Steve's Stories

S

Steve

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Hello everyone. This is a story which I wrote a few days ago, and I thought it might be worth posting. It is unfortunately untitled at the moment; suggestions on that front would be heartily welcomed (along, of course, with any other comments or criticisms).

It was only with great difficulty that I found the doorway in the mountain, in the wildlands far to the west. My beard was shorter and redder in those days, and my back straighter, though already I wore spectacles from years of study. I had heard many stories of the old days, passed down to me by my father and my grandfather before him, but more solid information eluded me. But few manuscripts survived from the old days; most were destroyed, and in the earliest days they had felt little need to record much in writing anyway. Still, even though the inhabitants of those old times had apparently vanished, a few of their words remained, fragments of older writings and hastily-scrawled copies hidden among more innocuous manuscripts. They told in their cryptic way of the great kings and queens of old, valorous in war and, more often, gracious in peace. It was one text in particular which breathed hope into me, fragments of a history which made brief reference to an artifact of great magical power, one which might be the key to our salvation. For we were brutally oppressed in those days, separated and forced to hide our nature, living among the humans as if we were their kind.

But we were, we are, not, at least not in whole. This truth was soon forced upon me; as quickly as my discoveries had begun, so had they ceased. I was left with a shred of hope but no way to pursue it. No way, that is, until I discovered the other side of my heritage, beyond stories, short stature and a thick beard: a gift for the magic arts. Those abilities, which were denied to Men, those powers flowed through my veins, though weakly. My texts offered some little help, but much of my knowledge came through trial and error, following my instincts and trying again when they failed me. Soon enough I was able to see that the object of my search was no longer wholly in our world; it had fallen through a rift, into the lesser lands which lie between. I was close to despair, but somehow I managed to keep hope. Nothing in any of my studies even began to suggest how I could travel to those lands; instead, I turned to my art. I spent years, studying the stars and the movements of my crystal ball, fruitless nights of disappointment and frustration, until finally my persistence paid off, and I was shown a glimpse of the doorway. It was a great arch, carved into the mountain face, a great gaping face with razor teeth and glittering eyes of crystal, strong with ancient magic. It took me one more year of dangerous travel, wandering through a waste inhabited thieves and bandits...and worse. A few times I had to deter the former with the axe left me by my great-grandfather, and once the latter with my magic. And then one day, the sun's brilliant light putting a deceptively beautiful face on the rugged landscape, I stumbled into a clearing and there it was, its maw open as if ready to devour me.

It was a truly terrifying visage, one which no vision could have prepared me for, and I admit that for a moment I quailed at its presence. But I would not be deterred for long; I gathered my courage and, after a whispered entreaty, set foot through the portal.

It is hard to describe the feeling that went through me as I entered. At once I knew that I had entered another world entirely. It was a magical place; power flowed through it, raw and plentiful, and I could feel the strength within me waxing full. I hadn't realized that I had closed my eyes, but when I opened them I was no longer anywhere that I knew. Before me was a narrow tunnel, lit by flickering candles set in sconces. They almost did more to obscure than to illuminate; shadows danced all around me, moving as if they were alive. And still to this day I wonder if perhaps they were, for their movements seemed just a little bit too controlled, too intelligent, to be truly random. Whatever their true nature, they did me no harm as I started down the passage. The path wound this way and that, up and down, and even with my short stature I had to duck in places to fit through. The passage eventually came to an opening, and as I looked through it I was met with the first of the wonders which I would see on my journey.

The passage opened up into a massive chamber. All around me, lit by huge crystals glowing with a steady light, were cascades of stone, petrified waterfalls running from the ceiling down into the depths. I might have mistaken it for a natural cavern, could I not see stars in the darkness below me. Before me there stretched a sort of bridge of stone, extending forward into the gloom.

I barely needed my crystal ball to show me the direction that I needed to go; so much power was flowing through me that I could almost see where the object of my search had landed unaided. I was hesitant to set foot on that bridge, but on taking a tentative step I found it to be solid. Still, it felt perilously narrow suspended as it was above that vast emptiness with nothing to hold on to, and I moved forward with great caution. At first sight, I hadn't quite understood how massive the space truly was, but after almost an hour of walking the wall behind me had receded greatly, but the further side of the cavern seemed hardly closer. As I went I came upon a few forks in the path, taking less and less time to decide as my powers and confidence grew. Still, it was several hours before I came across the place that I was looking for; three paths met at a circular platform, its outer edge set with torches set on thin, ornate pillars. My pace quickened as I saw it, and I was almost running as I came upon it. Imagine then my surprise when I found nothing there!
 
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For a moment, I stood there, shocked. To have come this far, guided by so many spells and visions, to find nothing! Still, this was not my first setback, and it took me only a moment to gather myself again. I opened my pack once again to bring out my crystal ball, which I laid before me on a bed of black cloth, and gazed deeply into its murky depths. It isn't easy to describe what it was like to scry in that place; flashes of images ran through my mind, slowly resolving into the one I wanted. Many, many things had happened in this place; it was ancient in a way beyond anything on our earth. I don't know how long I sat there, seeing strange and terrible things, before I came to what I was looking for. I saw a flash of light as what looked like a star fell from the cavern above, crashing down onto the place where I stood with a terrible sound of thunder. In the vision I could see the power radiating from it, strength which shone bright even in comparison to the magic already coursing through that place. Even before the sound had ceased to echo, a shadow appeared on the edge of my vision. I turned, and my blood turned cold within me with what I saw: a terrible creature, like the dragons that live to the north, but longer and more serpent-like, black of scale and with a flashing, malignant intelligence shining from its eyes. It came down one of the paths, its legs gripping, body twined around the stone; with one hand it reached out and took the burning light into its hands, the dark claws stifling it and hiding it from sight. The creature turned with surprising grace, coiling over itself and heading back from whence it came.

I felt a wave of exhaustion as the vision ended; despite my enhanced powers such a spell took a great deal of strength. I felt that, for the next few moments, no power would be able to get me to move. I was wrong.

There was a noise behind me; it was very silent, but after hours of pure emptiness my hearing had become sharper. In a moment I was standing, axe in hand, facing the source of the sound.
I found myself face to face with a creature unlike any I had seen before. Its and arms were like those of a man, albeit one with horns and tusks, placed onto a body akin to a great cat with four cruelly clawed legs and a razor-barbed tail. I was struck with a terror so profound that I was torn between running from it, striking at it blindly or even throwing myself from the edge in hopes of a more dignified death. Before I could enact any plan, however, it spoke.

“Greetings, son of stone,” it said, in a voice surprisingly smooth and almost, in its own way, alluring, an aspect only slightly lessened by its black, forked tongue, “I have seen your quest burning in your mind, a yearning for freedom from your oppression. I tell you this, little one: the object of your search is in the possession of Akmon, the great dragon. You will not pry it from his claws no matter how long and hard you try, for he is jealous of his hoard. All you will find in his lair is death.” It sat there for a moment, a grotesque grin on its face, as if pausing to let his words sink in. By this time, my first moment of panic had subsided, and my mind was looking furiously for a solution. In the mean time, however, I decided that it would be safer to show no fear.

“What do you want, demon?” I said, in as bold a voice as I could manage.

Its mouth split open and it gave a brief laugh, a shrill sound which was almost painful to hear. “Ask not what I desire, but what I can impart. You seek help for your oppression, help which I could provide. For I, Kahlak the cunning, am very shrewd and powerful. I could give you such strength as you have never known, greater even than the power which fills you here. I could lead you and your allies to victory; I could crush your enemies such that their ruin would be sung of for generations. All this I will do for you, serve you for all the days of your life, if you will but give me entry into your world. For this is a lonely place, desolate and empty, and I have wandered here long.” His grin, though he tried hard to contain it, grew wider, and somehow more hungry.

I would like to claim that his words couldn't sway me because of some mighty strength on my part, but in truth I was too terrified to even consider taking them seriously. My next act was one of desperation, and to this day I am convinced that it was only by grace that I succeeded. I gathered my power around me in a way I had never done before, had never been able to do before, and cast a blindness over his eyes. He was surprised, perhaps more shocked at my insolence than my power, and before he could react I threw another spell, this one of dizziness. Once again, I felt a terrible exhaustion, and it was all I could do to finish my attack with a swipe from my axe. The side of its head hit him in the face, and he fell, howling and cursing, off the edge and into the darkness below.

“Return to the pit from whence you came.” I would like to say that I said it triumphantly while watching him fall, but it was much more like a murmur as I ran as quickly as possible despite my tiredness. And yet, I found myself running down the path which the dragon had taken. I was, perhaps, even more scared of him than I was of the demon, but I would not, I could not, turn back. Not with the responsibility which rested on my shoulders. I soon returned to a more safe pace, though I spent almost half of my time looking over my shoulder.
 
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The path continued on a little further as it had before, and at each branching I could feel more strongly the presence of what I sought. Somewhere along the way I had turned, and I was now approaching the wall of the cavern again. I soon came to an opening in the rock, a jagged crack which seemed almost too narrow for a beast of the size that I had seen, but into which I could fit with ease. The path led around a bend, and when I turned it I froze, for there before me was the creature itself. The dragon, coiled up as a serpent ready to strike, lay upon a vast pile of treasure. Each item in the hoard was unique and carefully crafted: swords, shields, chalices and other masterworks in all manner of style and ornamentation, and each thick with enchantments. It was hard with such finery spread before me to pick out one item in particular, but after only a moment of looking I finally saw it. It was laid apart from the rest of the pile on a red cloth: a horn, a horn whose very call could summon help in any situation: the Horn of Susan. Oh, how I yearned to run out and catch hold of it! But I knew that that would be the most foolish thing I could do. The dragon appeared to be sleeping, but I knew better than to rely on that alone. I stood for a moment, my back to the wall, and though about how I might approach. In the end, I could think of only one course of action; I carefully wove a spell of invisibility around myself, willing it to make me unseeable and to muffle the sound of my steps. I cast it slowly, layer by layer, making it as potent and subtle as I knew how to, and when I had done what I could I walked once more around the corner and into the chamber.

The horn was very close, but to get to it I would have to go right past the beast's head. Despite my enchantment, I moved as slowly and silently as I could, edging towards my goal. After what felt like an eternity, I was within arm's reach of it. I reached over, painfully slowly, and wrapped my fingers around it.

Even as my hand grazed its surface, one of the dragon's eyes snapped open and focused on me. His head turned, slowly, to look at me. I froze, my heart in my mouth, hoping perhaps that my spell could hide me.

“Oh, what have we here?” The dragon's voice was raspy, as one might expect a snake's to be, “You may as well drop that spell,” he added with a hissed chuckle, “It would have to be far cleverer than that to fool me.” I dropped it slowly, if only to free up my concentration for a protective working, though something told me that nothing I could do would be much help. “Ah, one of the Stout People. It has been many long years since I have seen your kind.” He paused for a moment, as if in thought, and then added, almost casually, “What is it that you were planning on taking from my hoard?”

I thought for a moment, but could find no reason to tell him anything but the truth; I held up the horn in answer.

“Oh, yes, the horn, one of the finer treasures.” The dragon gave a smile, the sort of smile full of teeth, and added, “You have rather good taste, for a thief.”

Despite my fear, his words excited in me an anger strong enough to make me reply, “A thief? I have a greater claim to it than you!”

The dragon laughed again, this time deeper and with greater strength. “Oh, I'll let you take it, Son of Earth.” My face must have showed my surprise, for he continued, “I have grown old, and in my age I have, unfortunately, become tired, weak, and wise. My greed, which seemed only able to grow, was extinguished; I was given new purpose. These treasures,” he gestured with one hooked claw, “each has a purpose and a destiny, for nothing is brought to this place by accident. I, who was their collector, have become their protector.” For the first time, he looked at me directly, and said, “You did well not to listen to Kahlak's lies. He and his kind are always seeking an escape from their bondage, and far too often they find it.” For a moment, his eyes focused on the middle distance, and then snapped back to the present. “Now I remember. This one comes with a message, Cornelius.” That, his knowing my name, perhaps more than anything else he had said, shocked me. It is a much easier thing to perceive someone's thoughts than their true name. He continued: “This horn is not for you to use, and the proper time has not yet come; give it to the coming prince, for it is only to be blown in time of greatest need.” He settled back down onto the treasure, and his eyes slowly closed. “Now, return to your world, little one; I am tired, and in need of rest. May your journey be blessed.”

I slowly walked back towards the doorway and exited without trouble. My art guided me back just as surely as it had guided me in; I was not harassed by Kahlak or any other of his kind on the way back. Soon, I passed back over the final span, through the short tunnel and out of the doorway. I hardly even noticed the power slowly draining out of me, leaving me as weak as before, or the doorway slowly closing behind me. I was still thinking of the horn, wrapped in cloth and safe in my pack. I returned to my home and my studies, to the oppression of the Telmarines, but now I had hope: hope that there would one day be an end; hope that Aslan had not abandoned us forever.
 
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EXCELLENT!

Opening exposition is always a toughie, and it was a sign of your talent that you measured skillfully how much to tell at a dose. The early mention of spectacles, for instance, revealed smoothly that this was a world in which at least some technology existed.

You kept me guessing. A Narnian setting seemed likely, since Tolkien's Dwarves have only certain narrowly limited magical abilities; but only when Susan's horn was identified did I know where we were. Even then, I didn't guess your hero to BE Cornelius himself! And it was a nice move having the dragon turn out to be helpful to him. (Almost as if the dragon had read Ecclesiastes, and realized the vanity of wealth.)

It's a pity Nikabrik didn't have Cornelius' wisdom when it came to summoning "help."

This example of your writing leads me to anticipate other enjoyable stories from you. Just to pick a couple of nits-- A place where treasure is kept is H-O-A-R-D, whereas H-O-R-D-E is an army or a large mob. The word "whence" contains in itself the idea of "from," so "from whence" is redundant. And an object is L-A-I-D down, not L-A-I-N down.
 
Very nice indeed. I look forward to reading more of your work but please break the text-wall up with paragraphs.
 
Thank you very much for the great comments! I've incorporated your corections (big thanks for those,) save one: "from whence" is kinda idiomatic ("I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help") and widely used despite the redundancy. I tried just "whence" in both instances of "from whence," and it didn't seem to flow quite as well, so I've left those in for now.
edit: oh, dear, I didn't notice that it removed all my tabs. Time to go re-tab for readability...
 
I guessed pretty early on that the main character was Cornelius--as soon as the horn was mentioned. As Copperfox said, the unexpected turnaround with the dragon was great. I would never have expected it, especially with all the stories about dragons never giving up their gold.

Good work!
 
I enjoyed it! Very well written. I was guessing he was Cornelius, but wasn't absolutely certain until the Horn of Susan was specified. Also, I liked the surprise about the dragon.
 
Thanks guys! I was on a flight back from St. Louis today, and I needed something to do, so I wrote up this short(er) story in the mean time. Again, no title (and again, suggestions appreciated.) I dunno, it feels a little less interesting than the other one, but it gave me something to do.

The greatest moment in a star's life is difficult to describe in terms understandable to mortal men. It is to be engulfed in burning glory; to shine bright, brighter than any other star in all the heavens; to have millennia of celestial existence brought together into one moment, a culmination of all that any star can be. To be, for a moment, light itself, and then to be cast into aeons of dark contemplation, no longer a member of the Great Dance, waiting for the end of days in shadowed stillness. It is a great honor, desired by all and imparted to few, the oldest, wisest and most weary of their number.

There was once a young star, or at least one called young among their number. He was brilliant of hue and handsome of form, one of the brightest lights in the heavens despite his youth. His name was Coriakin, the Great Light of the West; great power and station belonged to him, and he was well admired by those around him. From his position in the great dancing grounds of the heavens he looked down on the earth below. When it was formed he and his kin were already ancient, cloaked in darkness and waiting to be revealed. He had seen the singing of the song of life, felt the trembling joy of being called at last to shine, and since had watched with interest the affairs of the small creatures below, even as his majestic feet moved to the pattern taught to him in ages past.

As he looked down, he saw how he was given a place of honor in the eyes of Man, how they used his light as a guide and admired his beauty. He was given many names by them, and put into positions of honor in their constellations. He saw how the centaurs and wise sages gazed on his movements, discerning great wisdom and knowledge which even he knew not. He saw the flickering dances of the bat, the nightingale and the owl, each in their own mortal way seeking to replicate his grace. And as he saw all these things, a great and terrible pride grew in his heart, pride beyond the dignity of his stature or the honor of his position. He forgot the heavenly song and the Great Dance, and all the goodness which had been given him, thinking only of how he could gather more glory to himself. And he became envious of those stars brighter than himself: Aravril the Graceful, Telminn the Leopardseye, glorious Jacinth the Prince, and even their king, Urthering, the Lord of the Dance. He began to long for that moment of pure glory, to outshine every other star, to draw every eye in heaven and on earth to himself. As the years went past, his envy and lust only grew, overwhelming his thoughts.

And then, when his foolish pride reached its peak, he, unbidden, claimed that glory for himself. He, already bright to begin with, grew a thousandfold more magnificent; power and ecstasy flooded through him. On the earth below, the eyes of Man and Beast alike were drawn to the glorious spectacle; all the stars in heaven cried out in shock and horror, for they knew that he had not been called. In that moment, he lived a lifetime; and then, his power was exhausted and his light extinguished, and he grew old, and with his age came wisdom. And he looked on what he had done, and shame and terror filled him and he hid his face, for he realized what a great evil he had done.

Even as he did, the voice of the Great Emperor sounded across the heavens: “Coriakin, what have you done?” And he gave no answer, for he was very afraid. He continued, “You have done terrible wrong, and great harm to those below. I established the firmament and your dance upon it according to my great plan, that those below might look upon your glory and seek me, and that through your movements they could learn wisdom and knowledge. O, that you could understand! What you have done may not be undone. Now that image of glory is incomplete, and the dance imperfect, and those who might have seen may no longer see. What have you to say for yourself?”

Before those words, Coriakin had no choice but to answer. And he said, “My Lord, I can say nothing and do nothing to justify or lessen my crime. I can do nothing but humbly beg for your mercy.” And he wept bitter tears of grief and shame, which fell to earth as streaks of fire.

“Your crime is great, and deserves nothing short of full punishment,” came the great, magnificent voice from the east, “and there is nothing in you that deserves mercy or grace. But I am gracious and merciful, and I have prepared for you punishment, penance and redemption. You will live a long, hard and frustrating life; you will be reduced from your great position in the heavens above to one of the lowliest on the earth below; your works, once great and magnificent, will be small and seem insignificant; you will be subjected to time and aging, and be no longer fully master of the power left to you. And you will slowly learn true wisdom, and to follow me in spirit and in truth. If you obey my commands, and follow where I lead, you will enter the next world at the end of this one with the rest of the heavenly host, though as the very least of their number.”

And Coriakin wept again, but this time there was hope in his heart, and he said “Truly you are great, and nowhere in heaven, or on earth is there any like you.”

And then he who was once the Great Light of the West fell from the firmament. His glory was stripped from his as he fell, and when he landed his form was that of a man. He was placed on a humble island in the middle of the sea, far from lands of great men and deeds of great import, and given the care of an obstinate and exceedingly foolish people. His work was endless and thankless, and yet he rejoiced, for he had been shown great kindness in the face of his misdeed. And he grew old and wise, and followed the great Emperor's commands to his best ability for the rest of his days.
 
Great! Great! Great!!

That was, to repeat Copperfox, EXCELLENT!!!

Both stories are awesome because they sort of answer two of the unanswered questions I (and probably many others) have:
1) Where or how did Cornelius find Susan's Horn?
2) What did Coriakin do to deserve the punishment in duffer Island and why is he happy about it?

These two stories answer those questions for me, and I think that's cool.
I loved the dragon on the first story, so noble and wise. He's beautiful. Thanks for writing this.

When I wrote my story (not as well at all as yours, I'm afraid), I also wanted to address another unanswered question in the Chronicles. I hope you have a chance to read it sometime and comment. It's a clicky on my siggy.
 
@Zella/SeaStar: thanks guys!
@BarbarianKing: Unfortunately, I'm a little short on time these days. There's still a chance, I suppose, if I get a flash of inspiration, but it'll likely be a while before I have time to think about it. Thanks for asking, though!
edit: threw in an old poem to make the post more contentalicious. It's...old. :\

The woods around are thicker here,
and mysteries, like spanish moss
are hanging, shrouded, in the trees:
the forgotten things, long hidden and long lost.

By the edge of the woods they stand,
they cry to be remembered, to be seen,
for someone to enter their lonely tomb
and newly meld what is and what has been.
 
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Cool poem. Didn't mean to rush you. Take your time. I know these kinds of stories come up when one feels inspired. No hurry.
 
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