get the trunk to
fly in day time or I will be doomed. Three boys in robes confronted
me.
“I
am Munk.” one of them said in the common tongue, “My brothers are
Pel and Fry.” they bowed.
“Hello
boys!” I responded, “I am Yaron the story master!” the boys
exchanged looks, and a grin passed through them. I felt the first
inklings of suspicions. What were these louts up too? They looked
like school dropouts.
“We
have a story for you.” Munk said at last. I felt relieved.
“Well
I desire to hear it.” I said quickly.
“Tis
about thee ghost in the rock well.” Fry whispered dramatically.
“Excuse
me?” I said.
“Tis
a wondrous chilling story.” Munk said. I thought it would be
wonderful to add some spine gripping moments into my story. If I
could get the audience to laugh, weep and hold there breath it would
be a good story.
“So
what is this ghost story about?” I asked.
“Tisn't
a story to tell, but to see.” Munk said. He glanced at his friends.
“I
believe Brother Farnal is calling me, I must be off.” he ran off.
“You
take him Pel.” Fry said. But Pel was already running after Munk. I
glanced at Fry. He was shivering. “Come along then.” he muttered,
“I will show you the well, but not stay.” I wondered what was so
frightening about showing me this story.
Fry
brought me down a path that got narrower and more overgrown with
every step I took. I decided that there would be three brothers in my
story, who would set off on an adventure. Adventure involving a
haunted well. I would brutally kill all three of the brothers. It was
a small way to revenge myself on the scratches and stubbed toes that
Fry had so kindly provided for me, but it would have to do. As my
story began to form in my mind I began to feel better. It works
wonders for angry people to put their enemies in their stories and
brutally murder them. It stops real murders from happening. Presently
we came to a thick patch of trees. In the center of a ring of
sparsely branched firs was an old stone well. The wooden roof was
cracked. A broken bucket hung off of the wheel. Fry stopped and
handed me a candle.
“We
would be obliged if you would get rid of the ghost.” he whispered.
“Certainly,
what do you want me to do?” I asked, “Throw a spear down into the
well or chuck rocks in until he comes out?”
“It
might be easier if you climbed down into the well yourself.” Fry
mumbled.
“Climb
down?” I yelled. But Fry was already running of as fast as he
could, his long robe flapping around his legs.
“Note
to self.” I muttered, “The two brothers of hero flee, and an ogre
kills them. The hero gets chopped to bits and eaten by the ghost.”
Feeling better, I lit the candle and approached the well. The flame
seemed small and faint even under the shadows of the tree. The well
was covered cobwebs and broken nutshells and pine needles. “Um-
hello?” I called as I looked down into the gloom. The only answer
was an echo. I pile of nutshells lay on the rim, so I pushed them
down and listened. There was no sound, not even a splash. I wedged
the candle between two lose stones, then I picked up the broken
bucket and lowered it into the well. It lowered slowly and creakily.
Then I took a deep breath, and stepped on top of it. The wheel
creaked and louder and began to turn a little faster. Good thing it
was so old that my weight was barely sufficient to keep it turning
slowly. I grabbed the candle and descended into the darkness. Ten
feet and my flame seemed to grow brighter. Twenty feet and no water.
Thirty feet, the bucket began to drop faster. Forty feet, the bucket
stopped suddenly, leaving me hanging stupidly. I crouched and peered
around. A few feet below me, I could see what could only be ground.
Slowly I got off the bucket. The ground was soft and muddy around my
feet. Water oozed and bubbled all about. “Gross!” I muttered.
Suddenly
there was a scuffling from far above me and the bucket began to
dance. I barely had time to drop the candle and fling my hands above
my head when something heavy dropped on top of me. I fell backwards,
struck my head and knew no more.
I
awoke seconds later to a painful burning sensation. I was covered in
flour and my candle had started the sack on fire. A fire that was
licking at my clothes. I scrambled to my feet and grabbed at the
bucket.
“Ouch!
OW!” I yelled. I started climbing the rope. My hair and clothes
were smoking. The bucket burst into flames. I continued up hand over
hand. The smoke and fire followed me. I ignored the pain the rough
rope inflicted on the palms of my hands. I was nearly brained by a
clay jar of water flying past my head.
“You
morons!” I yelled, as I kept climbing, “Don't you know you could
injure someone seriously?” I heard some wild yells, then silence. I
reached the top of the rope, with fire licking at my boots. I ejected
out of the well, plowed through a group of staring men and ran for
the Divide. Nothing felt better then the cold water on my burnt skin.
Later I learned the story behind the flour. The men of Greengrove
were accustomed to throwing things into the well to appease the
ghost. I doubt that the ghost appreciated these gifts anymore then I
did. But at least I got fair treatment, in exchange for my pain. Now
if only I had a story.
To Be Continued
