Stories in the Ether
A Digital Storytelling Anthology
Issue 2 • 2011
Copyright 2011 Nevermet Press
Smashwords Edition
Editor in Chief: Jonathan Jacobs
Associate Editor: Laura Kemmerer
Layout & Design: Jonathan Jacobs
Authors: Marissa Wolden, Ian Vassilaros, Jim Reader, Sevan Taylor, Craig Comer, Paul Jones, Tucker Cummings, Michael Burnside, and Alexander B. Joy.
Cover Art: Paul Hagwood
Interior Art: Paul Hagwood, Matt Lichtenwalner, Rob Torno, and Kenya Ferrand.
This ebook is licensed for your personalenjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away toother people. If you would like to share this book with anotherperson, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Ifyou’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was notpurchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.comand purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard workof the authors contained in this issue of Stories in the Ether.
Stories in the Ether is published four times a year by Nevermet Press, LLC. All the stories presented in this periodical previously appeared online at the blog of Nevermet Press. No part of Stories in the Ether may be reproduced (except for review purposes) without the prior written consent of the publisher. Material published herein may not necessarily reflect the opinions of Nevermet Press, LLC, its owner or its contributors and are not liable for opinions expressed herein. Most product names are trademarks owned by the companies that publish those products. Use of the name of any product without mention of trademark status should not be construed as a challenge to such status.
Submissions and Design: Each issue of Stories in the Ether supports Nevermet Press, a creative cooperative of authors, game designers, and artists. Submissions to Stories in the Ether should be made to submissions@nevermetpress.com. Queries regarding other projects, or to write for the Nevermet Press blog, contact the Editor in Chief at editor@nevermetpress.com.
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Table of Contents
Saying Your Goodbyes, by Jim Reader
Cole Jenkins & The Mechanical Advantage, by Sevan Taylor
Aelfie of Glen Coe, by Craig Comer
21st Century Man, by Paul Jones
Origin of Brass, by Michael Burnside
Nightmare Ink, by Alexander B. Joy
The Editor’s Page
Well, here we are again: Issue 2 of Stories in the Ether!
I’m excited as ever to keep this project going and it doesn’t look like anything is winding down any time soon. Since starting Stories in the Ether last March we have received nearly 200 submissions and (somehow) managed to publish a new story on our blog every Friday. It’s been a ton of work that, honestly, has limited the amount of game development I’ve been able to do. I’m not worried though: home is where the heart is and right now my heart and soul are behind this project. The cover art for Issue 3 is already in place and I’m hard at work on editing and getting it ready for publication. Look for Issue 3 sometime soon after the 2012 New Year - but let’s talk about this issue, yes?
In Issue 2 of Stories in the Ether you’ll find nine wonderful short stories of steampunk, fantasy, and science fiction - mostly by new authors whom I hope you’ll enjoy as much as I have. This issue opens with “What Roads?” by Melissa Wolden, an steampunk tale of a fox looking to escape his past and, perhaps, find love–if only things were so easy. You’ll also find “Truth” by Ian Vassilaros, a fantasy tale in which a young paladin in training struggles with the meaning and purpose of his life’s path; “Saying Your Goodbyes” by Jim Reader that treads the line between games and fiction, and how we play them.
If you’re looking for hard hitting action and steampunk wushu, then take a read through “Cole Jenkins & The Mechanical Advantage” by Sevan Taylor, it won’t disappoint. This issue’s cover art, by Paul Hagwood, can be found in the next story, “Aelfie of Glen Coe” by Craig Comer. This is a fantastic steampunk story that hints at a much larger world of fantasy & magic where all the Queen’s men are bent on rooting out the last of the fey–a personal favorite of mine.
If you’re looking for time traveling scientists, then the cross-genre telling “21st Century Man” by Paul Jones will deliver. This is followed by “Pursuit” by Haper Collins published author Tucker Cummings: flash fiction at its best with a twist. “Origin of Brass” by Michael Burnside plays on another steampunk trope that mixes sci-fi, androids, and things not meant to be known by Man. Your reading will then come to end with a horror tale by Alexander B. Joy, “Nightmare Ink”, where a young woman’s writings seems to go far beyond her cell at the local insane asylum.
Along with all these great stories, you’ll also find some wonderful art by Paul Hagwood, Matt Lichtenwalner, Kenya Ferrand, and Rob Torno. We’re lucky to have these great artists part of the project, and from the looks of future issues it seems like our luck will continue for a while.
I hope you enjoy this issue of Stories in the Ether! You and the other fans have really been extremely supportive since Day 1 - and for that you have my thanks and a commitment to keep pushing the envelope every time I publish something new. Don’t forget though - if you like what you read here, make a point of sharing it with your friends or writing a brief review at the site where you purchased Stories in the Ether.
Until next time, cheers,
Jonathan Jacobs
Editor
in Chief
Nevermet Press
editor@nevermetpress.com
http://nevermetpress.com
http://facebook.com/nevermetpress
http://twitter.com/nevermetpress
What Roads
Todd Darling is a consummate opportunist, and a lucky one.
He has found a town – or perhaps it has found him – with the exact sort of people he likes best: people who are quick to draw their own conclusions, and never mind the truth. And here he has found a gem. Whatever led him here deserves his thanks.
The White Mountain looms dark out of the land behind him as Todd Darling darts down the trail and into the town. Doorways flicker open and close as evening falls. He checks his pocket watch and hops into a jaunty little dance between the pools of gas light. His shadow, nose a-twitch, stretches along the road beside him.
Illustration by Kenya Ferrand
Todd reaches the door of his destination, and he pauses a moment before he rings the bell. He smoothes down his short, flame-bright hair and a smug smile steals across his face. Already he can clearly hear the party inside; there is a shuffling of feet behind the door, the clinking of glass and voices raised in greeting, among them his fiancée.
Months of courting have led him here: all Todd’s hard work shall be rewarded. He will marry his pretty little bride in the morning, and kindly take command of her mother’s modest hotel.
“Be bold, be bold, but not too bold,” Todd whispers.
The bell chimes dully through the wood. Before it finishes he can hear the quick step and drag of his hostess.
Mrs. Ledbetter wrenches open the door. “Well! There you are, Mr. Darling. My poor niece was fretting your tardiness. Come in!”
Todd steps across the threshold into the cloud of perfume that surrounds the stout woman as he apologizes. His hat and overcoat are shucked off and Mrs. Ledbetter is hustling him into her parlor, straight to his fiancée.
“And here is your darling Darling!” The woman titters, and sweeps off.
Gemma Warren, his bride, fingers a nut-brown curl and turns her bright eyes to follow her aunt’s busy figure across the room.
“Todd,” Gemma begins, “I need to ask you something – ”
Before she can finish well-wishers descend. He reaches for her hand but she pulls away; Todd thinks nothing of it. She is a little shy in front of others, and the stress of the wedding has strained her. Over the next half hour he catches only glimpses of her in the packed parlor. He can tell some have asked her to recount how they met at the centennial party by the blush on her face and her bright eyes. But then he notices something odd.
There is a peculiar forlornness about his Gemma, and Todd can see it in the pull of her lips. Todd knows this is not how a bride should look on the eve of her wedding. Worry roils in his stomach.
Right after a bevy of older women leave him Gemma’s cousin approaches. Older than her by a couple years, Jackson’s sandy hair is already starting to gray, and his lanky frame is slouched over as he comes to a stop next to Todd.
“So, how’s our darling, hmm? Got the wedding jitters, or are you spooked about what happened near the Lodge?”
Todd frowns, thinking how unfortunate it is that Jackson has the same sense of humor as his mother when the rest of what he said registers.
“No wedding jitters, but what’s that about the Lodge?”
Jackson smiles lopsidedly at him.
“What, you haven’t heard? I just got into town and I’ve heard the news from at least four people already. In fact, I’d barely left the station when I ran into George on his way back.”
George, Todd recalls, is the Deputy Sheriff. Todd avoids law enforcement. Encounters tend to have him leaving town rather abruptly.
“Well, sometime early this morning, a tourist from the hotel wandered off the trail about a quarter of a mile near the Lodge and, somewhere right under Pine Rock, he found something awful.” Jackson pauses, his eyes bright. “It was a bunch of bones; some were still only half eaten with the skin and hair on them, and there was money, rings, and pocket watches scattered around the bones, and even a hat and other torn clothes.”
Todd’s dread swells.
“So what do people think happened? A bear? A murderer?”
“No one thinks it was a bear – not right for a bear attack. As for a murderer, why would he eat them raw and then leave all the valuables behind? That doesn’t make any sense. I guess that doesn’t matter if he’s crazy, which is fairly possible.” Jackson thinks about that for a moment. “Anyway, George says it must have been wolves.”
“Wolves? I thought that there hadn’t been any seen here in a long while.”
“Yes, it’s been a couple years since the last sighting, but they are still here. In fact, a few months before you arrived, there was a sighting in the next county.”
“Oh.” Todd’s quick wit fails him in this moment.
“You know, I’m surprised you haven’t heard all this. You still rent a room at the Lodge, don’t you? For your writing?”
“I do. But I haven’t been there at all today, not since early this morning. I had business to finish for tomorrow.”
“It’s good that I mentioned it then, otherwise you would have been surprised when you got up there tonight! George is gathering up as many men in the area that can shoot as he can get and go looking over the weekend, see if there aren’t any other attack sites.”
“And the wolves?”
Jackson frowns. “I don’t think there is anything he can really do about that. They range all over the counties, all the way to the coast and far into the mountains. People will just have to be careful. Maybe you can take some time away from that mysterious writing of yours and pen a little piece for the local paper about the thing, reassure people. I’m sure my aunt will appreciate it. Wolves, axe murderers or otherwise, we don’t want the hotel to lose any business, after all. ”
“I’ll consider it.”
“Right. Now for the reason I came over here. As Gemma’s oldest male relative, I have to threaten you a bit. So promise to be good to her. You know she hangs off every word you say, which must be flattering.”
“It is. And I will do my best.”
“Okay. I’ve done my duty. See you in the morning.”
Their conversation was at an end. Todd watched absentmindedly as Jackson slouched off to speak with a friend of the family. All around him, people were celebrating his impending nuptials, talking of the extraordinary murders, and the men that were gathering to comb the woods. He is not sure how he missed all the talk earlier.
Todd is at a loss for what his next step should be. He should leave, but that will draw the wrong kind of attention. He should find George, and see what exactly he knows. He should speak to his Gemma. Todd finds her with her mother and aunt in conversation with three of the ladies from their gardening society. He will have to wait.
Several long minutes pass. The sudden sound of shattering glass drowns out conversation; perhaps someone else just learned about the attack. Todd sees opportunity. He gently tugs his bride into the dim hall and out the front door. The moon hangs low in the sky.
She pulls away from him again.
“I don’t think we should be out here like this,” she whispers, her shadowed eyes darting everywhere but him.
“Why not? You don’t think we’ll get attacked in the middle of town, do you?”
Gemma fidgets, her fingers weave together and unravel.
“No. George doesn’t think they’ll come into town. But Todd…”
“You’ve spoken to George? About what happened at the Lodge?”
Todd watches, anxious, as Gemma’s fingers tangle together.
“Yes, he told mother and me. He thought perhaps something had happened near the hotel too, or that we might have seen something suspicious without realizing it. Todd, he was asking about you, but I couldn’t answer some of his questions,” she darts a look at him in the dim light, and Todd notes how wide and glassy her eyes are. “Todd, you aren’t involved, are you?”
Her voice is a whisper, but he is struck as if by lightning. His own fiancée doubts him. But he is always so very careful. How can she be at all suspicious? Any other day she hangs on his every word with a crooked little smile. Today is filled with unwelcome changes.
“Why do you think I would ever be responsible for such grisly murders, Gemma?”
“I don’t!” Her eyes drop to her fingers. “But George asked so many questions about you, and there was so much I couldn’t tell him. He seems to think you are behind the attacks, and I can’t refute him. How can I prove my fiancé’s innocence, if I know so little about him?”
“Don’t you trust me, Gemma?”
All of Todd’s work is unraveling in this moment.
“I do trust you Todd, I love you! But do I know you? Can you tell me I know the man I’m marrying tomorrow?”
Todd winces at this. They are at an impasse. Gemma is watching him, frowning and just as anxious as him. He knows what she wants him to say: that George has unsettled her unnecessarily, and that she indeed knows as much about him as he does about her.
He cannot fix this, and he cannot lie to her. Not when he genuinely loves her as much as his kind is able. For all his shows of cunning and all his tricks on the gullible and deserving, Todd is not guilty. There is certainly enough to incriminate him, if someone ever finds the trail of false identities and far away places Todd has left in the wake of his mischief. Foxes are infamous for so many things, but murder – it is not so, and gods forbid it should ever be so.
Perhaps Todd is too bold. It seems he is no longer welcome here.
“And I love you, Gemma. I have always told you what you need to know. Surely you don’t think I would tell you everything just yet? We’d have nothing to talk about once we married. Surprises make things interesting.”
Her face crumples at this attempt at levity.
“I know nothing at all.”
Gemma’s voice is quiet and inconsolable.
“You know I love you.”
Todd’s voice is not very assertive; he can feel the impending defeat. She does not answer, and he wonders if she still believes him.
“Todd please. I’ve always known there is something odd about you, and even if you haven’t told me anything about yourself,” her breath hitches, “I know you wouldn’t murder and eat people raw, whatever your secrets. Please, so few people know you well, and you live at the Lodge, and I know George said he thinks it’s wolves, but if the others decide it’s a murderer after all, they might blame you. I’m worried.”
“Gemma,” Todd does not know what to say.
“Maybe you should go, Todd, as far as you can. Before anything worse happens. I don’t think I could bear to watch if anything – ” Gemma cannot go on.
“Will you go with me?”
Gemma’s fingers tangle together again, and she shakes her head. There is her mother to consider, and the trust between them is broken. It is too bold of him to ask.
“I had a dream, Todd. It was a terrible dream. You were dragging me through the Lodge, and I was screaming and struggling to get away from you. My hands were bleeding and my ring and finger were gone. You held them in your fist. Then you threw me into a dark room filled with rotting things and left me there.”
“It is not so, Gemma, I will never – ”
“I know. But this dream makes me believe I cannot go with you if I do not know you. I’m sorry.”
“What roads have led us here,” Todd whispers to himself. “Perhaps I will go. I think I will be drawing more attention to myself by leaving, but I see no point in staying if you don’t trust me anymore.”
He walks away from her.
“Good bye, Gemma.”
The empty white road stretches before him. A fox can expect this sort of ending. His shadow flickers sadly in the moonlight, tail tucked sorrowfully between its hind legs.
Out of the dark behind the last house steps George. Todd only recognizes him from the stocky build and moustache. Looking at him, Todd belatedly realizes he has left his hat and coat behind at Mrs. Ledbetter’s house.
“I’ve been waiting for you for a while,” George grins.
“You’ll have to excuse me. I’m supposed to be getting married tomorrow you know.”
“Is that so? And here I was so sure I had convinced her to call it off.”
Todd looks at him sharply.
“Oh, you don’t recognize me do you? And here I thought you were just too bold to leave.”
“We’ve only met a handful of times in the months I’ve been here, George.”
George grins a little wider around his moustache.
“You’ve forgotten all about our first meeting years ago haven’t you Mr. Darling, or should I say Mr. Fox. You must have thought you were pretty clever with that one.”
Todd blinks at him as he tries to recall the places he used that name. If he could remember, it would give him an idea what George’s grievance with him was. Then he could find a way out of this conversation and out of town.
It would happen that all his mischief came back to haunt him on the eve of his wedding.
“And how are you so sure that I was the fox responsible?”
“It can’t be anyone else.”
“Are you certain? There are many of us, and we all have certain talents in common. So what exactly has this fox done to you then?”
George scowls at him.
“I know it was you!”
“For the sake of argument, let’s say it was me. Now what do you think I did?”
Todd cannot recall when he first met George. Better that he let him tell him.
“You blamed me and my pack for all your mischief. Even the bears thought we were responsible for all the confusion, violence and vandalism.”
“I must say that vandalism and violence are beneath a fox’s talents, but sowing discord is not. So you wolves were blamed for little harmless pranks and general confusion. Are you really that hurt over it?”
Todd can remember now – it was when he was young and foolish and so very bored. He’d caused quite a great deal of mischief in that area for everybody.
“We were run out of the area because of you. But you wouldn’t know that, since you didn’t stick around to find out.”
George was starting to bare his teeth at him now. It would be best to leave.
“Ah, I see. How unfortunate for you. And now you’ve gotten your revenge on me by murdering some poor tourists and blaming the tragic affair on yourselves in addition to ruining my wedding and making me break a promise to a friend. You must have been waiting here a long time to set this up.”
George narrows his eyes and moves closer.
“Time for me to go, I think. You should congratulate yourself.”
“Oh, you’re not going anywhere soon,” growls George.
“No, I really don’t think there’s any reason for me to stay. It really is best for me to leave town before these people realize they’ve had shape-shifters among them, which is inevitable since you are actually telling people you did it. Which baffles me. How stupid can you get?”
“If it’s so stupid, why are you running with your tail between your legs?”
“Because you did ruin my wedding and you have done your best to set me up for murder.”
George grins fiercely.
“That we did. And now you’ll leave here like the coward you are. Remember what it feels like to be run out of home.”
Todd frowns, carefully surveying the roadside for the rest of the pack and wandering humans.
“Now on principal I prefer the word prudent. And I wouldn’t really call it home – maybe if you had waited until after I had gotten married and settled in it would be different.”
George stalks forward, growling.
“Yes, definitely time to go.”
Todd slips around George and a few yards down the road when he stops. He turns abruptly. George is rapidly stalking towards him.
“Now don’t follow, George,” Todd calls to him nicely. “You got your revenge. I’ll just embarrass you if you follow.”
“Oh? And what about Miss Warren? Maybe I’m not done with her.”
Todd turns to face him, wagging his finger.
“You’ve caused her enough trouble. Do anything more, George, and I’ll have to do more than just embarrass you.”
“Threatening me? I thought that sort of thing was beneath you.”
Todd grins. “Oh no. Not when it matters. And that is a something you should remember about me.”
And with that, Todd slips in to the shadows along the white road. The wolves really had gotten revenge on his mischief. He never thought it would catch up to him, and never be so painful when it did.
But Todd is an opportunist – eventually he will get back at that wolf.
It is just what is expected of a fox.
Truth
Klevor could hear the sounds of sparring across the hall. He grimaced, knowing that he alone of all the instructors would be welcome in that room right now, but he did not relish the coming inevitable confrontation. I would trade latrine duty with the initiates to avoid this, he thought to himself, and then his grimace deepened. That was harsh, Klevor. Tynan is suffering a great deal, and he needs your love, not your judgment. Images of his young ward laughing, smiling, and learning washed through his mind and heart, and he softened somewhat. If I walk in defensive, I’ve already lost him.
The wind – always cold no matter where one was on Aengril, but especially bitter here in the upper north – swept around him. Though he wore nothing but a light shirt and trousers, he did not feel it. He had gotten used to this immunity and so rarely noticed it anymore, but tonight, sensing what lay ahead, he found himself grateful again for this blessing from Jaryk. He silently thanked his Lord as he approached the training room.
He stood in the doorway, watching his student practice hitting the straw men with his wooden sword. After a while, he spoke.
“I thought I’d find you down here, Tynan.”
Tynan didn’t say anything aside from grunting briefly as he launched another assault on the dummy. Klevor shook his head, stepped into room, and sat down on one of the hard wooden stools scattered about the floor. Drops of sweat fell off of Tynan’s forehead as he danced about, dodging an imaginary attack by the dummy. The older man observed the concentration on Tynan’s face. In others, it might be a virtue, but Klevor had known him long enough to know that he only got that look when he was truly angry.
After a time, Klevor said, “I’m sorry for what happened today.”
Tynan whacked the dummy a couple more times before wiping the sweat off his face and pointing an accusing finger at his teacher. “Are you? Are you truly sorry?” He shook his head angrily and went back to fighting.
Klevor rubbed his bald head with a thick hand. Father of Winter, grant me patience, understanding, and guidance. If I say the wrong thing here… He didn’t finish his prayer with words; the images flashing through his mind of the possible terrible conclusions to this conversation communicated his desires clearly enough. He remained silent for a time, watching as Tynan’s attacks slowly changed in intensity from anger to despair and grief. It was a subtle shift, but Klevor had been fighting – and watching others fight – for a long time; he had seen many warriors make that shift and then lose whatever battle they were waging soon after. Oh, Tynan. You cannot win this fight with anger, he thought, feeling his own grief start to surface. It had been a long, difficult path, and he had invested a lot into it.
Finally, Tynan stopped, standing with shoulders drooped, soaked with sweat. He stood for several long minutes, his face in shadow. Though Klevor could not see Tynan’s eyes, he knew they were filled with tears, but he also knew that Tynan would be angrily blinking them back.
Suddenly, Tynan dropped his practice sword and shield, lifted his fists to the heavens, and let out a cry of anger mixed with frustration. The wordless shout filled the room, echoing out to the hallways and even reaching some of the rooms in the center of the monastery. Those that heard it knew where it was coming from and to stay away from its source. Klevor was the only one brave enough to talk to Tynan when he was in one of his moods.
When the sound faded from his throat, he whirled to face his mentor. “Why?” he shouted. “Why have I been rejected three times? Three times!” He panted with fury, the storm in his eyes raging with the power of buried anguish.
Klevor shook his head and motioned to the chair next to him. “Sit.”
”I will not sit!” he shouted again, then picked up his practice sword and flung it at the far wall with all his strength. It struck the wall and then clattered to the ground loudly. Breathing deeply, he said in a quieter voice, the words clipped and angry, “I will not sit. I will not be treated like a callow initiate. I want answers. Real answers. Not the metaphysical crap that you feed to the gullible younglings.” He gritted his teeth, his voice rising with each word. “Why. Have I been. Rejected!” He spat that word out like it was a curse. “Three times!” The last word was another shout that resonated through the room. “Three times, Klevor!”
Klevor abruptly stood, towering over Tynan. “If you want your answers, you will sit next to me and listen to what I have to say!” He thrust his arm towards one of the stools, pointing. “Now sit!”
Tynan blanched slightly – Klevor rarely raised his voice. His brows furrowed, he slumped onto the stool, glaring at his teacher.
With complete calm, Klevor nodded towards him and said, “Thank you.” He took his own seat and said nothing for a time. When he sensed the Tynan getting edgy, he asked quietly, “Tynan, why are you here?” Tynan opened his mouth to retort angrily, but Klevor held up his hand, and he lapsed back into a sullen silence.
Klevor continued. “Tynan, those that seek the favor of Jaryk come here for training. Not all are accepted by Him. Usually, those that are not received as paladins in the first two tries accept that they are not cut out for the life of a paladin and they leave, seeking some other way to serve him. Many fine priests have come from this holy place, having first sought the life of a paladin, but seeing that they have a different calling than the one they came here seeking.” He drummed his fingers on the edge of his stool for a moment before continuing. “And then there’s you, Tynan. You’re a good person with a kind heart, but after three times requesting the paladinic calling and three times not receiving them from Our Lord, you’re still here. It’s as if you want to force yourself down the throats of all those around you. I know you want to fight the evil that made you an orphan, but you don’t have to be a paladin to do it. Sign up as a soldier or guard on the frontier, or find some other way to take your gifts in combat and use them for the greater good. So I ask – why are you here?”
Tynan sat for a while before responding. Klevor watched the struggle on his face, but he sighed as he watched Tynan’s typical angry response to challenges come to the front. Tynan clenched his fists and said, “I watched them, Klevor. I watched them slaughter my family. They left me alive, to die! I saw it in their faces. They knew what they were doing, they knew I would die without any help. There was no reason for it! Just to be cruel to another living thing!” He jumped up and began pacing. “Never again, Klevor, never.”
Klevor watched almost helplessly at the young man he had helped raise and teach. Lord, how do I reach this boy? How can I help him find his path in life? He sighed again. “Tynan, you still haven’t answered my question, though. I know your past, we’ve talked about it before. Why are you here? Why will becoming a paladin help you triumph over your past? Is it possible that you are searching for answers in the wrong places?”
“How can I possibly be searching for my answers in the wrong places, Klevor? How many times have you told me that being a paladin is the highest, noblest calling in all of Aengril? You and Grellish and Jaelreth and Lydia and The Bear… all of you, and all the rest. Haven’t you found your answers here?” He continued pacing, his anger pouring nervous energy into his fatigued limbs.
Klevor’s gaze followed Tynan’s pacing for a few laps before answering. “Tynan, remember how we had all you initiates grow a set of flowers in the courtyard garden? You are trying to force your answers. It’s as if you are pulling on the tender stems of your flowers, shouting at it to grow faster, but when you do that, you damage your plant. It grows best when you take an indirect role. You give it sunlight, water, and fertilizer, and then you leave it alone to grow by itself.”
He gestured towards the door, with the courtyard outside. “Remember how Heirina wanted to grow keelar blossoms? We allowed her to try, but she discovered that no matter how hard she tried, they wouldn’t grow. And why not? Because they don’t grow here. The climate is all wrong. Tynan, you are like those keelar blossoms. This is a good environment for many types of people, but I think you do not belong here, at least not right now. It’s not your climate. You are a keelar blossom trying to grow like the greathlin fern. So go find your climate, be who you really are.”
Tynan shook his head forcefully. “No! I will not accept that. I will be a paladin. It is what I really want.”
Klevor felt the urge to throttle his charge rise up, but he forced himself to recall how he and Lydia had found the not-even-six-year-old boy, terrified and huddling in the corner of a blood-stained room, and the memory cleared his heart of frustration again. He took a deep breath. “Why, Tynan, why? Why do you really want it? Look beneath the surface reasons, the reasons I gave you. You have your own reasons to want this. Do you even know what they are? Or are you afraid of them?”
Tynan, eyes flashing, spun around to face Klevor. “I am not afraid! I fear no orc, shifter, or bandit! I will fight them all and send them back to the hell they belong to!”
Klevor stood and grabbed Tynan by the shoulders. “By the gods, Tynan! Do you realize that you have dodged my question three times? It is a simple question, and yet you dance around it like any changeling around the truth! Answer me! Why are you on this path?”
Tynan blurted out, “Because I want to make them pay! I want to hurt evil like it hurt me!” He stopped suddenly, mouth open in shock at what he had just said. Klevor gently turned, put his arm around Tynan’s shoulders, and guided him back to his stool. He allowed the silence to deepen between them as Tynan grappled with the truth that he had never allowed himself to see.
They sat for a long time, the torches guttering lower and lower as the night snuck up on them. Klevor heard a voice and turned towards the door as an initiate poked his head in. “Brother Klevor, you are need-“ Klevor shushed him and waved him away. The initiate scurried off, but the interruption seemed to break Tynan’s train of thought.
He roused himself and spoke slowly, as if from a great distance. “Klevor, what do I do?” His eyes met his teacher’s, and Klevor saw an openness there that had never been present before.
Thank you, Lord. The large man gently put his hand on Tynan’s shoulder. “You have been wanting to be a paladin for all the wrong reasons. Hate and vengeance are not our tools, but I know you better than this. These cannot be the sole reasons you want to follow our path. Why else?”
Then the tears came, and this time, Tynan did not try and blink them away. He buried his head in Klevor’s broad chest and wracking sobs shook his body. The older man’s compassion guided his arms to hold the grieving boy in a tight grip for a long time. Finally, Tynan pulled away. “I just want to be like you.” He sputtered. He put his head in his hands and wept again, less violently this time. When he had pulled himself together, he looked up, red-rimmed eyes swollen and utterly vulnerable.
Klevor felt the tears come to his own eyes as he grieved for this wounded soul he had fought with, taught, trained, and loved. “Oh, my boy.” They wept together then, the grizzled old paladin and his adoptive son. The tears seemed to clear away some of anger, though Klevor was wise enough to know that Tynan’s rage ran too deep to disappear in one moment of honesty. They stood and hugged, then they both sat again.
“Tynan, the reason why Jaryk has not granted you paladin powers is because you have the wrong motives. Your anger could easily lead you down the path of the blackguard. You have heard us speak of Yorith? He was a fine paladin, a good man, but his pride got in the way. Little by little, he removed himself from our company, and as you know, he has become an utterly evil man. What you don’t know is that Yorith was my own son. No one who knows that secret speaks it, but I have had my own motives in training you, as if somehow, succeeding with you would make up for my own past failure.” He was quiet for a moment, and Tynan remained silent as well, absorbing this new fact gifted to him. “Tynan, I fear for you. Only one who is a paladin first can become a blackguard, and if you never become a paladin, then that path is barred to you as well. As they say, the higher you climb, the further you can fall. And you are in danger.”
“Klevor, I swear to you that I won’t fall! I will make a good paladin! I will make you proud!” Tynan’s vow filled the space between them, but Klevor shook his head slowly. The exuberance of youth often failed to accept its own weakness, accept the fact that good men and women could and did fall. The path of evil was a very subtle one, and he knew that Tynan’s anger blinded him to the poison he carried within.
Seeing some of the anger creeping back into Tynan’s eyes, Klevor added quickly, “I do not mean that you will not make a fine paladin, my boy. I shake my head because you foolhardily believe that there is no way you could fall. Yorith believed the same thing.” He leaned forward. “Listen to me – I still pray to Jaryk that I will have the strength to not fall. I look at my weaknesses and failings and wonder that I haven’t fallen already. If you truly want this path, then let this truth sink deep into your heart – the moment you believe yourself immune from falling is the moment that you are already down that path. The only way I can see for you to become a paladin and not fall will be for you to cling to that truth with every fiber of your being.”
He leaned forward intently, warming up to the subject. “Humility is the single greatest trait of any paladin. The path of pride is the path of damnation. Though when we are proud, we deceive ourselves into thinking that we are not proud. Yorith fell into that trap – perversely believing in his virtue while simultaneously discarding it.”
Klevor’s stomach abruptly rumbled loudly, breaking the seriousness of the moment. Startled, they both started to laugh. He stood up. “Come, Tynan, let’s go eat some supper, and we’ll continue your training. Perhaps you will become the first paladin accepted after four tries.” Tynan stood slowly, his head spinning. He had a lot to think about. They walked out of the training room towards the mess hall, both lost in their own thoughts.
~
One year later, Tynan knelt before the high priest of Jaryk, Telor, like he had the previous three years. If Telor was surprised to see the same initiate in front of him that he had seen for three years running, he showed no sign of it in his face.
It had been a hard year. After their talk, he and Klevor had worked together closely to prepare him for the annual visit of the high priest and the acceptance ritual that determined an initiate’s worthiness to join the ranks of the holy paladins of Jaryk. He still had no answers to many of his questions, and it frustrated him to no end, but he had found some sort of peace, an acceptance of his lot. After a particularly loud and long argument, he had agreed that if Jaryk did not accept him the fourth time, he would seek a new life elsewhere. He did not know where he would go, but he would keep his promise.
Klevor watched from his accustomed spot, behind the high priest, as befitted the head of this paladin training monastery. He still worried. Tynan had much anger and pride left in him, yet he did show a different spirit this past year as he prepared for the ritual. He knew that he could not control Tynan – ultimately, he had to make his own choices, and the path of blackguard beckoned stronger to him than any of his other trainees since his own son. If Jaryk accepted him, then he would rejoice and bury his concerns deep in his heart, where only Jaryk Himself could hear them. If he needed to have strong words for Tynan in the future, he would say them, but he hoped that day would not come.
Telor placed his hands on Tynan’s head and said his prayer. “O Lord of Winter, this humble petitioner has come asking to join your holy ranks as a paladin, to be an example to those around him, to defend the innocent and helpless, and in all ways to show the righteousness of your power to the world, to stand as a witness in all times and all places of humility and strength. Wilt thou accept his petition?”
It felt as though everyone in the entire courtyard held their collective breaths. Everyone knew of Tynan, and many doubted that he would ever be accepted, though there were a few like Klevor who saw his potential as well. If he were accepted, everyone would feel a deep chill settle, frost would gather and touch the petitioner, and there would be a flash of cold light. There would be no doubt. If he were not accepted, then nothing.
A wind suddenly blew through the open air of the courtyard and whipped around the figures of Tynan and Telor. The temperature dropped far below freezing, though all attendees were seemingly covered with a protective aura. They could feel the cold, yet it could not hurt them. Frost formed on all the surfaces, stone, wood, and metal, though it touched no flesh. As the wind curled around the two figures, snow began to fall, but only on them, and in a moment both the high priest and the petitioner disappeared to the sight of everyone else as the snow fell so thickly in that narrow area that no sight could penetrate it. The wind howled and in it, all present could hear the holy chanting of otherworldly beings. A few, including Klevor, even saw two glowing figures on either side of the snowy pillar lifting their cold-fire swords to the heavens. The noise and wind and snow reached a peak, then suddenly the snow burst away from the two figures, the wind gentled to a chill breeze, a flash of light, so bright that it should have blinded everyone there, exploded into the now silent air, and a voice that was kind, yet deep and cold, echoed in the ears of all.
YES.
A light snow began to fall. Tynan stood slowly. He had seen…things. He never spoke of what he saw while he was covered in snow, but he felt different. His anger was still there – a fire that burned in his heart – but he could feel the presence of Jaryk with him like he never had before. He turned to face the crowd and saw many with their mouths open in shock. He felt the cool hands of Telor grab his arm and raise it, as the high priest proclaimed, “Behold, the newest member of Jaryk’s holy army!” Dead silence met him as he ritually shed all outer clothing save a light shirt and trousers in front of the high priest to show his faith in his newfound immunity to the cold. He turned and walked off the dais between two columns of young recruits with blades drawn in formal respect, an honor guard whose members had not expected to form for this angry young man. He looked straight ahead, never wavering.
Through it all, one thought ran across his mind over and over, exulting in the achievement of his goal. I am a paladin!
And in the deep recesses of his soul, a voice spoke. Not a loud or harsh voice, but a quiet one, one that pierced his soul to the center and caused his heart to burn with love. This is not the end of your path, my son. You have only just begun.
As gratitude welled up within him, he prayed, What would you have me do, Lord?
The response came immediately. Bring Yorith back to Me.
Tynan stumbled.
~
Saying Your Goodbyes
The gold and red suns set together, a rare omen, as Entogra Farok-dal tried to make his escape from the docks district of Shagnar, the port city on the Empire’s eastern shores.
“Hey there!” Captain Pellofin Whaler bellowed, “You ain’t going nowhere!”
Entogra ducked his head and grinned as the bearded ogre’s breath washed over him, a tidal wave of expensive brandy and cheap numb-leaf.
“Sorry Pell, I have to. Too many stops to go, and I really want to make the capital by Crinsday.”
“Crinsday! Still four days away, no need to hurry at all!” The huge man put an arm like a tree trunk on Entogra’s shoulders. “This party is still going strong and the guest of honor can’t be sneakin’ away like he’s embarrassed of us wharf-rats!”
“Pell,” Entogra replied, ducking out from under the arm threatening to drive him to his drunken knees, “we’ve been partying since sundown yesterday… I’m tired, I’m very drunk… did I mention tired?” He turned and hugged his old friend. “Besides, now it’s really only three and maybe… uh, a couple of hours… ‘til Crinsday and I must be going.”