The Ashen Levels

by C F Welburn

  It was mid-afternoon as Balagir made his way down Mudfoot’s muddy backstreets. His mind was busy with all Jerikin had revealed. Churning with thoughts about returning to the south. It was true, as an ashen, he no longer had anything to fear. The askaba were gone; their experiments condemned—a setback for civilisation that may take a millennium to reach again. History is written by the victors, and Sisken and his kin were villainised.

  And there were always his old companions. The ones that remained, at least. The Good Company had lived up to its name in its last act, though the price had been high. Perhaps Imram would now turn his hand to writing and put the ashen firmly in the pages of history. And of course, there was Freya... The thought caused him to step in a stagnant puddle. Cursing, he shook his boot and looked around. He had already reached Mudfoot's northen outskirts.

  The far row of houses hemmed in the village and backed onto a small spinney. He turned left, following a cart and taking in the village in all its shoddy detail. It wasn’t something he would particularly miss.

  He came to a waist-high gate and looked at the green paint, at how it had peeled. He pushed it open, and it made a low creak that called to him.

  The path had crumbled somewhat. Weeds and time could do that.

  He knocked the door, but there came no response. From the rear he could hear some secateurs snipping away. He followed the noise as he had once followed music.

  A woman was bent in the corner, pruning a wily rosebush.

  He coughed and she spun, brandishing the shears as though he were a thief. Her iron-grey hair hung loosely around her face, and her wrinkled eyes regarded him with suspicion.

  Balagir smiled. “Hello, Mother,” he said, as the cutters slid to the ground. “I’m home.”

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  ABOUT

  Born in the year of Star Wars, in the birth town of Charles Darwin, he caught the fantasy bug as a child at the top of a faraway tree, in a hole in the ground and through a snowy wardrobe. He left Shropshire to study literature, travel the lands and seek his fortune. He settled in Madrid, where he teaches English and art, whilst scratching his imagination onto parchment.

  More by C.F. Welburn

  The Linguist(2015)

  Toybox(2017)

  Fledgling(2018)

  Journeyman(2018)

  Adept(2018)

  Hero(2018)

  Paragon(2018)

  ©2019 Craig Farndale Welburn.

  All Rights Reserved.