Writing Challenge Story

A prompt and somewhere new

This morning I took part in a little local writing competition. We arrived at 10 am and were given a location in which to write, mine was a busy cafe venue and a prompt. We had to write a short story and be back to the organisers at 1 pm with a finished tale. The prompt was The Kindness of Strangers. Here is what I wrote in those 3 hours of bustling hubbub..

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Gorin Keep and The Kindness of Strangers

Joleth pushed his way through the crowd, the stench of sweat and overripe fruit assaulting his sensitive nose. He was not made for crowds. He was not made for cities. He had asked the village Elder to send someone, anyone else to Gorin but Joleth was the most qualified. He was the only one who knew how to translate the forgotten language of the Norl, and the only one who could gain entry to Gorin Keep. Only those with the bloodline of the Haeg had the capacity to cross the threshold of the tower of sorcerers because of the blood seal. He had the right blood, unfortunately, thought Joleth, for he cursed it on a daily basis. His Haeg heritage made his hearing keener, and his senses heightened. Though it should give him an advantage in life, more often than not it caused him no end of hassle. He preferred solitude and peace, keeping out of the way of the folk that often pushed him to the edges of society. He wasn’t an outcast, not as such, but he was markedly different and was treated as such. Now more than ever he cursed his bloodline as the smell of slightly rotting meat almost knocked him out. He bit down a gag, his acorn-coloured skin turning somewhat green. He pushed onwards, not caring who he knocked from his path as he ran to a small alley and emptied the contents of his stomach. He leaned against the wall, beads of sweat on his brow, sucking in stale air and steadying his pulse. He cursed the Elder in the most colourful language he knew, both in Yent and in Norl. The quicker he got into the Keep the sooner he could get back to his garden and solitude.

“Chin up!” A burly man patted him on the back as he passed. Joleth could smell the blood on his apron and the fish guts on his knife. He heaved again and a great chuckle rumbled from the passer-by as he walked to his shop. Joleth wanted to curl up and die.

Steeling himself he sucked in a final breath and straightened, smoothing his green leather coat and adjusting his satchel. The contents were precious, more valuable than his Elder even realised. Joleth had wrapped the book in waxed parchment and tied it with a thick ribbon, before wrapping it once more in an old piece of muslin. Now it was protected while still looking inconspicuous. It didn’t look at all like it was one of only four remaining ancient Norl texts denoting the ancient rituals of the Haeg. Rituals that in the wrong hands could destroy lives. Rituals that Joleth had sworn to protect.

He'd grown up in a remote cottage in the mountains of Killen with his parents. His kind father with a shock of black hair that always fell in his eyes. His mother, her hair the pure white of the Haeg, golden eyes as piercing as the dawn. They’d taught him to hone his magic and to hide it. When he was only twelve years old when everything had come crashing down, when he realised the world was a crueller place than he had ever dreamed possible. Gor Knights had come in the dead of dark and torn his world apart. His mother had pushed him into a small cupboard and kissed him once on the head before he never saw her again. She didn’t even scream. The next morning when a shivering Joleth appeared, he only saw their blood. Their bodies had been dumped somewhere. Joleth never even had the luxury of mourning, nor of honouring them with the Haeg rites. They just vanished and he was left alone in the world. He learned a valuable lesson that day. Haeg blood was a curse, as was the magic in his veins. People would kill for his power if they knew the true depth of it. His parents had died for it. There were so few pure-blooded Haeg left in the world that it was easy for Joleth to pretend he was simply a distant descendent, that there was only the smallest drop of power in his veins, only enough to point his ears and widen his eyes, but not give him any real magic. That was how he stayed alive. That was how things had to be.

The only good thing about being in a city, in Gorin, home of the Gor Knights of all accursed folk, was that there were so many people here that he was hardly spared a second glance. He could do what he needed to do without any trouble. He hoped.

He skirted the main streets, dodging street vendors and beggars, until he found himself staring up at Gorin Keep. A knot formed in his stomach as he stared ahead, up at his fate, at the destiny of his blood. He was lost in thought as he was jostled. Thrown off balance he found himself kneeling in the mud. His satchel swung off his shoulder and slapped into a puddle. He scrambled to collect it, desperately wanting to check the contents were safe, but not wanting to draw attention to the book. He turned, a snide remark on his tongue, but it faded as he beheld who had tripped him. A shadowy figure crouched before him, dirty arms outstretched to help Joleth up, an apology creasing their brow and yet curiosity alight in their eyes. Joleth smiled awkwardly, almost apologetically, pity roiling in his stomach at the stranger. He couldn’t tell their age, or their gender under such a thick layer of dirt. And yet, there was something familiar in the hollows of their face. The stranger nodded and began to scurry away. Before Joleth knew what he was doing, he reached out and grabbed their arm. They spun on their grubby heel to face Joleth, fear radiating off them in palpable waves. Joleth quickly released them, instantly regretting his firmness and he raised his hands apologetically in a sign of peace. The figure hunched but didn’t move as Joleth carefully reached into his satchel, drawing out a handful of coins and a peach, the fruit a favourite of his since he was a boy, for they grew in the mountains of Killen in abundance. Joleth offered them tentatively to the stranger.

“Don’t go givin’ them nuthin’, or else they’ll take yer arm,” called an elderly woman sitting on the back of a cart amidst a pile of barrels. She was bundled in blankets, swinging her legs off the edge of the cart as her son heaved her through the streets, red-faced and dripping with sweat.

“I tells ya, give them an inch they’ll tek yer leg!” The son didn’t slow as his mother spoke to Joleth, calling more warnings as she disappeared into the crowd.

Joleth turned back to the stranger who seemed to shrink even further into themselves at the old woman’s remarks. Joleth paid no heed and extended his arms even further, urging them to take what he presented. As if sensing a trap, they carefully picked up the peach and smiled, and even through the dirt, Joleth could see the delight in their eyes. He pressed the coins into their hand, smiling encouragingly. The figure tried to refuse but Joleth backed away, swinging his soggy satchel over his shoulder, waving goodbye as he made his way beneath the iron gateway to Gorin Keep, satisfied he’d done a good deed, his nerves forgotten for a moment.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. His palm was sliced upon entry to the Keep, the blood seal satisfied with his right to enter, swirling and clicking and unlocking the great door. He slunk through, the oppressive scale of the great grey walls dwarfing him. He found himself shrinking into himself, fear and panic clawing at his throat. He must continue. He climbed spiral staircase after spiral staircase until his head spun. Wooden doors with brass inscriptions swam across his vision. Hermetical Studies, Enochian Scrolls, Fae Specimens… rooms that tugged at his attention, his curiosity begging to be sated, but he pushed on. He sought the Old Library, where the other three Haeg books lay. The texts Joleth’s Elder had sent him to study, hoping to find the secrets of alchemy to bring wealth to their village. Joleth had no intention of researching alchemy. He’d make up some harmless potion and let the Elder puzzle out immortality or the secrets of turning lead to gold. Joleth knew the Haeg books had no such magic in them. They were designed for one thing, and one thing only, death. Once all four texts were combined, hell would be unleashed. And here Joleth was, carrying the doom of the world towards its end. Only he wasn’t going to let that happen, not now, not ever. He would not be reading the books. He would be destroying them.

Joleth stood alone in the Old Library, the three Haeg books of death on a table in front of him. He stood in silence, hands shaking as he reached into his satchel and pulled out his tome. Unwrapping it with trembling fingers, he placed it in the empty spot on the table. The moment all four books were aligned, sparks flew, and dark shadows swirled from their pages. Joleth choked on the stench of death that overcame him. Fumbling, his nerves weaker than he would like to admit, he pulled a match and flint from his pocket. Muttering a prayer to the Goddess, he struck true and cast the flames over the books. Drawing on his magic, largely untrained as it was, he had enough control to spread the fire across the pages, the flames burning white hot. Whispering, he spoke an incantation this mother had taught him, and the books disintegrated into ash. He sighed, relief washing over him. His mother had taught him from a young age that his destiny was to destroy these books, to destroy the evil magic of his ancestors. She would be proud. It had taken him years to track down the fourth book, tracking it all the way to a small unsuspecting village in the middle of nowhere, where an Elder just so happened to have the lost artefact he required. So Joleth had moved in, settled on the outskirts of the village, and made himself useful enough that the Elder’s greed took hold. Ever the reluctant scholar, Joleth had accepted the Elder’s task, for the years of feeding him promises of alchemical lore had paid off. And now Joleth was here, his mission complete. And yet he felt hollow.

A roar echoed through his very bones as the smouldering books made one final act of defiance. The flames around them soared and engulfed the table and spreading to the shelves beyond. Joleth leapt back, desperately flinging out his magic to control the blaze. He was not powerful enough. His lack of training and the years of suppressing his magic had affected him more than he realised. He couldn’t stop the blaze. The entire library would go up in smoke, and him with it. He made the snap decision to flee. Turning on his heel he stopped in his tracks. Before him, the shadowy stranger from the street stood, arms outstretched. Joleth didn’t have time to be surprised. Though their hood was pulled tight, Joleth could see their mouth moving, speaking quietly, as a great beam of white light poured from their hands. It shimmered and rippled like a wave, washing over Joleth and engulfing the fire beyond in swirling radiance. The figure began to chant, their voice light and yet deeply powerful. Joleth recognised the ancient words, the spell vaguely familiar. In a moment, the blaze was under control, the flames shrinking back until they were contained to the books and the books alone. With an audible pop, the ash of the books caught one last time and disappeared into dust. Joleth stood in awe, sucking in deep breaths of cool fresh air that flowed in the wake of the stranger’s magic. How they had even got into the library, he didn’t know. Unless…

Joleth bowed his thanks to the stranger, mumbling words of gratitude and excuses in a jumbled mess of apologies. The stranger stilled.

“A kindness for a kindness,” they said. Their voice was female, and older than Joleth had thought from their small frame.

“A peach and a few coins are hardly the same as saving my life,” said Joleth. “I must offer you more, and…” he moved closer to her and hesitated, unsure of how to beg the stranger to not alert the guards.

As though reading his mind, she said, “I will not tell, for you have done the world a great service.” She bowed and as she raised her head, her hood fell backwards to reveal long white hair. As she looked into his face, earnest and open, Joleth’s heart stopped as he gazed upon her golden eyes. He fell to his knees as the stranger said, “You’ve done me proud, my sweet boy.”

Joleth wept. For the sake of kindness, a peach and a few coins, he had found a greater prize than he’d ever thought imaginable. He had found his mother.

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A fun exercise, about thinking and writing on the spot. I’m used to the peace of my desk, the only sound the crows in the trees and my shih tzu snuffling in the background. Trying to hold conversations while creating a fantasy world and story was hard but rewarding. I’ll definitely push myself out of my comfort writing zone again….

Peace

Olive x