Well, as promised earlier here’s a piece of my writing. It’s one of my favourite short stories of mine. It’s a fantasy story, and I won’t say anymore (don’t want to ruin any of the excitement of reading, even though I’m probably vain enough to go on and on about this story. And all my other stories for this matter.)
Dear Laljin, my very dear old friend,
The day is April 23rd, 3461. Not a particularly good day, yet not a particularly bad day. I say this for two reasons; one of which is good, the other is not so good. I’ve always liked hearing the good news first – it tends to soften the blow for the not so good – so that is where I will begin.
The good news is that I have finally begun to write the letter I promised you, my dear old friend. It seems like ages ago when last we talked, and, the fact of the matter is, I’m growing lonely in my old age. I just want someone to talk to; someone to comfort me. Maybe tell them those almost forgotten stories of our past.
And, perhaps, they might write them down. I have always wished for those stories to be written down. It seems, somehow, right to do it. Yet, in all this time I’ve spent alone up here in my cottage, I haven’t even started. It’s not that I have had a lack of resources – I had quills and ink in plenty, not to mention the shelf of unwritten in books. It’s just that I haven’t been ready to write it, not yet. But now that I am, I fear that I may have waited too long. My hands are not what they used to be, and they ache already from just this small amount of writing. Which brings me to my not so good news.
It’s my birthday. In one’s youth, birthdays are occasions of joy and happiness, but as one grows older, they seem to almost be a resentment. Funny, isn’t it?
Well, you see, my friend, I’m growing old. It’s my hundredth birthday. My time on this world is soon to be over. My only regret is that I waited so long, here in solitude, until I decided to write this letter. Though, perhaps with what little time I have left, we can send letters back and forth consistently. Maybe you could even come down and visit me. I’d hate for our last interaction to be the, well, you know, all that business with that Centaur.
Rabadon was the last of his kind, but he was so proud to be a Centuar. It was a shame that they had faded out of existence. Yet, how he escaped the fate of his kindred is still a mystery to me. Many long years ago, thousands of the mythical creatures walked this world, and everything that they all were was left inside Rabadon. He was the last Centaur, but he would have made his kin proud. I consider him one of the greatest heroes of our time, right up there in ranks with those cousins.
Do you remember when we first met them? I’m sure do. Lamar and Calin. They were so young that it seemed almost wrong to ask for their help. Though, if they hadn’t, quite literally, moved into the Devil’s house, we would have had no need of them. It seems almost funny. If they hadn’t bought that horrific house, I doubt anyone would have! It’s just lucky for us that they did move in, and manage to get into the basement – well, actually, Nemocke’s wicked lair – and unleash the secrets of his whereabouts.
Do you remember after that, when we brought them to Koren? In spite of all the danger that was happening then, I look back and laugh. When I told your father that we would conquer the Elemental Guardians with the help of Calin and Lamar, he looked at me like I was crazy – and I swear I heard him talking about how the Guardians were going to unleash their power over the world. It’s ironic that those two cousins, whom your father thought would for surely bring about the end of the world, managed to save it. And that was after the both of us had been incapacitated from the battle with the Sea Serpent.
I don’t think your father ever spoke to me again until the day he died. I don’t think he could bear speaking to me after he realized that I was right and he was wrong; I guess there’s a first time for everything. Well, not exactly a first time. There was that dealing with Xiliva, that old, bitter witch. I counted her as one of the nastier creatures of the world, as did most who suffered an unfortunate meeting with her. I knew all along that the faired-haired, beautiful maiden was too good to be true. Your father, however, insisted on taking her in. Do you remember that? That stopped me helping pretty girls on rainy days. She nearly got her hands on the Sitka, too. Would have destroyed the whole province if your father hadn’t finally agreed with me and stopped her.
Speaking of the Sitka – and Xiliva – that reminds of a time when, before even you were born, your mother, her brother and I set out to search for the great Elven Sitka, at the request of your mother’s father – your grandfather to be more correct. In that thick forest was the first time I met Xiliva, as wicked then as she was the day she died. Though, she was ultimately the one who led us to the Sitka. It’s a good thing she didn’t know of its powers.
I remember we found the Sitka on a pedestal; the only thing left standing from the ancient Elven ruins of Korenara. It was by your mother’s request that we leave the Sitka where it was, and so the grand city of Koren was built around it. More than any day, I remember the day that they finally finished the city because, that was the day I first saw you. Actually, it was the first day anybody saw you. June 12th, 3226. The day you were born.
And the day your daughter, Avalon, was born, was the day that we rebuilt Baris after Grakan’s dreadful siege – took us long enough, too. Your family should have children more often. Maybe we’ll discover some more ancient cities with relics like the Sitka. Though, then witches like Xiliva will have more opportunities to grasp for power.
But, enough said about me. How’s your family? How is your beautiful wife Kirina doing? How’s Avalon, and her husband, Destin, and their son? What was his name again? Send my best wishes to them all. Oh, and before I forget, your dear old mother; how is she? Perhaps I should write her a letter, too. Ever since your father died, she’s been different. Lonely. It’s good that she’s living with you, though. She still is living with, isn’t she?
Ah, but now that we’ve mentioned mothers, a stab of pain hits my heart. I haven’t been to my mother’s grave in over thirty years, not since we last went together. I suppose it’s just too far away – for me, anyway. If you ever get the chance, would you mind bringing her some flowers for me? Perhaps next time you visit your father. She was only buried two spots away from him.
But, I think I’m beginning to ramble again. As you get older, you just talk and talk. Though, there is another reason. I think, like your mother, I’m lonely. Being up here, in solitude, after so many years has really made me lonely. Especially now that I’m close to leaving this world. I can feel that sensation more and more each day, which is what forced me to write this letter.
Do you remember the time when the gray knights were after us? I never did figure out how all those bones managed to stay together without muscles or skin. They were wicked creatures; murdered poor old Thomas in the Golden Apple Inn in – what town was that again? I seem to be forgetful of those small details in my old age.
Though, I remember enough to know that that town was never the same after that. I think everyone there blamed me for it, too. Just because I knew what those knights were doesn’t mean I was responsible. And that wasn’t the first time I was blamed for Nemocke’s work.
You remember that town, Wood Grove? They blamed me for the death of their mayor after he had been taken away by the knights because he had overheard information crucial to Nemocke’s plan. Just because I had heard the same information didn’t mean that it was my fault. Some people just want to find someone to blame and, since I was an outsider in both cases, it was me.
I don’t think much “normal” folk liked me very much. Oh, the Elves always liked me, not to mention a handful of humans, but that was about all. The rest of the people in this world never cared much for me. It’s because I was a sorcerer, I think. And because my subject was once Dekon, who turned out to be one of Nemocke’s spies. I think, because Dekon had caused so much destruction, that they were afraid of me. Afraid that I was a spy, too. Must have surprised them when I saved the world!
I’m just glad it’s all over. Nemocke is destroyed, Dekon is dead, the Elemental Guardians were slain, the Elements are now in safe hands, Xiliva is also dead and the Sitka remains in its rightful spot. A peaceful world, at last. I just hope it stays peaceful for a while this time, because I remember, after I had slain Grakan, I thought the world was at peace. Two weeks later, his son, Nemocke, showed up. Though, unlike Grakan, I don’t recall Nemocke ever having a demon son, so I think that peace has finally found us.
This is near perfection. All I need now is my old friend to comfort me as I comforted his father in the last of his days. So, I say it again, please come visit me. You know where my cottage is – you built it, after all. Bring your wife and stay for a while. I’ve been away from friendship for far too long.
Alas, my hand is finally loosing strength. That’s enough for one letter, I think. I’ll write again soon. Until then, enjoy life, friendship and love while you still have it.
Your very dear old friend,
And just as he finished writing his name, there came a knock at the door. A very odd thing to happen, especially in this out-of-the-way cottage, which is probably why the old man set his quill down and stared down the corridor into the front hall. He couldn’t see the door from here, but, he knew it was there. And he knew it had been knocked on.
After nearly a minute of silence, Nosen slowly rose from his chair by the desk he sat at. He took a quick look out the water-streaked window. It was dark out, the middle of the night, and it was raining – well, pouring was more like it. He never got visitors, so why now, of all times?
He grabbed his walking stick and inched his way towards the front hall. The knocking came again. He quickened his pace just a little, and entered his front hall, which was packed beyond packed with useless trinkets of little or no value, and headed for the door.
He placed a wrinkled hand on the brass knob and pulled open the wooden door. It seemed heavier from when last he opened it. Just another sign telling me I’m nearing the end of my days, the old man told himself.
The door moved, revealing a man soaking wet. He had a thick cloak wrapped around him, but he was still shivering. He handed Nosen a letter and said, “The High Elven family of Perik has a letter for you.”
The old man’s face brightened. Laljin! “Thank you, thank you,” he said, accepting the letter with a smile. “Won’t you come inside and have a cup of tea?” he asked with just as much joy.
The man shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I must decline. I am needed back in the House of Perik for reasons depicted in that letter.” With that, he nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
As the old man hurried back to his desk in the other room, he tore open the envelope. He unfolded the thick parchment as he sat back down in the cushioned chair. Nosen made himself comfortable and then started to read.
Dear Nosen, great friend of the Perik Family,
I’m afraid that I do not bring good news. I am dreadfully sorry to have to be the one to tell you that Laljin was recently sick. Despite the best efforts of our greatest healers, we could not keep him alive. He left this world only a few days ago, on April 7th. I just wanted to let you know that my husband was very fond of you and that you will always be remembered in the Perik family.
Well I hope that wasn’t too long for you regular bloggers! I hope it wasn’t too sad either. What I really hope is that you enjoyed it. If you didn’t, well then I’ll prob give up writing and never write another story again. Only kidding, that would be ridiculous. What wouldn’t be ridiculous, though, is hearing from whoever reads this. Please leave a comment with some feedback to let me know if you liked this story or not. If you didn’t like it I’ll probably be offended. If you did, I may be skeptical that you’re just saying you did for the sake of not offending me. So, either way, you’re screwed and I have a story that I’m not sure what people actually think.
But, enough of my BS, I’ll try to be serious for a moment…not my strong suit…and just ask that if you enjoyed the story leave a comment…if you didn’t leave a comment…basically if you have any feedback at all…leave a comment. If you thought it was boring…leave a comment. If you thought…got the point? Good, I didn’t want to have to write all the possible options out. Or type out – don’t wanna get on the bad side of anyone out there who’s anal retentive, especially if they’re as anal as me.
I will collect all of my stories on a page of this blog called ‘Stories’, which you can access at anytime at the top of this page, in the sidebar on the left or with this link: http://www.allmeanssomething.wordpress.com/stories/
That’s about all I have to say and you probably don’t even care about that in the least. So, I’ll be done now (although I’m never really done). Thanks for reading!
- How lifespan affects the fantasy viewpoint (heidicvlach.wordpress.com)
- eFiction Fantasy | Magazine Review (jthorsson.com)
- In the Fantasy Genre: What is Tolkien? (mqallen.com)