Coventown - 3 (704 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: Coventown
Rating: 1.69 on 19 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Snark << snarkk.at.gmail.com (View user info) at 2006-10-02 20:23:58 EDT
It was the village elders who broke the pact.
Most of them rot in their brinewood boxes deep in the Mournhill now, but their children remain to pay the price.
I was witness to the start of it. My father was the village Truthman and as such was afforded certain privileges not available to other men, such as bringing his son of six seasons to sit on his knee when he took his place at the thick granite table in the great hall.
No one in the village speaks of it. It is considered less than wise to put words to days when curses are formed and loved ones lost, to do so would invite darker things to visit. Although, those of us who witnessed it speak of it in our own way: A glance, a frown, a knowing look made in passing. These things bind us together in a way the elders and the Great Hall never did.
My recollection of the hall that night is of the murmurings of old men and the flicker of torchlight on my father's broad stubbled chin. I remember the cold touch of the stone table under my hands and the pride I felt to be in this place alone while secrets and plans larger than I ever imagined myself becoming, unfolded like the intricate tapestries in the city keep. I remember the smell of ale on my father's breath, and the furrow on his brow, and how it made me worry because it only ever came out if he felt himself in the presence of ignorance or treachery.
I knew he would send me away and I didn't want him to, so I did my best to sit still and willed myself to be weightless while one hand edged furtively towards a piece of myrefruit where it balanced precariously on the edge of his plate.
They argued about the Covens as usual: Their raspy voices were split between denying them their usual tribute and honoring the century old agreement. They yelled at each other about the passing of time and to whom the land we lived on truly belonged. They pounded brittle fists on hard wood and proclaimed their individual wisdoms to ear and stone alike until the eldest of them stood, pointed at my father, and sent accusations towards him as if the animosity in the room had become a single torrent from his grey bearded mouth.
"And what of our Truthman? He who would seek to demean the sanctity of our hall with child in hand and a weapon on his belt. Has he forgotten the rules of this place or does he find himself above tradition? Have we become so lax that the tool of our law should sit amongst us armed and with boy child, indignantly oblivious to the rules of our grace?"
I looked up to see the grey of my fathers eyes harden as Moden the Cryer rose on shaky legs and responded in his defense.
"Sendenn Maiyelo is no more indignant than you are serene Elder Mote. He has served us in good stead for more than 20 seasons without a townsperson lost to the Covens who wasn't offered. God's willing, the boy will take his place one day and as such it is understood he should become accustomed to the clumsy workings of we old and tired few. As to the blade, what of it? Do you claim a threat to you and yours? Shall we keep one eye the Truthman's hands lest he slip it into our vile throats? He's worn the blade in the hall for a season or more. Why do you protest now? What secret ambition lifts you to these lofty new heights of accusation?"
Moden turned his hawkish face to my father's advocate, dismissed his words with a yellow toothed sneer, then pulled his plain brown robes around his bones and sat back petulantly in his chair. He settled his eyes on my father and the rest of the room followed suit and - a moment later - I felt myself lifted from lap to floor. He unfastened his belt without loosing his stern gaze from the old man across the great table and handed it down to me then bade me leave with the quick wave of his broad hand.
"Elder Moden would have my boy and the blade out for reasons other than he's stated. I need not let it drink of him to know his intentions. His daughter's child bears the Coven's mark this year. I have the information on good and loyal account from a servant of his house. Yester eve I spied tracks of wheel and hoof in the mud of the Shackle Roads. Sheep and cart passed that way and this morning I found none of each in his fields or stable."
The room fell silent and I made no move to leave as a chill of silent recognition crept through me at my father's unspoken accusation.
Moden the Cryer glared at my father, and when he spoke his voice shook beyond the measure of his age.
"Aye Truthman, the mark is upon her and I bade my men leave with my portion of the tribute. These things I do not deny."
The room fell quiet for what seemed an eternity before my father spoke again.
"You will deny the Coven's their due course and pray bargain the tribute for you grandchild."
"Aye." The old man replied quietly.
"You would have my blade removed from this place because a high witch comes this night."
"Aye. It is the old law: No edged steel can be borne in the Coven's presence."
My father shot me a look and I began my slow shuffle towards the doors, partially because I didn't dare ignore his will and partially because some of the hardness had left his eyes and been replaced with what may have been fear.
He brought his attention back to the Cryer then put his fists on the table and leaned forward.
"They will not have it old fool. At best, they will take the child and your portion of the tribute from the village stores. At worst, some other's child will take her place. The village will be burned or cursed and those of us who cannot give more this year will be made to do so. We'll suffer in your stead and you'll be none the better for it."
"The Coven will remove the mark and leave." Spat Moden "No longer will we give that which belongs to us. Their time is done. They have grown old and weak. The end of them all can be seen each time they sully us with grimy visitation. The flesh peels off their bones like brittle parchment. Their eyes sink in their faces, their voices dim!"
The room burst into an uproar as the thick wood of the hall door came in contact with my back. I held my father's blade to my chest, lest my shaking hands let it drop to the floor as his words echoed in my head.
"... a High Witch comes this night."
The shouting rose to a cacophony broken intermittently by sharp words.
"Betrayer!"
"Traitor!"
"Madness!"
"Justice!"
until Mote jumped to his feet and brought his cane down on the table thrice in rapid succession, then bellowed above all who lent their voice to dismay.
"ENOUGH! I do not stand alone in this! Mohl, Rittan, Blain and Ptolenny have pledged their support. See them here beside me! And this!"
His gnarled old hand slid clench fisted from within his robe, clamped tight around bent rolls of parchment.
"Bracken Hollow, Moorsgate, Covenshire and Pondhaven all withdraw their tribute this night! No longer will we give of our children! No longer will we send the toils of our labor to the black reaches of Coven's Wood to be despoiled by them that ask and do not give!"
I placed my hand on the latch of the door behind me, bewitched by the tumultuous passion of the men before me as they took sides against each other. Some pointed, some hammered their fists on the table but they all shouted condemnations at each other that stuck in the air - loudly impotent - until one by one they fixed on my father's face then followed his gaze to the far corner of the hall and the wraith in the tattered white robe standing motionless in the shadow.
The room fell silent save the sound of ragged breathing and then the witch took a step forward and my father turned to me and yelled the last words I would ever hear issue from his mouth.
"Run boy!"
I don't remember running. I don't remember flinging the door open and speeding across the furrowed mud of the square between the great hall and Brewer's Alley. I don't remember losing my shoe and the scabbard of my father's blade.
One moment I stood transfixed, back pressed against warm wood, the next I stood by the Widow's Well; my eyes unblinking and chained to the wide timbers of the hall.
I stood and shook in the crisp night air as I waited for my father to emerge and scold me for soiling the scabbard. Everything faded from view save the hall doors. I didn't notice the Miller's daughter tugging on my sleeve nor the gentle patter of rain as the great clouds in the sky leaked the first drops of the grey season.
I stood, watched and hoped and when the doors flew open and the witch strode through I screamed despite myself.
She either didn't hear me or didn't care. She strode to the second step then raised her hands in the air and let her voice fly through the village like the coldest wind of a spiteful day.
"A POX be upon you people of Coventown!"
She yelled it and then my father was behind her and dragging her screaming back into the hall by her long stringy white hair.
The great doors slammed shut and for a moment there was silence and then I was running back towards the hall and my father, my hands already holding the blade out to him, while a chorus of screams erupted from within.
I got to the first step and then came to a stumbling halt as the screaming from within stopped and was replaced by a sound like the ripping of a thousand tapestries. It grew in volume until my teeth rattled in their supports and my hair begged to be torn out and then stopped abruptly as the doors flew open and the bloom fell through in a great glistening mass like a flood to land less than a hand's width from my feet. I stood transfixed as each stalk and flower in the great wet multitude twisted this way and that, and then began to spread like a disease in search of a host.
I stumbled backwards until I was lying on my back in the mud and watched as the great hall was consumed.
No board was left untouched; no brick uncovered and never again were the men within seen. It stayed that way for three days; a great throbbing mass before it fell to rott.
It was the first blooming but not the last. I have seen it on six occasions since and have heard of it in as many villages. I have watched it eat homestead and villager and burst forth from my fallen foe.
It is ravenous and spreads to those who might touch it. It lives in the dank air surrounding each wet petal and seeds itself in the open cuts of those who unknowingly expose themselves, until it is ready, ripe, and hungry enough to visit the Coven's curse on whoever else might be near.
The stretcher lies on the cold hard ground while the night air tries to force itself into my wounds.
I'm thinking of my woman. It is early in the season but the Coven may raid this Eve as they have done since the pact was broke. If they visit my house they will find a boy and a woman defending it.
I should be there but I've lost too much blood to the Fat Man's gladiator.
I am alone. One man has gone to see what is amiss in the city, the other to find where his lord has gone.
I'm cold, I cannot move and my wounds begin to itch.
I fear the curse is making its home in my veins and I will become as much a slave as the man I killed; a puppet to the whims of someone who would use me for devious means, or petty amusement or both.
Mayhap he will send me home, and my family will take me in. We will exchange hard words, and then when our passions are spent my woman will mend me, and learn to love me again until one day my eyeballs burst and the bloom makes its home on their skin.
I went out this night seeking coin for blood and bread but I found something else and now I wish it had been me face down in the forest muck.
I fear I will see the light of day.
I fear the bloom.
User Reviews
Submitted by Stabkill (user info) at 2008-09-16 02:25:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
Submitted by Alter (user info) at 2007-09-26 22:36:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No, Comment.
Submitted by Targa (user info) at 2006-10-03 12:51:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2006-10-03 12:37:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Danger_Ranger (user info) at 2006-10-02 20:39:17 (#)
Ranking: 2
i'm sorry i was late.
Submitted by Danger_Ranger (user info) at 2006-10-02 20:35:22 (#)
Ranking: 2
I don't know how you live with yourself Snark.
================
The titles you're giving me for UM IV are killing me.
Do Better.
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2006-10-03 11:49:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Git yer titles peeples!
Submitted by c1ndy (user info) at 2006-10-03 10:34:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by shandythedog (user info) at 2006-10-03 09:31:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
did something disturbing happen re. the little boy on daddy's lap?
Submitted by wookie (user info) at 2006-10-03 09:04:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by ColchesterDr (user info) at 2006-10-03 03:53:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Good story.
Submitted by Danger_Ranger (user info) at 2006-10-03 01:31:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
SNARK DOESN'T WRITE THIS SHIT YOU ARSEHOLES!!
Submitted by Danger_Ranger (user info) at 2006-10-03 01:30:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-10-03 01:12:27 (#)
Ranking: 2
With all due respect, I'm glad you are not eligible for UMIV.
:-D
---------
oh fuck. off.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-10-03 01:12:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
With all due respect, I'm glad you are not eligible for UMIV.
:-D
Submitted by Allyson (user info) at 2006-10-03 00:10:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
that's the way
uh huh
uh huh
I LIKE IT!
Submitted by Sepsis (user info) at 2006-10-02 21:38:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
didnt read it
Submitted by Chroniclysm (user info) at 2006-10-02 21:37:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
The curse of a Coven witch, huh?
Loco.
Submitted by Amontillado (user info) at 2006-10-02 20:56:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Danger_Ranger (user info) at 2006-10-02 20:39:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
i'm sorry i was late.
Submitted by Danger_Ranger (user info) at 2006-10-02 20:35:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I don't know how you live with yourself Snark.
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2006-10-02 20:31:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment