Tales From Thac

by F P Spirit et al.

  Yet the giant demon would not let me go. It reveled in my anguish, feeding off my pain. I think it would have kept me there for all eternity, but for the sudden flash of light that tore me away from the visions. To this day I’m not sure what it was, but it was far brighter than the sun and hurt my eyes. I threw my arms in front of my face, trying to hide from its blinding rays.

  I suddenly felt myself falling, spinning out of control. I careened through the emptiness for what seemed like forever. I lost all track of time, all sense of direction. And then, just as suddenly, I was lying on the ground.

  I tried to cry out in pain, but could not. Hands grabbed me by the throat. I grasped them by the wrists and struggled to pull them away.

  “Dangit, Fran, let me heal you!” Qualar shrieked. “Just stop and let me heal you, please!”

  It was then I realized the hands were caressing my throat gently. A soothing warmth vibrated from them, making my pain disappear.

  My grip on his wrists loosened.

  I opened my eyes for a brief second, but saw only blurry light and shadows.

  I suddenly gasped, my throat working to move air into my lungs again.

  Nearby, Raina was still crying frantically, her tiny voice making my heart bleed.

  After a moment, Qualar sighed. He moved his hands, his fingers probing my neck for a moment before gently cradling my head. He pressed his face next to mine, sighing with relief again. I could feel warm tears on his cheeks.

  “Is she okay?” I heard Elistra ask.

  A sudden tiredness came over me. I was vaguely aware of Elistra, Qualar, and another man’s voice speaking together over me as I fell asleep.

  MY NOSE TICKLED…

  And, like any normal person, I gently swatted my face to shoo the fly that was undoubtedly bothering me.

  Only, it wasn’t a fly.

  It was a feather.

  And my hand was filled with whipped cream.

  “Yesssss!” I heard Qualar hiss.

  I sat bolt upright, flailing my arms to try and catch him.

  “You little fire maniac! I’ll get you for that! Just you wait!”

  I grabbed the sheets covering me and quickly wiped the cream from my face, gagging at the warm milk smell it was leaving behind. When I finally felt clean enough, I opened my eyes. I blinked several times. Everything was so blurry, I couldn’t make up my mind which way was up, and which was down.

  I wiped my eyes again, to be sure I had everything out of them, but it did no good.

  My heart started to race inside my chest.

  “I… I’m… I can’t…”

  I heard a tent flap open, and Elistra’s soft voice was right next to me in an instant. “There, there now, Frances. Just breathe. I know. You can’t see very well, can you?”

  I shook my head, holding my hands up, but unable to find them amidst the mass of blurs.

  Elistra rubbed her hand over my shoulders comfortingly. “Your cylinder burst into magical flames and burned your eyes. The druids will do what they can to help you.”

  I wiped my hand across my nose and sniffled, trying to hold back tears.

  Elistra pressed the palm of her hand up against the side of my head. Although my eyes were open and I could see nothing, a vision formed in my head.

  I was sitting on a cot covered in furs, covered by a wool blanket that now smelled of souring milk.

  Across from me there was a vanity with a mirror. I was shocked to see Elistra—beautiful, young Elistra—sitting next to a bone-thin, inky black monster.

  I raised a long finger and touched my face. “Have the druids seen me like this?”

  The seeress shook her head.

  I focused on my image in the mirror. I felt the familiar tingling under my skin and watched as I took on my previous form: kinky, wild strawberry-blonde hair, brilliant blue eyes, and pale white skin speckled with freckles.

  I stared at my new reflection for a moment, then sighed. “The druids won’t help a beast like me.”

  The fortune teller met my eyes in the mirror. “Honey, the druids spend their entire lives trying to become beasts.”

  I shook my head. “No. They spend their lives trying to become the cute, fluffy, man-eating beasts. Not the monster that mothers tell their children about to make them behave, that cause men to fear their closest friends, that the paladins are trained to hunt and kill.”

  The tent flap opened again, and a man walked in who I recognized as the ringmaster I’d seen with Elistra the first time I met her. Only now, he was not dressed as a ringmaster. He was in tracking leathers and had a longbow slung over his shoulder.

  “Frances, this is Eldon Rahn. He helped Qualar with your attackers.”

  I crossed my arms. “Nothing like coming in last minute when my throat is already slit.”

  He snorted. “What can I say? I like cutting it close.”

  Elistra and I both sucked in a breath. “Cute. Don’t quit your day job.”

  He chuckled, and sat down on the floor. “I take it you don’t think too highly of druids.”

  I shrugged.

  “Well, once you’re done with them, I have a place near Deepwood Fort you can live.”

  I spiked an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m interested in settling down?”

  He grinned, glancing at Elistra. “Just a hunch.”

  The tent flap opened again, and Qualar walked in, followed by a tall elf woman. She had very fluffy, curly, bright red hair and sharp green eyes that locked onto me. She raised her chin, looking me over.

  “So this is the doppelganger?” Her question was directed at Qualar, her voice tinged with disdain.

  “She’s my friend,” Elistra answered, before anyone else could respond.

  The elf woman raised an eyebrow at the seeress, her expression belying little emotion. “I see.” Her gaze fixated back on me for a moment in study before speaking again. “I am the High Druid, Lysandra. And you are?”

  Perhaps it was the circumstances. Perhaps it was because she was a snooty elf. And druid. But I definitely took an immediate dislike to this woman. “Not interested in whatever you’re peddling.”

  Lysandra squinted, then turned her gaze toward Elistra. “Is my job finished here, or not?”

  Elistra let out a deep sigh. “Please give us a minute.”

  “Very well,” Lysandra answered, doing little to hide her irritation. She motioned to the others and then left the tent. Eldon followed close behind, but Qualar hesitated a moment. He leaned in close and gave me a strained smile. “I’ll be right outside if ya need me.”

  I knew he was just trying to be nice, but I was in no mood for it. I waved him away. “Whatever.”

  Qualar grimaced at the rebuff, then shuffled out of the tent to join the others.

  As soon as they were all gone, Elistra grasped me by the shoulders. She was surprisingly strong for such a slim woman. “Alright now. Enough with the pity party. You played with forces beyond your control, and you paid the price for it. Now it’s time to move forward.”

  I peered at her incredulously, shrugging her hands off my shoulders. “Move forward? After what I saw? And without my sight? And how do you suppose I’m going to do that?”

  A knowing smile spread across the seeress’ lips. “There are more ways to see than with your eyes.”

  I opened my mouth to retort, but realized that I was seeing her in my head. The images she had put there had not faded. In fact, they had grown clearer. What’s more was I could even see the part of the tent behind my head. My brow knit into a single long line. I moved my hands above and behind my head, waving them all around, able to see them from all directions. “What in Thac did you do to me?”

  Elistra laughed. It was a light sound, like bells ringing from inside a steeple. “Oh, my dear Fran. I merely awakened an innate talent. You actually have far more of them than you know.”

  “Oh yeah? Like what?”

  The seeress took me by the hands, her expression growing deathly serious.
“Like those that will be crucial to our survival in the coming years, my dear friend.”

  I narrowed a single eye at her. “Survival? Do you know what I saw when I touched the cylinder?”

  Elistra nodded thoughtfully. “I have an idea.”

  She then told me things that truly opened my deadened eyes. Elistra explained that there is no destiny, or fate, but a myriad of possibilities all casting their shadows based on the impact of each individual event. Thus, the visions I had seen were of but one possible future—one of a tangled flow of constantly shifting threads that she is always trying to trace. Seeing all potential futures is impossible, but some possibilities create a tangled knot of such tremendous size that anyone with a little of 'the sight' can't miss them. And one such knot just happened to be the imminent demon invasion that would fall upon this world.

  The threads beyond that were in constant flux, but many of them ended similarly to the visions I had seen—most, in fact, according to the seeress. In only a very few did Arinthar survive.

  When Elistra was done, I found myself shaking; my entire body was drenched in cold sweat. It took me a while to find my voice, and when I did it was shaky. “And… you really think… I can make a difference?”

  I saw the fear in her violet eyes as clear as if I was staring into them with my own. “Oh, hon. I’m not sure if any of us can. But if we don’t try, then we are all lost, and everything we hold dear with it.”

  I felt her hands tremble in mine. Or perhaps it was my hands trembling in hers. Either way, we both sat there staring at each other with tears in our eyes. I took a deep breath. “Okay. If you think I can make a difference, I’ll try… but do I really have to work with these tree-huggers?”

  Elistra abruptly laughed, the sound breaking the pallor that hung over us. She smiled at me, her parted lips lighting up the entire tent. “Yes, I’m afraid so, my dear Fran.”

  That smile of hers was so infectious that I couldn’t help grinning back. “Alright, but that elf woman is insufferable. She’s got a stick up her butt, and I aim to remove it.”

  Elistra laughed again. “That’s more than fine. I’ve yet to meet an elf without that snooty attitude.”

  Smile growing, I crossed my arms. “Watch yourself. The day you meet one without that attitude, you’ll find yourself head-over-heels and off to marry ‘im before ya know it.”

  We both laughed at that point.

  As our giggles faded, the tent flap popped open. Qualar stuck his head in, a tentative expression on his face. “Everything alright in here?”

  Elistra turned to him and nodded. “Everything’s fine now.”

  Qualar’s expression made me nearly laugh again. I smiled and waved him forward. “Come in. I haven’t thanked you properly for saving my life.”

  A grin broke across his face. He cast a quick glance behind him. “A kiss or two or three will do in thanks! And, what about the others?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Well, I ain’t thanking them with a kiss.”

  Qualar rolled his eyes. “The high druid still has questions.”

  I sighed and peered at Elistra. She gave me a short nod.

  “Alright, fine,” I told Qualar. “Bring them in.”

  TIME FLIES…

  Especially when you’re having fun. Less so when High Druid Lysandra is sitting in your house, slightly inebriated from drinking too much of your home made “water keifer.”

  The actual name of my “keifer” will remain nameless. What the High Druid don’t know won’t kill her.

  “You know, Fran,” Lysandra leaned forward, resting her elbows on my table. “When Elistra convinced me to help you six years ago, I didn’t like you very much. And now, even with your crazy Deepwood accent and the locals loving you, not much has changed. I still don’t like you. I don’t know why I allowed you to be a part of the druidic council… well… yes, I do know. But I can’t believe I let Elistra talk me into it.”

  I grinned, kneading some bread dough in a bowl.

  I used my senses to look outside at two little girls playing with dolls in the garden. One was Raina. Her mother had died that fateful night six years ago, stabbed by a poison dagger. I had taken the baby in and adopted her.

  The other little girl was Eldon Rahn’s granddaughter, Kalyn. She was turning into Raina’s best friend. There was something special about her, besides the fact that she’d gotten a hold of my heartstrings, too.

  Lysandra drained the rest of her keifer out of a chipped teacup, then poured more from the teapot. “Why did you choose to look like an old lady?”

  I chuckled and dumped the bread dough into a loaf pan. “Well, lemme tell ya, Sandy girl: Fer one, it makes me look older ‘n wiser’n you… even if you is an elf. Fer another, nobody ‘spects an old blind woman o’ doin' anything suspicious, it keeps the leader of the fire maniacs from hangin’ ‘round too much, and I can judge folk out loud, ‘n they just blame it on my age. And lastly, it annoys ya to know I could be prettier’n you.”

  Lysandra scowled at the back of my head. She raised her teacup and saluted me. “Dream on, you old witch.”

  Rescue at Redune

  F. P. Spirit

  Rescue at Redune

  It was nearly dusk as the Avenger rounded the horn at Sentilla Point. Daylight slowly receded toward the horizon, stars twinkling into existence as night blanketed the fading sky. Sentilla Light flared to life on the nearby shore, the brilliant beams of the mystical tower arcing across the twilight backdrop. Evening winds whipped through the hole-ridden spire, creating a beautiful, haunting melody that echoed across the waters.

  Lieutenant Commander Pallas Stealle stood tall at the prow of the Avenger. The lithe young man cast a dark eye at the ancient lighthouse as they drifted past. You’d think after all this time someone would’ve figured how to stop that incessant racket.

  Second in command of the mighty warship, Pallas had no time to enjoy such frivolities as music. At just twenty-six years old, Pallas had worked his way up through the ranks to attain the prestigious position. Yet because of his youth and noble background, there were those who cried favoritism at his improbable achievement.

  The corner of Pallas’ mouth upturned ever so slightly. They’ll see. I’ll prove them all wrong.

  A cry from above interrupted his silent brooding. “Smoke on the horizon!”

  The young man glanced upward, barely discerning a shadow in the crow’s nest high above. The figure pointed up the coast, in the direction they were headed.

  Pallas swept his gaze northward—there was a darker patch of sky off in the distance. He leaned over the rail for a better look when a tingling sensation brushed his brow. Pallas felt a familiar presence somewhere close by.

  As if on cue, a voice called out from behind him. “That must be Redune!”

  Pallas glanced over his shoulder to see a uniformed figure approaching the prow. A tall, muscular man with chiseled features and dark hair speckled white at the temples drew up next to him. Captain Lagrange Hightower.

  Pallas had sensed his captain’s aura. It was a gift that ran in his family—the Stealles were spiritblades, masters of the soul and sword.

  Captain Hightower pulled out a spyglass, raised it to his eye and peered up the coast. “It is indeed Redune, and there appears to be a large ship in the harbor.”

  A large ship? Pallas’ breath caught as he stared into the encroaching darkness, but Redune was still too far away to see with the naked eye. A horrific vision flashed through his mind in its stead.

  Thick, choking smoke hung like a grey veil in the air. Scarlet flames leapt from windows and danced across rooftops. Black husks of crumbled, burnt-out buildings still smoked in all directions.

  “I can almost make out her colors.”

  Corpses were strewn all about, some piled in great, decaying mounds. Cries and shouts were heard around every corner, mixed with the ring of steel on steel. Dark shadows fled down the street, accompanied by desperate cries for help.

  Hightowe
r lowered the glass, his voice grim. “It’s as I feared—pirates.”

  Pallas’ heart began to race.

  Dozens of ships out in the harbor, their black hulls sitting there as if watching the carnage with delight. Flags flying atop their dark sails that all Penwick had come to dread—the Clans of the Pirate Coast.

  “Alert the crew, Lieutenant Commander.”

  Pallas forced the gut-wrenching images from his mind. “Yes, Sir!”

  With a quick salute, the young man spun on his heel, focusing his will as he marched across the forecastle. His body swiftly calmed in response as he bellowed out orders.

  “All hands on deck!”

  This is no time for hysterics. This is what I’ve trained for.

  “Prepare for battle!”

  Why I’ve driven myself so hard all these years.

  “Dim the lanterns!”

  So that I can protect others.

  “Ready the weapons!”

  So that no one else will suffer the fate of the thousands who died in the raids on Penwick.

  The crew responded with equal speed and precision. In no time, the great warship was prepped for the impending conflict. A grim smile spread across Pallas’ lips. They’re a crack outfit. All had lived through the carnage of the raids and were more than eager to protect their homeland.

  The Avenger itself was specifically built for hunting pirates. From its reinforced, fireproofed hull to the large complement of cannon, and the specialized weapons it carried, the ship was a veritable floating fortress.

  The Avenger was battle-ready in record time. Pallas strode briskly back to inform the captain, his mind racing as he went. Small time marauders wouldn’t have a large ship. Still, it’s been five years since our last run in with the pirate clans. So why now—and why Redune?

  The captain peered through his spyglass as Pallas drew up beside him. He didn’t need to see Hightower’s expression—he could feel the tension exuding from the man in waves.