Flash Fiction # 464 -- Windbound/1

 

There were three of us on the road that morning, trudging along the dusty path toward ... somewhere else. I had spent almost an entire season in the city of Fa, a crowded, ill-kept place of no use for an upcoming artist and philosopher like me.

I had spent almost the entire time waiting for a promised invitation from Fa's Governor General. My funds dwindled.  I had to leave before I became another of the numberless beggars.

I imagined a lot of them were still waiting on that promised invitation.

Where was I going?  

I had no idea.  I had packed away my few belongings, hidden a handful of gold coins in special pockets sewn into my long sleeves, and walked out the nearest gate.

I took the first path to the right, heading in a generally northern direction, and here I found myself on a lesser-trod road in the dusty morning light.

My two companions on the road interested me more than where I might end up at the day's end. The young man ahead of me was a dichotomy of extremes.  He wore a shabby cloak and much-mended sandals. However, he walked like a noble with his head high. His long hair was carefully braided and tied with a small golden chain.  He also had a noticeable limp and held tight to a cane.

"Ho, ahead! Sheep coming through!"

The girl had a strong voice. I stepped aside and took refuge beneath a giant old willow whose long, thin branches swayed slightly in the gentle morning breeze. The young gentleman paused, glanced my way, and then took quick shelter with me. I almost thought he feared the sheep.

A scar, still new enough to show a line of red, ran from his ear to his chin.  I thought it would disappear in a few more weeks.

Sheep bumped, dodged, and scrambled along the path.  A medium-sized dog I had not noticed until now did a credible job of keeping them in line and on the move. The girl -- tall and lanky -- came to a breathless stop by them.

"Sorry, sirs," she apologized with a wave toward the sheep.  "Not sure but what get them moving so fast now."

"No trouble, shepherdess," I said, and our other companion nodded. "Good day to you."

She bowed, looked around for the sheep, and took off at a run when she found them scattered along the road again.   I heard her muttered curse and saw the young man's eyebrow lift in surprise.

"They live a rougher life beyond the city walls."

I thought he was finally about to speak, but the sheep bleated in distress, and the young woman gave a cry of surprise that sounded much like them.

I jogged toward the shepherdess whom I thought might be hurt from the way she went to her knees. The young man moved with me despite his cane.

The sheep huddled together and fell silent.  The breeze changed direction and blew harder. Dust struck my face, and I shielded my eyes. The dust and wind died down, but behind it came a burst of thunderclouds that had spread across the empty blue sky in a matter of heartbeats.

I saw movement on the road.  Although my eyes still watered, I spotted a silver-haired woman walking with the largest dog I had ever seen, one of strange colors, blending orange and black in a swirl of movement.

She had a steady step for such an old woman and showed no fear of the monstrous storm growing over her head.

Not a huge dog.

Tiger.

Not an old woman.

Goddess.

I went to my knees, shocking the young noble.

"Feng Po Po," I whispered with a glance her way.  She nodded.  "Lady of the Winds."

The young noble sounded surprised and slowly went to his knees. I realized kneeling was painful with his injured leg.

None of us said anything.  Even the goddess remained silent as she looked us over.  I expected the sheep to start speaking words before any of the rest of us did.

"You are not what I expected," the Goddess said. Her voice sounded like a distant storm, filled with wind and thunder but not threatening.  She was nature; if she struck down any, it would most likely be by the chance we all took with nature.  "But I see that you will do well."

The shepherdess looked from the goddess to us and back again.  "Does this mean I get to stop herding these damned sheep?" she asked.

"You will mostly deal with the damned humans but I trust you will find most of them more to your liking." Feng Po Po laughed. I feared she looked half insane. "What have you two to say?"

"I reserve all judgments until I hear what is going on," I said with a polite bow of my head.

She still seemed amused, so I survived.

Then she looked at the last of us.

"I am not of your people," he said, the words clear despite his accent. His face had a foreign countenance -- southern, I thought, but at least half Chinese. "I am from Paekche. I brought an ancient document, written in an archaic Chinese, that I was to give to the Emperor. His servants would not let me into his presence.  They said I stole the manuscript. I protested, and we fought.  There was one of me and ten of them.  I lost.  I dared not stay in the city."

"And now you go home," I said, and knew it was the wrong answer.  "No.  You cannot."

"I lost the gold, the manuscript, and my honor.  Perhaps I can serve you, goddess, and reclaim at least some of the last."

"Hwan." She nodded to him.  "Chang (to me) and Li. We have much work to do."

"What work?" I dared ask.

"Recovering the manuscript, of course, and before someone learns to read it and destroys the world."

Flash Fiction #645 -- Village

 

His uncle laughed when Nalfae said he would leave the village after the snow melt.

"Leave," Uncle repeated. "Who else would accept you?"

Uncle walked away.  He still laughed.

The snow melt couldn't come too soon.

By the next day, everyone at Crossing knew he planned to leave.  Uncle's reaction was not the worst.  Most of the women sketched a warding sign in his direction, including Ardia, as if they hadn't laughed at a lost goose wandering through town the day before.  

They treated him like an outsider.

They treated true outsiders much better.  He even heard the old term, half-blood. It so annoyed him that he almost stopped wearing the cap that covered his oddly colored gold and brown hair.

Three days after his announcement, Nalfae was repairing a rough spot in the main road when a band of fae rode in. Fae didn't often visit human villages and the locals looked torn between gawking or running.

Nalfae moved aside and bowed his head as they went by. He saw an array of fine cloth in gorgeous colors and glimpses of fine horses.  Unseen bells rang as they went past, and the sound called to him.

Nalfae looked up despite himself and met the startled look of a fae who seemed about his age. The fae smiled and bowed his head as though their meeting meant something.

"I found him!" the fae called out.

Mounts that had gone past stopped, and the riders looked back. He saw eyes focus on him, and looks of surprise spread through the group.  That was not the sort of look someone who fixed potholes was used to seeing from anyone, let alone fae.

"We've been looking for most of the season for you," an older fae said as he swept off his horse, multicolored cape fluttering around him.  "Will you ride with us back to the faelands?"

Nalfae stared at him for a long moment.  "Excuse me, my Lord, but what is going on?  Why do you want me?"

The fae stopped and looked embarrassed.  Then he looked toward the hills.

"Wing?  Do you mind explaining?"

"Not at all, Lord Del." The fae who had spotted him tossed the reins to another as he swept off his horse. "You are the last of the fae blood out here in this realm.  Rock Trolls are using anyone with fae blood as a link back to the faelands, and it is not a pleasant procedure."

"What if I don't want to go?"

"Then some of us will remain with you until the Rock Troll problem is settled."

That was not the answer Nalfae had expected. He would have gone just then except for an ethical problem.

"I said I would stay until after the first snow melt."

"And you will not gainsay your promise. Excellent," Wing said and sounded serious. "And I assume that means you have already prepared yourself to leave this town."

Nalfae gave one quick nod. The idea that the fae arrived here for him began sinking in.  "At the start of winter, I began to think this would be my last season here.  The longer the winter stretched, the more certain I became that it was time to leave. I don't understand why you are here, though.  I am only half fae."

"There is no such thing as half-fae," Lord Del said.  "Either you have fae blood, or you are human."

The words stunned him.  

Nalfae spent the next three days with the fae and barely noted how the weather was turning unseasonably better.  Snow and ice melted without even minor flooding.  The locals also noticed how well other things went with their visitors in town.

While the other fae wandered around, mingling with locals, Wing spent all his time with Nalfae. He mostly talked about fae lore and etiquette. Nalfae had always learned quickly and rarely needed anything repeated.

"We'll start work on your magic once we're back to the faelands," Wing announced on the way to a gathering meal.

"Magic!"

"I suspected that aspect of your new life hadn't occurred to you. Odd. That is usually the first thing the Lost ask about."

Nalfae shook his head as though to dismiss the thought entirely, but it would not go away.  He tried a different approach.

"Lost?" Nalfae said.  "Is that what I am?"

"Haven't you felt so?  Isn't that why you decided to leave?"

"I felt as if I didn't belong ... but lost? I suppose so since I didn't know where I would go."

"It is time you start being yourself.  The cap does not suit you, and it hides nothing since now everyone sees you with us."

Nalfae's hand went to the cap and paused.  However, Wing was right.  The cap hid nothing now.  It never had, in fact.  Everyone in Crossing knew him and what he was.

Half-blood. Half human, except in the eyes of the fae, he was already one of them.

Nalfae removed the cap and tossed it aside into the shadows where it belonged. His brown and gold hair fell across his shoulders and down his back.  It was a little longer than Wing's golden hair.

They all looked pleased with the change when he gathered with the other fae for a noon meal.  Lord Del stood and lifted his hands toward the sky.

"And so he comes to us, and we name him Pathfinder. He already sees the other ways, and when he learns more, he will point the way, and we will follow.  Now eat.  We leave soon."

"But that's insane.  I know nothing!"

Wing looked at him, his head tilted.  "The snow has melted.  If we were not here, where would you go?"

He hardly thought about it.  "Southwest."

Lord Del nodded.  "I have a message from Lord Sky that we are all to gather near the Veil.  Our closest path to it is to head Southwest."

Easy test, Pathfinder thought.  No doubt life would get more challenging.

 

Flash Fiction #644 - Servant

 

The girl knew her name was Esta, though no one else in the castle knew or used it. Some might even think it pretentious of her to claim to be someone other than a servant.  She was almost always the first to answer if anyone yelled for a servant. This became so common that the other servants made sure she wasn't already there before any of them answered.

Esta was meticulous in her work and never complained.  The combination of the two made her all but invisible.

Very little changed for three years until the King returned and brought his three young captured wives, all of them of various royal blood.

The first queen, older than them by at least two decades, still held the place of power since she'd given the king four royal sons.  However, she did look askance at the 'girls' as she called them. The girls formed their own little group, and The Queen did not dine with them.

The servants were all run ragged for those first few months when nothing was good enough for the girls and too much wrong for the queen.

Esta did her best.

Days passed into years with hardly a notice of passing seasons.  The Queen and the girls formed an alliance that benefited them all when dealing with the king.

How many times had she scrubbed these stairs?

A pair of boots started down the steps -- she never looked higher as she grabbed rags and bucket out of the way.

"Careful, sir," she whispered.  "Wet stairs."

The man grunted in reply, slowed, and then stopped on the stair above her.

"That was not polite on my part," the man said.

Esta looked up in shock, knowing the words were directed at her.

"Thank you, sir," she stammered and grabbed her rag, crushing it in her fist. Dirty water ran down her arm.

The man looked at her for a moment longer, nodded once, and went past.  He was careful on the steps.

The encounter had shaken her.  Esta couldn't say why except that, for a moment, she had felt like she wasn't just another stone on the stairs.

She scrubbed harder.

Four days passed -- she had counted them -- until she saw the man again. He was, she realized, one of the castle guards and assigned to the South Wing, where the four women ruled. Esta had been transferred there for a few days during the summer festival.

Having worked in the castle for several years now,  Esta could easily recognize the servants.  She also could spot the one she'd never seen before.

He was well-trained to look like a servant, although he walked too well and had a furtive glance that went right over her.

She cleared a few things from a lower-level table and looked around for a guard.  She shoved the tray into the hands of a startled kitchen boy and went on past him.

Esta couldn't reach any of the guards in time.  The assassin was taking purposeful steps toward the queens.  A shout would be lost in the noise of merrymakers.

Esta charged.

She heard yells and screams but never looked away from her goal. She almost thought time had slowed down, but Esta knew that only came from extreme focus.

Someone got in the way, but she dodged that obstacle. That came from her work as a servant.  People were always getting in the way.

Screams, yells -- the assassin looked annoyed and then surprised when a servant threw herself across the table, and they both landed on the floor.

Esta was aware of blood on her arm before she realized she'd been injured.  Then it hurt, but she hardly had time to make note of it.  Someone grabbed her by the other arm and dragged her out of the way and under the table.

She had just enough sense left to realize there shouldn't be this much of a battle with only one assassin present.  Some high-ranking visitors from the east were newly allied with the king.  Or maybe not.

This was something big. It was also chaotic. Esta crawled to the edge of the table. Guards were fighting a plethora of men who were attacking with dinner blades. If there hadn't been so many of them, the guards would have had no trouble at all.

The queens had been herded to the wall with a shield of guards and the king protecting them. The guests who were not wounded were leaving.  The servants were dealing with the wounded.

The servants.

Although he had shed a wig and turned his shirt inside out, he was still among the servants. Esta recognized him as someone who still did not belong.

He inched closer to the king, who was just putting away his sword.

Esta somehow launched herself from under the table and brought him down.

Yelling and chaos spread again.  Someone kicked her in the arm, and she cried out --

"She had it right, sire," a guard said as everything grew quieter.  "I don't know how, but he was an assassin and fully armed for the job. Here are another six small daggers in his sleeves. We best get her arm tended."

The guard she had met on the stairs knelt before her as someone tied off a bandage on her arm.

"Yes," the guard said to someone else. "I met her when she was scrubbing the stairs on the south tower."

"She's a servant," Queen Guada said.  "She's been here longer than me."

"What's your name?" the guard asked.

"Esta."

She heard a whisper of words as others nearby admitted they had never known her name. The guard ignored them.

"Why did you mistrust him?" he asked.

"I didn't recognize him.  He didn't move like a servant.  He watched the guards with too much worry."

The guard nodded.  "Well done."

The next day Esta moved from the servants to the guards and trained to serve the queens in a new way.

Flash Fiction # 643 -- Wolf (Drabble)

 Having a white wolf as a familiar was uncommon enough to draw attention . That the witch was a six-year-old girl with golden hair and a perfect smile only made them more noticeable.

"Why are people so stupid?" the girl demanded of no one in particular.  "Get out of my way!"

The crowd shifted but didn't leave.

"Listen, sweetie," an older woman said as she stepped forward. "In this town, we kill and skin wolves, and I think he'd make a great rug."

"What do you think, Lain?" the girl asked.

The wolf stepped forward.  "I think I'm hungry."

Everyone left.

Flash Fiction #642 -- Chickens (Drabble)

 

Milton didn't hate chickens, but he wished his grandfather had raised something more exciting. When the older man died and left the cottage to Milton, it was with the understanding that he took care of the birds. Milton did his best.

The routine was easy.  He rose at first light to feed the birds and look for eggs which he took into town to sell to various households.  Today, he heard something troubling. Tom True's prize bull had knocked him down and stepped on his leg.

Milton decided chickens were exciting enough. He went home and gave them extra food.