Woebegone #4

Some friends of mine post on a blog in which they take turns in telling a story. The result is a tale which is constantly changing direction, so you'll never know what happens next. You can read the whole thing here. Below is my contribution.

“Talking animals?!” spluttered Tarrick, “You mean little Bulmic thinks he can talk to birds and cattle and snails?”

“Well, actually,” said Melvic, pausing to consider his phrasing, “have you heard the legend of the witches who could sp-“

The brothers heard a scream coming from the direction of the feasting hall. They ran back through the dim, cold corridors to find the hall deathly silent. In the very centre of the room was a man wearing a tattered black cloak, his face hidden by the hood. He was bent over like a cripple, but was still taller than almost all the guests, all of whom simply stared at the man. He held a torch over his head, and didn’t seem to feel when embers fell and touched his weathered hand. He looked ready to catapult it at the gathering.

Tarrick marched over to the guard at the door and grabbed his collar, “Why did you let this vagrant in?”

“But sir, he’s…”

“The world’s doom approaches!” bellowed the man, “Every city shall burn, every stately monument shall crumble, every man, woman and child shall be devoured by hate! There shall be a sea of blood from horizon to horizon. The Moon will weep and the Sun will swell with rage. The animals will say to themselves, ‘Why did we let these foolish humans rule the world? Were they really God’s chosen race?’ And who shall bring this about?”

He stretched out a gnarled finger and spun around.

“You! You so-called nobility! You who would kill your own child for some rare metals or a longer title! You who are well born but who will die horribly! What will you do to save yourselves?!”

Silence returned to the hall. The man turned this way and that, hoping someone would answer his question.

“Why have you got that torch?” a particularly obese noble asked, a note of fear in his voice

The stranger turned and made for the noble like a predator. Despite a limp, the man’s stride was so long that he was towering over the noble in seconds, forcing him to shrink into his seat.

He roared “Because I’m blind, you fool!”

When the noble said nothing, he moved away.

“I can’t see a thing in this damnable fog,” he muttered, “this lot are worthless, I’ve seen more valuable cowpats”

He casually tossed the torch away. One of the guards quickly picked it up before it rolled over anything flammable. As the stranger passed the bear, he offered it a curtsy. The bear gave him a baffled look. Then the stranger walked towards the throne. Tarrick and Melvic were quick to block his way.

“That is my father’s seat”, said Tarrick, one hand gripping his sword in its sheath

The man gave them piercing looks with his crystal blue eyes.

“So these are my nephews … but neither of you are the one I seek”

Melvic’s mind flashed. Although his father had never mentioned him, the courtiers had told him about this man.

“You renounced any claim to the throne the day you ran away from the palace, Uncle Sinop,” said Melvic, “That you’ve returned changes nothing. Luthric is the king”

“That cunt was no fun to play with. The older brother’s meant to be the serious one, not the younger. I have no interest in that gaudy chair. It looks uncomfortable”

He brushed past the brothers, clambered onto the royal dining table and sat down, spilling flagons and getting food on his cloak in the process. He picked up a cup of ale and started swilling it down.

Melvic sighed, “Where have you been all this time, Uncle Sinop?”

“I have spent the past thirty years with the Monks of Slomno, in their hermitage atop the Mountain of the Sleeping Dragon, in the faraway land of Hyperborea. From them I learnt that reality is a dream, and dreams are reality. Aha!”

Sinop leapt from the table and strode through the hall towards the great doors. All eyes turned to where he was heading – Bulmic had arrived, drawn by the ruckus, and looked rather panicked by the old man bearing down on him with fire in his eyes. Sinop put a hand on Bulmic’s shoulder.

“When you are ready, come and find me. The donkey will know where I am”

Before he could ask anything, the man turned to go.

“Did he say donkey?” someone murmured nearby, “He really is mad!”

Bulmic saw the tails of his threadbare cloak whip around the corner and out of sight. The tension in the hall broke and the nobles started merrily telling each other about the odd spectacle they had just witnessed, but Bulmic stood pondering the meaning of his words – ready for what?