The Tale of Onora

Something Dark at Work-2

Ellia watched the handsome youth cradle the young woman’s wholesome face. She couldn’t help but hope that the couple would return to the Shade soon and avoid the looming disaster. She knew there would be no such luck for her and Aithein. He was destined to stay through the worst. Whether it was luck or fate, it didn’t matter. Ellia would not leave him. She made that promise to Olwyn in her dying moment. That beautiful, strong Nordic woman’s experience taught Ellia that no one is safe from the fires of war, from the laws of nature, or from the hands of misfortune. No, Ellia would risk mortality if it meant standing by Aithein. She would not flee to the Shade as long as he was still alive in the swards of Caliphweald.

Loff’ta interrupted her thoughts. “I’ve got to tell ye sump’tin on a more serious note, lass. I ain’t the dullest blade on the mount. Understand?”

Ellia nodded. She could see the muscles flexing through his clenched jaw.

“Good,” Loff’ta added. He crossed his arms. “Neither are ye. Now I know we got different beliefs, yeself and I, but we both be wantin’ the same thing. Freedom.”

Ellia fiddled with the jewelry on her wrist. “Just come out with it, already. You know you can trust me.”

Loff’ta gave her a hard stare, as though his life depended on it. His eyes darted around, seeing danger everywhere. His gazed narrowed at the nearby revelers to make sure no one was paying him any mind. Once he deemed it safe, he licked his lips and leaned in. “This whole time I’ve been toilin’ away in secret, my apprentices too.”

An empty feeling crept into Ellia’s stomach. “Doing what?”

The breath fell heavily through Loff’ta’s nose, noticeably trembling amidst the din of voices. “Ye ever heard of a faelen tree roundin’ up weapons?”

Ellia sucked at the corner of her mouth through pursed lips. She knew the answer. Why was it so damn hard for her to admit that she was wrong, that they all were? Why were they so foolish to forget the past or to think that it was a different aeon and it could never happen again? Her saliva welled between the tip of her tongue and the front of her teeth. She caught herself frequently swallowing under Loff’ta’s scrutiny. He was right, and so she lowered her stare to the floor and shook her head.

“Of course not,” Loff’ta replied. “There be sump’tin dark at work here. An’ it’s finally come for us.”

Ellia leered at him. “What did you do, Loff’ta?”

Loff’ta looked around again. His words were barely spoken above his breath, through the side of his mouth. “I decided I ain’t takin’ no more. For every blade they rounded up, I done made three.”

Ellia’s mouth fell open and her breath stopped. She covered her parted lips with her fingers.

“Shhhh,” Loff’ta whispered, faking a grin. “Don’t attract attention.”

Ellia lowered her hand to her chest and exhaled. “What will you do?”

“Not me,” he responded, pointing at her. “What will ye do? I drew me line in the sand. From me cold dead fingers. That be the only way anyone’s takin’ ‘em!”

He took a defiant swig of ale. “I’ll never dig me own grave with the tip of a blade at me back. Not ever! I’ll die on me feet first. Maker knows it! And I best not be tested, else someone ain’t seeing tomorrow.”

Ellia rolled her eyes. “Your fingers will never be dead. They’d be taking your weapon from a pile of dust.”

“It be a figure o’ speech!” Loff’ta sneered. “Ye know, there be Caliphians who still love sovereignty, and I share their sentiment. Only slaves give up their arms.”

Ellia’s thoughts were fuzzy. No matter how hard she focused, nothing came to her. She pressed her tongue against the dry roof of her mouth and swallowed. “What do you want me to do?”

Loff’ta gave a narrow smile and raised his mug to someone that passed by. Once the chap stepped out of earshot, the cordial expression faded from Loff’ta’s face. He leaned in towards Ellia. “Bring me the ones ye trust. If ye don’t know ‘em, find ‘em.”

The situation was a nightmare. It would’ve been entertaining were it not real. Ellia chugged the rest of her egg’n’grog and slammed the mug down. “And how do you suppose I do that, Loff’ta?” she sneered. “By asking around?”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Loff’ta replied. “We’re the ones we’ve been waitin’ for. If not us then who? If not now then when?”

Ellia sulked. “It’s not fair. We’re good people.”

“Expectin’ the world to be fair because you’re good is like expecting a lokithor not to attack ye because ye don’t eat birds or lizards. Life ain’t fair, sweetheart. It’s diverse. That’s the beauty of it. That be the source of our power. Were it fair, every’tin would be predestined, and we’d ‘ave nut’in to do about it. Unfairness makes the game of life worth playin’.”

Ellia stared at the young couple. They swayed gracefully with each other like willows at the edge of a lakeshore on a summer day, so peaceful, so serene. She felt happy for them. Their lives were perfect. They would have a fairytale ending. Maybe Loff’ta was right. If life were fair she’d have nothing to strive for.

It sounded like the flap of a sail from a boat that drifted on a lonely lake. The flutter wasn’t startling. It may have gone unnoticed had it not been such a foreign sound. No one saw it coming.

Ellia leaned back, her elbow resting on the arm of the chair and her cheek resting in the palm of her hand. She basked lazily in the brisk evening, completely unaware of what she saw.

It happened so fast that the first one was gone before Ellia even realized what it was. From her perspective, the roof of the porch obscured everything above the dancing couple’s heads.

The lover’s kiss ended.

The young man was snatched up so fast that it looked like he vanished.

Ellia blinked hard to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. Her posture perked. Everyone froze, stunned by silence.

The young woman screamed in horrific helplessness. The person she loved most was torn from her arms.

The sound could only be described as the shredding of canvas, accompanied by the snap of rubber.

The folk on the tavern’s porch beheld dark rain pattering down on the Amori woman. She cowered in terror and raised her hands up to shelter her face. It splattered all over her, like a bucket of red paint. A disheveled mess of stone thudded onto the ground next to the Amori girl and tumbled to her feet.

Her lover’s decapitated head rolled to a stop and faced up at her, still blinking, watching her from a different world, a cruel one, a wasted one, where the distance between her and her dreams was infinite. His pale eyes drifted lifelessly into the abyss of tragedy. His throat was shredded, bearing severed veins, sinews, and the shards of his spine.

The blinding death knell of a fairy illuminated in the treetops, accompanied by a painful screech, and the severed head collapsed into faelen dust.

The Amori woman collapsed to her knees. Her posture stooped and her face winced. She tried to scream but nothing came out. Confusion swept over her face as fast as her tears streamed down it. Her chin trembled as she stared back and forth from the dust to her bloody hands, shaking with terror and heartbreak. As she lifted her head, her shocked teary eyes met with Ellia’s. Strands of her hair stuck to the blood on her face as her empty gaze pierced into Ellia’s soul, asking why she did nothing, why she hadn’t even moved. Before Ellia could say anything, the young woman that was the target of Ellia’s envy only moments ago, now a terrified, heartbroken little girl, was snatched up to the unknown everlasting heavens.

Ellia sprang to her feet and ran to the edge of the porch. She looked up in time to see the lokithor’s serpentine tail slithering back and forth like the black flag of a pirate ship. It disappeared into the mix of haze with the girl pinned in the grasp of its talons, its powerful dragon wings methodically flapping.

The girl didn’t fight to squirm loose. The sight of her lover being destroyed stole her will to survive. She gave no cries for help, not even so much as a whimper.

After the lokithor faded from sight, there were no visible anomalies in the foliage. It was almost like the lovers were never dancing on the tavern’s lawn. Almost.

The pile of dust lay on the earth, caked in dark spatters of blood that stained the blades of grass and dirt. A second drizzle of black-hued rain pelted the ground and coated it with a fresh layer. Ellia looked through the trees. All was silent, but she knew what was up there. She knew there would be no fairytale ending.

“I can’t bloody warp!” someone screamed.

Hysteria swept through the village like a plague as the forest folk realized their Shadean abilities were no longer with them. Some hopped the porch rails and fled towards their homes, some ran to hiding places, while others ran inside the tavern.

Earsplitting shrieks from the predators echoed throughout the village.

“More of ‘em are coming!”

Lokithors swooped down upon the fleeing, helpless Amori like hawks on field mice. The ground shook as one landed right in front of the tavern steps. Its wings spread and it shot a sideways look at everyone on the porch, paralyzing them with fear.

Loff’ta slowly reached towards his waste belt and unbuttoned a tiny vertical satchel. He wove his fingers through the flap until he felt the cold steel handles of his babies. If a man makes blades for a living, it’s generally best not to make him fear for his life.

The lokithor did not know its enemy, or potential meal, and so it had no idea what Loff’ta was doing. It watched intently, like a dog waiting for a biscuit, as he pulled out his pride and joy, the best throwing knives he’d ever forged. He slowly positioned his stout, drumstick legs into a fighting stance.

The lokithor gaped its beak and puffed the reptilian wattles on its neck as it inhaled. Its sharp hackles erected in challenge, daring the Amori to fight. It let loose the shrill, demonic vibrato. Its head shook while its long forked tongue flapped from the gust of sound that breached the air. A foul stench of rot wafted towards the porch.

Loff’ta lunged forward, his balancing arm and front leg moving in sync with his throwing arm c****d. He leaned his shoulder in and flung the knife right into the lokithor’s mouth. The blade stuck into the back of its throat and the monstrous beast stumbled backward, choking on cold steel. It gained its balance, trying to shake the knife loose, but to no avail.

“Ye want more, devil?” Loff’ta asked sadistically. “I’ve got your fill!”

He wound up and threw the next blade as hard as he could.

The knife stabbed the lokithor right in its yellow, reptilian eye.

The beast flailed in pain, its long neck wagging towards the heavens as it gasped for relief. No such luck. The abomination fell to its side and lay still, waiting for help, or death, whichever came first.

Loff’ta turned to the other Amori. “Ain’t nothin’ roamin’ this world or the next that can’t be killed. Ye done made fools of ye’selves by surrendering your arms. Now be a second chance at redemption. Those interested in survivin’ the night will find swords in me hidden armory. There be a case of books blocking the door to a staircase. If I don’t make it, find ‘em. Use ‘em.”

CHAPTER 2