Short Stories On Some Saturdays

This is it. It’s the last one. For some reason, inspiration pushed me to have it be a converging point of two other Friend Fiction entries. If you’ve read the excerpts for Macey and Jessah, you’ll have good context. Otherwise, I hope it stands on its own well enough, and isn’t too en media res. I did throw in a good fantasy chunk at the beginning, I hope that doesn’t take too much away from the Irish Sea Tale-ness of it. Either way, it takes place at sea, and I made Jake as Irish as could be. I’m not good with limericks, so don’t expect more creativity than that. ____________________________________________________ “Wait, isn’t that the same pirate guy you fought that had the bear-sharks?” Macey picked up another dread and started tying it into Filias’ hair.

“I mean, undead bears with sharks for arms, but that’s kinda beside the point,” Filias said. 

“What was the captain’s name again?”

“Oof, the name escapes me for some reason.” Filias said. “I dunno, it was Smiling Jack or something like that. Anyway, as I was saying…”

It seemed our best choice was to fight our way out, but it wasn’t all straightforward. Jessah may have known her way around a sword and a few spells, but even with my help, the undead captain was more than a match for the both of us. He may have been without his anchor, but he had my diadem. I prayed he didn’t know how much of an edge that gave him.

“Yer wearin’ me coat, laddy,” he said.

“Well it seems you have his portal-gem, so perhaps we call it even?” Jessah said.

“Maybe we can make some sort of… trade…”

Smiling Jack burst out in laughter. This was cut short by a wet long coat thrown at his face. Filias flew in for a kick to the chest. The momentum was just enough to knock Smiling Jack off his feet. He let go of the diadem. Jessah caught it mid-air, gripping it tight as she rolled to a land. Filias saw a blob open up right behind her.

“Quick! I have an idea!” He grabbed the coat off of the downed pirate and pulled Jessah by the wrist.

“What is that thing?”

“A portal!”

“I thought they’d be flatter!”

The two were greeted with a nasty surprise as they stumbled into the sea. The waves were treacherous, but Filias was able to spin around and take in his surroundings. No land was nearby.

“You could think of anywhere in the world and you think of here?” Filias spat out some saltwater, still catching his breath.

Jessah flipped wet hair out of her face. “What do you mean?” 

“When you caught my diadem - the portal gem - you gripped it with intent and thought of a place, so it opened up a dimensional intersection - a portal - to wherever you were thinking of.”

“Well how was I know that it was supposed to do that? All I knew was that the portal gem was important to you.” Before Filias could sputter out another word, Jessah noticed a vague silhouette in the distance. She pointed at it, “do you see that?”

Filias spun around, "It's a boat!"

Jessah began swimming toward the silhouette, "Help us! Help! Help!!"

"Wait! You don't know who they could be!" Filias said. She was already a good thirty feet ahead of him. He struggled to catch up. 

"Ahoy there! It looks like you're in need of some help!" The sailor manning the boat was tall and well built. He wore a flat cap, despite there not being a single cloud in the sky. The sleeves of his flannel were buttoned down while his collar sat high. What was this man hiding?

Before he could think of what it could be, he saw the sailor helping Jessah onto the boat. She must be part Kelic or something. Filias swam as fast as he could, but still took more time than he would have liked.

“Easy there, lad! You don’t want to tire yourself out.” The sailor said. His voice had a coat of sincerity.

Filias spoke between breaths. “I’ll… be… Fine…”

Once he reached the boat, the sailor pulled him up with an unexpected amount of care. “There ya go. Good thing it’s a bright day out; you’ll be drying off in no time. I’ll just be hoping that you don’t get burnt first.

Suddenly, the covering of skin made sense to Filias, though this did not do much to quell his suspicion. One thing that did, though, was the stringed instrument that was laying toward the bow. He’d never seen that many strings on the same neck before.

“That’s uh… That’s quite the instrument you got there,” Filias was still catching his breath.

“Oh? This old thing?” He picked up his instrument. It was covered in folksy artwork, with bright colors decorated the body. He plucked some strings and began humming a slow, but eclectic melody. Any suspicion that Filias harbored had completely disappeared. Jessah clapped when he finished the ditty. “It’s mighty useful tool for boredom when the fish don’t be biting.”

“Oh, so you’re a fisherman?” Filias said.

“So we must not be as from land then!” Jessah realized that she still held Filias’ diadem and handed it back to him. The pommel of her scimitar flashed in front of the fisherman’s eyes.

“That’s a… sharp looking sword you have there, lass. You wouldn’t happen to be… Pirates, would ya?”

Filias and Jessah suddenly realized how suspicious the two of them might appear in the fisherman’s eyes. They both spoke over each other as they tried to explain their situation without revealing too much about their respective missions. The fisherman slowly clutched his instrument closer to his body, eyes shifting back and forth between the two strangers he just let onto his boat.

 “Listen, I’m not much of a fighter—”

“With a man of your size, I bet that’s by choice.” Filias realized this wasn’t the best thing to say. The fisherman shook his head and blinked.

“Because you look like you could be a formidable warrior if you wanted to,” Jessah tried to make it better. Neither were sure if they did.

“Well… Thank you?” The fisherman searched for words.

“We’re not pirates,” Jessah said.

“In fact, she’s practically a princess!”  The fisherman nearly dropped his instrument at Filias’ interjection. Jessah shot Filias a death glare. While this wasn’t wrong, it was still an oversimplification of her status.

The fisherman kneeled down in front of the two, tucking his hat underneath his arm. He nervously searched for his words. “My apologies for the assumptions, your majesty.”

Jessah looked down on the fisherman and then back at Filias. He gave her a knowing nod. Her eyes grew wide, having not done this before. She pulled out her scimitar and tapped on each of his shoulders. “I, Jessah of Naidhorm, dub thee, Sir…”

“Jacob…” The fisherman excitedly whispered.

“Sir Jacob, humble hero and talented musician. Arise, Sir Jacob, knight of Naidhorm.”

Jacob stood up on the boat, gripping his hand in both his hands with a wide grin spread across his face. “I wasn’t quite expecting that, but I’m very happy it happened anyway.”

The joy that Jacob exuded was contagious. When Jessah looked back at Filias, she noticed him wiping a tear from his eye. “Were you just—”

“It was just so beautiful!”

“Well then!” Jacob put his cap back on and clapped his hands together. “Shall I take the princess and her loyal servant back to land?”

“Huh? Oh! Yes. Uh, Filias, what about your por—”

“Poor old grandfather? Oh, he must be worried sick. How far off is the shore, Sir Jacob?”

While Jacob peered at the horizon, Filias used his illusion magic to display a message right behind him. ‘The less he knows about diadems, the safer he’ll be.’ Jessah read and understood. Portals were a technological secret in Naidhorm, and the Riftwalkers were not exactly a public enterprise, but she was never taught why. She wondered if Filias would have some answers.

“Oh, it’s about 10 miles out. If we had back now, we should be making it back before dusk.” He sat down in the boat and began rowing the boat in the direction he pointed. The strength at which he pushed the boat reaffirmed for Filias that while he may not be a fighter, he was definitely more than just an average fisherman.

“Thank you so much, Sir Jacob.” Filias said. “I don’t know how we could ever repay you.”

“I’d say that knighting me is more than I’d ever need ever again.” Jacob let out a hearty laugh.

“Say Filias…” Jessah said, eyes on the horizon, “does that ship look familiar to you?”

I took a couple liberties with the ‘fantasy’ part of this. I don’t personally know a lot of people who deserve comeuppance, and those I do I like to keep off of my mind as that kinda negativity just kinda brings me down. The alternate history part is that it’s supposed to be Earth, but, y’know, fantasy... Kinda like that “Bright” movie, but hopefully not as hamhanded.

After the long day you’ve gone through, the Green Knight’s barracks are incredibly welcoming by comparison. Perhaps it’s the lack of hostility, perhaps it’s the lighting. With the knowledge that you have well trained environmental warriors in the next room over, much of them vouched by your Gaelic comrade, you rest easy tonight.

As you drift off into sleep, you dream of climbing Mt. Ultar. Your energy is unfounded, and you push on tirelessly. Unlike those before you, you have reached the top of the mountain, revealing itself to be the mouth of a dead volcano. You peer down into the pit, feeling an odd energy drawing you toward it. You climb down it, feeling gravity shift against you, making it feel more like a climb than an ascent.

As you emerge from the other side of the volcano, you are shocked at what you see. Has the world been destroyed? Why is the land shattered? In the vast distance, you can make out the slow movement of an eldritch creature seemingly inhaling pieces of the planet. You see a swarm of giant ribbons fly over your head. In the dangerous environment, these giant ribbons seem… comforting…

The ribbons interconnect between the floating chunks of planet. While they strain closer together, they do not reform properly. The denizens of the far off bridged pieces seem to express joy and jubilation, seemingly comforted by the presence of another humanoid. That’s as best as you can make out from the distance you’re at.

You catch sight of other large, yet distant creatures. Their sizes must ebb toward planetary, considering how clearly you see them at this distance. One appears to be a floating mask, ambivalent in expression, seemingly changing every time you look back at it. It’s followed by a trail of dark fog. You can’t perceive it any way other than sight, but you feel like you can smell it. Dread washes over you, but that dissipates when you catch the sight of a horned lion, poised like a man, shooting bolts of light from his hands at the ambivalent mask. Hope wells up within you.

Some of the giant ribbons flying overhead float down toward you. The massive streams unravel during their descent, taking the form of something vaguely humanoid. Its head tilts, holding a curious demeanor. You feel a voice well up inside you.

“You are not of this plane, are you?” it says. The voice is soft, like warm bathwater flooding over you.

“I think I’m lost.”

The humanoid form pauses, changing the angle of its tilt. You feel a love greater than what your own mother had for you. “You are not lost, my child. You have simply wandered into something you may wish you hadn’t seen. But we are all guided along a path, whether we realize it or not.”

The humanoid form gestures at all the bridges connecting the broken pieces. Though it does not seem strong enough to pull them together, it forms a tight bridge. In this vast expanse of horror and despair, the faint glimmer of hope keeps you breathing. You look back at the mouth of the volcano behind you. How far had you walked in order to end up here?

I’ve got two of these little things left and then it’ll be off to some editors and such. Fingers crossed.

_______________________________________________________________

“Sure this is the place?” Rigby took a long puff from his cigarette. Detective Gibson waved the plumes away from her face. The odor was a reminder for her less than pleasant childhood, but she’d rather deal with faded memories than with Rigby without his fix.

“Think about it. It’s a small city. Not very diverse. How many sushi joints could there be?” She brushed her hair out of her face as the frigid breeze blew it back into place.

“You’re right. If this one isn’t it, we’ll check the other.” Rigby mindlessly flicked away the butt of the cigarette.

Gibson opened the door for Rigby before trailing him in. At these hours, the restaurant had barely any customers. None, to be exact. The only other soul they saw was a long haired man wiping down tables and flipping chairs on top of them.

“Restaurant’s closed for the night,” he said. He barely gave the duo even a glance. He continued his work, unperturbed.

“I can wait on the bento box. I’m more in need of some information.” Rigby and Gibson pulled out their respective badges. The man paused for maybe a moment, but continued on.  “Special Agent Karl Rigby, this is my partner Catherine Gibson. We’re here investigating the disappearance of Constance Holland, a renowned local composer, from what we hear. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

He put one last chair on the table before moving on to the next one. “Owner’s been talkin’ ‘bout some reporters coming in - and sometimes the odd police officer. All their info’s been saying that this was the last place anybody’d seen her. That’s about it, though. Didn’t know this was big enough for the Feds to show up.”

“Well, we’re not—” Rigby obnoxiously cleared his throat as he pulled out another cigarette. Gibson chose her words more carefully. “... Saying that this case is that big. It just has certain… qualities… that fall under our jurisdiction. Thank you, uh...”

“Samuel,” he said. “Sorry I couldn’t be of any more service to you two—”

“You some sort of beatnik, Samuel?” Rigby said, cigarette held by his lips. Gibson shot him an intense look, though Rigby largely ignored her.

“Excuse me?” Samuel said, chair in hand.

“Are you a beatnik?” Rigby blew a plume of smoke in his face. “I mean, look at you. Your hair’s longer than my partner’s. Your clothes are darker than any normal person might wear. And look at those tattoos! They’re exotic, and beautiful, but there’s so many of them. You realize that those are on your body for the rest of your life and beyond?” He took a deep drag of his cigarette, not realizing how much his rant took the wind out of him.

“Karl!” Gibson turned toward him, pushing him back a little. She glanced back at Samuel. “He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I’m sorry,” Rigby took another drag. “It’s just that I hate dead ends.”

“Ah,” Samuel placed the last chair on the table.

“Sorry to have bothered you,” Gibson said. “We’ll just see ourselves out.”

She turned Rigby around as they went for the door.

“We miss her.”

They stopped in their tracks, turning back around to see him lighting a cigarette of his own, the glow of his lighter reflected in the frame of his glasses. He took a deep breath as he looked out to the side. The two approached him again.

“She was one of our favorite customers. Every day, she’d come in, and scrawl into her little notebook. So many different tunes, so many different sounds. She even wrote a little ditty for our place… The Masa Nova. It didn’t make a lot of sense to write a Bossa Nova tune about a sushi restaurant, but we loved it anyway. Why not mix the cultures like she mixed drinks for us?

“She always invited us out for drinks after we closed for the night. She’d give the bartenders specific instructions on what kind of drinks to mix and they were all absolutely cosmic…”

“Samuel, I’m sorry th—”

“It’s fine. You’re just trying to figure this out too.”

There was absolute silence between the three of them, save for the smokey exhales of Samuel and Rigby and the growing winds from outside.

“Did she talk about anything the last time she was here? Any indication of she might be going?” Gibson’s voice began to shake. The memories became less and less faded.

“She talked about her ‘libraries’ more and more recently. It came up here and there at first, but the more she talked about it, the more it drew people in and the more people started asking about it.”

“Did you ever catch wind on what she said about them?” Rigby reached the end of his cigarette.

“Sort of. It must’ve been such a rush to hear about them. I never remember what she talks about, just that I’d get a rush of pure joy and the next thing I remember is going out and having a good time, not entirely sure how I got wherever I was at.”

“Can you at least try to remember the specifics?” Gibson pulled her coat lapel over and crossed her arms.

Samuel removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. He let out a sigh, “Okay, okay… I think she starts out talking about how there’s so many of them. They’re all over the city, she says… Each new book makes her feel like she’s in…”

Rigby suddenly realized where he was. He was sitting at a bar, in the middle of laughing it up with Gibson, his arm on the back of her stool. He had a fresh cigarette lit between his forefingers as he was about to down the rest of his bourbon. He felt wonderful, but he wasn’t here to feel wonderful. He looked over behind Gibson and saw that Samuel was having a drink himself. There was the slightest bit of a smile on his face as he was chatting up a young looking redhead.

Rigby’s laugh suddenly cut itself short as his expression shifted from joyous to enraged. “You…”

Gibson’s laugh quickly faded out. “What?”

Rigby popped up from his seat, grabbed Samuel by the lapel, and pinned him against the bar. “The hell’d you do? Is this some sort of trick? Didja have one of them tranquilizer guns on us? How’d you do it?”

Samuel grabbed at Rigby’s wrists. His glasses reflected the neon lights of the bar backdrop, all of which distracted from his fading smile. “It happened again…”

“What do you mean it happened again?” Rigby pulled him closer, shaking him somewhat. The light stopped reflecting off his glasses, showing the concern in his shifting eyes.

“The rush… The reason I can’t remember… I…” Rigby dropped him back in his seat. Samuel looked just as confused as Rigby felt. He noticed Gibson pushing away a finished martini. She didn’t like martinis…

“Catherine?

She turned around, looking pale. Her foot fell onto Rigby’s dropped cigarette. “I’ll meet you two outside… I need to use the ladies room.” Her heels swiftly clacked as she rushed to the bathroom, fingers over her mouth.

“Did she have too much?” Samuel patted the redhead’s hand as got back up from his seat.

“No. Martinis make her sick. They apparently remind her of her mother.”

 From here on out, the entries should be less jumbled. This one took longer than I’d like to admit to get to. Biggest factor in that was I was working at a camp all summer and that took up loads of my time. Did a lot of swimming, hiking, hammocking, and fire-lighting, so that was nice. Anyway, now that we’re back in the swing of the school year, I should have enough downtime/work with far enough ahead deadlines to distract myself from that I’ll be able to finish the rest of these pretty soon. Once I get the next three after this, it’ll be off to the publisher and hopefully getting something out there to start.

Further entries’ll be more sporadic, but I think I have a general idea how I want to do the rest of them...

————————————————————————————

“I thought we were allies, Kas!” The wooden doors continued to swing back and forth behind him. Kas remained lounging in the throne, seemingly undisturbed by this sudden intrusion. His mercenaries, however, were not so at peace.

"I do not recall making any arrangement of the sort." Kas sighed and took another swig from his flask. "What is it you want this time, O Lord Di-Neem, of ‘the Greatest Councillor of All the Land’?"

Di-Neem winced at his mockery. This, somehow, was more threatening than the white-hot pike aimed at his throat.

"... I want to talk."

The half-elf arose, seemingly annoyed at this proposition. He sighed. “Let him through, Jason.”

Jason lowered his pike, it’s subtle glow diminishing. His glare pierced into Di-Neem’s soul. The councillor could tell that this mercenary was well trained in the art of restraint. Kas gestured for Di-Neem to speak.

“You shouldn’t ally yourself with Lady Florens.”

“And why should I not ally myself with whomever I please?”

“You’re taking part in a rebellion that is beyond your jurisdiction. You will face forces far out of your own defense. I have the greater city-states on my side, so I would advise you choose your enemies wisely.” He slowed the last few words of his statement, stroking his patchy beard.

Kas seemed to take a moment to think about this. He plopped back down into the throne, taking another swig from his flask. He held up a finger. “One, I’m here for a good time, not a long one. I have no interest in going soft for the sake of survival; what sort of life is that? Two, I’m here simply out of occupation of Councillor Millwater’s city-state. I saw a wicked nation, and saw the need for correction. The association between Millwater and Florens just happens to be part of my… inheritance. Three, threatening me is piss-poor method for attaining my allegiance. It’s just plain rude boy…”

“Please don’t call me—”

“I wasn’t finished. Four, take a look at my friend Jason here.”

Di-Neem analyzed the man before him. His dark eyes had seen death far too many times for as young as this man may have been. His shaggy hair and beard showed that this man did not waste his time with formalities. The markings of his arm implied sacred writings and holy symbols. This must be a Peacemaker. A warrior such as this caliber was a rare find, and a valuable asset to an army of any size.

Kas continued, “You make any attempt on me, and this civil war you started will be rendered pointless with your absence - and that’s not a threat, that’s just cause and effect. Jason here isn’t even one of my best soldiers, but he’s still leagues beyond the greatest champion in your region.”

Di-Neem’s gaze hit the floor. He flitted his robes as he turned for the door. Perhaps it was unwise for him to remain here. Jason’s pike remained upright, but he could tell that there were contingencies for where else it could be.

Then a thought flickered in Di-Neem’s mind. Perhaps he could work through a different method. It’s worth a shot, is it not?

“Kas?” He simply turned his head, and nothing else.

“What?” His tone spoke more of exasperation than curiosity.

“What do you desire, Kas?”

The half-elf muttered to himself, “Oh, for the love of Deaz - What do you mean?”

“What do you desire?”

Kas let out a hearty scoff. “I’ve lived among humans for as long as most of them live, doing the things that most normal humans do. I’m technically of retirement age, but my mother - whom you seem to bring up in conversation more than I do - has given me a longer lifespan than I could ever need on this forsaken island. I have just about everything I could ask for, yet you think you can provide something for me?”

“That’s a question for you to answer yourself.”

Di-Neem continued on out the doorway. Jason loosened his grip on his pike letting it lean against himself. Kas muttered annoyed curses and mocking impressions to himself.

“Sir?”

Kas grew quiet.

“Perhaps there is one thing that he could provide for us that we don’t quite have yet.”

Kas stared past Jason, beyond the doorway even. He tossed his empty flask aside, giving it a spin as it ricocheted off the wall onto the floor. The mercenary faced his captain.

“What’s on your mind, Jason?”

“Councillor Millwater’s people still seem hard-hearted in their wickedness, even under our occupation. Lord Di-Neem is rather popular with these people, though. He seems to have some sort of sway on public opinion.”

“What? Seriously?”

“I dislike Lord Di-Neem as much as the next decent fellow, but he appeals to the carnal desires of Millwater’s people.”

“Through tactics that break our Creed—”

“Through tactics that work.”

Kas was silent.

“I know our Creed is the only thing you could ever hold sacred, but our Creed is not his creed. Let him commit sins that will purify this city-state, so that we may walk away from this with clean hands.”

“And what say you after the insubordination is resolved?”

“We move on to the next tribe, and hope that they have softer hearts than the last. If not, then we’ll have an ally that can aid in that.”

“And if he doesn’t want to send aide?”