COMMUNITY - FORUMS - FAN FICTION & ROLEPLAYING
The Trade ~ A fairy tale.

Generations ago, in Oslec, a boy called Aln sat upon a bearskin rug before a dying hearth in a darkened hall. He was the son of one Vogt in a very long line of city rulers and privileged to sit comfortably in this ancient family villa. His head rested on his palms, propped up by bony elbows in a fine, green woolen tunic. The home was quiet, as the family had retired to sleep much earlier. All but Aln's greatmother Brigid, who sat spinning wool thread with a bone distaff. Skin like crumpled parchment, and rheumy eyes sparkling wetly in the dancing firelight, she was older than old could be, and a source of the grim, morbid tales he loved so much.

“Tell me about the olden days, greatmother? I heard we have witches in our family!”

The old woman's voice creaked as she chuckled softly, “My strong and brave great-grandson would have his little bones frozen in terror if I did so, and what would your mother think then?” A mischievous smile twisted her mostly toothless mouth.

“Aw please, greatmother? Nothing you said scared me so far!”

She sighed dramatically, affecting coercion to indulge the child. “Very well, my pet. In this very household lived Astrig Davrish, who was my great-grand mother, and Sigheld Davrish, who was her grandfather. He was a man as brave and strong as you, my love. He was hansom, and he had taken a young and beautiful wife called Sigunn from the Tribe. They were happy ruling Oslec together so very long ago. He loved her dearly and cherished her above all else.

“In those days of fertility and peace, a great plague tore through the city of Oslec as if fire. The fever burned entire families to the ground, while the sick twisted and writhed as to break their own bones. They died in pain, and this was a horror to witness. But Sigheld kept his wife locked tight in their villa, away from the sick whom she begged to comfort and aid. Sigheld's tenderness was only for her. His heart was stone for the people of his city. While they suffered and died, generations of families perishing in their beds, he kept away, even sending the servants out into the deathly miasma. The cries of his people fell hopelessly against the strong, locked doors as he hid within. He did absolutely nothing for his people.

“But his hard heart was seen by the ancestors and Sigheld was punished for his inaction. The plague burnt itself out before Sigunn fell ill. His beautiful young wife's screams rattled through the halls of the villa. She writhed and twisted in fever until she had at last broke her own neck in her bed and lie still, wane flesh still beading with sweat and tears.

“Sigheld held his wife's greying corpse as he raged to the spirits above. He howled terrible blasphemies and curses into the land. In his madness there was only one path to be taken and it lead into the dark forest.

“Sigunn's lifeless and limp body in his arms, he carried her to the old sorceress who lived in a shack deep in the woods with her great great grand-daughters. He knew and protected the women, for they held to the old ways of the Atrav.

“The sorceress was ancient beyond reckoning and wise in the material of the Veil. And, in keeping with the old ways, blood magic and dark things she knew. As he approached her shack he could see the totems and fetishes of long dead holy animals. The skulls of men hung about from the eaves between unimaginably large, dark feathers. Strange symbols in white chalk, and in rusty, dried blood adorned the walls and doors. Woven glyphs rose upon tall stakes, as indecipherable as spiders' webs.”

Aln shivered in delightful anticipation, scooting himself forward towards his greatmother. This is where the stories always got good.

“Old woman! Crone! Ancient one!”, he cried.

“Sigheld dropped to his knees before the threshold, his arms weary from the burden resting against his heart. Her long chestnut hair, once glowing with light and life now trailed in the black mud below. He shouted for aid, for succor, for anything. Anything at all to return his wife to him. No price was too much to pay.

“The creaking door slowly swung open into smokey darkness.

“Within, he found the old sorceress squatting near a fire pit in on the floor like a wild creature. Small, mummified animals, dried plants and mushrooms as big as serving platters hung at various lengths from the soot-blackened ceiling. The charcoal scent mingled in the thick air with the smell of sweet, strange herbs and dead things.

“Sigheld Davrish of Oslec. We will trade”, the crone grinned. “A day shall come when I visit you to collect a payment. You shall not refuse, nor hesitate, else the life I have given shall be taken back.” Smoke from the firepit rose and billowed, slowly filing the room with a stifling haze.

“Strangely, the woman proffered from her voluminous, rotting sleeves a pristine parchment on which the contract was written. She extended her bone-like arms to Sigheld. The contract in one hand and a small carving knife in the other. The man took both with a crazed sheen to his eyes. He would take this deal.. nothing mattered now but Sigunn. With a sharp sting of the knife, he let a bead of blood collect on his fingertip before signing the contract in smeared crimson.

“He would take the old crone's granddaughter as part of the trade.

“The granddaughter was indeed lovely and youthful. With raven hair, deep dark eyes, and coral lips. the paragon of Atravian beauty. Her empty eyes peered out from the dimness, sending a chill through Sigheld's body. The girl shambled in starts under the direction of the sorceresses gesture, like a puppet.

“The child had her soul burnt out of her by illness a very long time ago. She neither speaks nor thinks.” The sorceress harshly explained as the woman lay on the floor before the fire, clad only in the ever-thickening smoke.

"Darker waves of smoke rose in close to firepit, eating the little light the flames offered, and sending the hut into gloom. The sorceress' clawed fingers reached into the blackness as if through veils upon veils of black and grey. She reached and slowly, drew back.. slowly...slower still... muttering incantations of a strange language.

“Her hands pulled back holding a scroll, an immaterial, glowing thing, woven of swirling mist and pulsing blue light. She delicately moved as if the object would crumble like ash. Lowering her hands, she pressed the scroll into the body of the young woman on the floor. It into her chest, disappearing with a flash that lit the room. After a moment, the beauty's eyes closed, fluttering as the heavy smoke dissipated into a thin haze. “

It is done”, the sorceress intoned, “Now we shall wait.”

Aln's eyes, wide as saucers, were entranced. A loud pop from the burning wood in the hearth made him nearly jump a foot in the air! His heart leaping against his chest, the boy grinned sheepishly as his greatmother continued.

“Familiarity grew in Sigheld as he watched the young woman's eyes, her breathing, her very light return to her. It was Sigunn inside of her! The old woman had stolen his wife's immortal soul from the Akashic records and … he shuddered in horror.

“The vessel must be of the living. A revenant is the most evil of evils... This is merely a trade. The girl merely a shell.” The old woman's grin chilled him to the bone. He wondered to himself what he must give in return.”

Aln's greatmother left the story lingering until he could not bear another moment of it. “What happened next, Greatmother!” The boy was sitting up on his knees now. The woman chuckled and she sighed for effect, drawing out the anticipation.

“Sigunn lived in her new body with her husband. The secret was kept from the townsfolk, who were scandalized that Sigheld should marry again so quickly after his wife was taken by the fever. And one of the same name, at that. They had many children together, sons and daughters, grandsons and granddaughters. The man's heart was softened and he cared for his townsfolk as a good vogt should. The people were peaceful and happy. The stores overflowed with grain and the flocks dotted the green hillsides.

“After many blissful years have passed and gone, there one evening came a quiet rapping on the door to the villa where they lived. Smiling, Sigheld opened the door ready to greet a friend. Only there instead was a shriveled woman swathed in brown robes, brittle with rot. Her flesh tightly plastered against her skull. Hair sprouting in weedy patches of white scattered on a liver-spotted scalp.

“It is time, Sigheld. My favor has come due.” Her clawed finger pointed past him at his eldest grand-daughter, who was called Astrig, budding with youth and life. “I have come for my vessel”, the sorceress said, gesturing feebly at her own shambling body, “as this one has run it's course and is not long for this world.”

Aln furrowed his brow in thought while the old great grandmother spun her distaff in silence for several moments. “So they say that the sorceress lived on as Astrig in the Davrish household, having traded the girl's soul back to the Akashic records, to keep balance and account. The crone's ancient wisdom carried on in the Davrish women's bloodline, generation after generation."

The boy simply stared in stunned thoughtfulness. “Is it all true, greatmother?”

She merely shrugged with a secret smile.

Aln lept to his feet with a yelp at a sudden shout.

“Aln! You had better see to your bed or you will not want to wake up in the morning! And grand mother... You are a bad influence on my son!”

Aln scruffed his hair, blushing, and ran to his bedchamber, past his mother. She shook her head with a fond smile for the old woman.


3/25/2018 1:22:37 AM #1

Great read!


8/13/2018 3:33:02 AM #2

Great job :)