literature

Can you hear me?

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In which Darren faces the prospect of being shot and eaten.



"Can you Hear me?"  Darren yelled at the innkeeper. The white haired old man standing on the other side of the bar didn't look at him and continued cleaning a beer glass.
"HELLO?" He tried again, this time waving his hand in front of the man.
"Stop yer shoutin'! I can hear ye just fine," the innkeeper snapped, finally noticing his customers, "Whadda ya want?"
Finally!
Darren let out a sigh: "Just a glass of whiskey."
"What?"
"Whiskey!" Darren growled, his patience worn thin.
"Oh. Why didn't ya say so. We're fresh out of the stuff up here. If ya want any you gotta go down them stairs into the basement," the innkeeper gestured behind him, "And bring a cask back up. My back isn't what it used to be."
"Really? You don't look that old and frail to me." Darren remarked. The innkeeper was as big as a bear and most likely had the strength of one as well.
He got angry at the remark, began to say something then bit it off. "Look, I'll give ya a free glass if ya do it," he offered instead.
Darren considered it for a moment, looking the old man straight into the eye. The innkeeper stared back at him.
"Fine, I'll do it," Darren finally acceded.
"What?"
"I'll do it!"
"That's a good lad! Down the stairs, back room, small cask to your right. But don't ya dare open it or skin ye alive! And be quick about it!
After Darren had disappeared into to basement a small boy cautiously crept to the bar.
"But pa, we still have a few bottles left."
"Not fer his kind we don't," the innkeeper sneered, "Now be a good boy and run over to the priest and tell him I've caught another one."
The boy nodded and ran off.

The back room was small and dusty, barely large enough to fit a few larger crates and barrels. The whiskey was in a oakwood cask next to a large sack. It didn't seem to contain more that 10 litres, 15 at most.
He can't pick up this? Must have some really bad back problems then.
It was only after he had picked up the cask and turned to head back that he noticed the barrier on the doorway. He set the cask back down and carefully approached the pinkish haze that now blocked his only way out of the small room. Barriers such as the one in front of him now where most commonly employed by mages and priests as a way to keep unwanted creatures out or as traps. This one was obviously used as the latter.
And I was stupid enough to simply walk into it...
He shook his head and carefully touched the barrier. A laugh echoed through the room. Startled, he turned around but found the room to be empty except for himself. He turned his attention back towards the barrier. Unchanged, it still blocked his way.
"He he he! Looks like the old man managed to catch another one," a merry voice said. Darren almost jumped from surprise. Except for the sounds coming from above and a few rats the cellar had been quiet. It was still empty.
"Did he send you down here to fetch something?" the voice continued.
"And just who might you be?" Darren demanded.
"Me?" The voice chuckled. It seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Why you'd only need to look at me to know what I was. Not that I'm going to show myself to you just yet. I'm more interested in what you are."
Annoyed, Darren turned his attention back towards the barrier again. Whoever the owner of the voice was, it didn't seem like he was going to be of any help. He put his hands against the barrier and pushed. At first it seemed solid but then his right hand began to slowly pass through. It felt as if he was pushing his hand into a hay roll.
"A wizard perhaps?" the voice pondered, "Nah, too shabby looking."
Darren ignore it and kept pushing. His hand was already through the barrier.
"Definitely not a priest. A member of the Cult then? Hmmm...no. The smell of blood isn't strong enough on you."
I still smell of blood?
He was half way through the barrier, trying to grab hold of a crack in the wall so that he could pull the rest of himself through.
"What are you? What are you?" the voice muttered quietly as if to himself..
He was almost through the barrier, only his left forearm was still on the other side of it.
"Surely not!" The voice exclaimed.
No matter how hard he pulled he couldn't pull himself free. He could just as well have cut his arm off but he wasn't that desperate yet. He gave up trying to pull himself free and tried using magic instead. The first spell he tried simply slid of the barrier. The second one suffered the same fate. Seeing that his spells had no effect on the barrier, Darren decided to chance tactics and use a spell on himself instead. The barrier, which wasn't visible from outside the little room, suddenly turned light blue and pulled Darren back in with enough force that he was sent sprawling on the floor.
The voice was laughing hysterically as he got back up and tried to wipe the dust off of himself. It smeared.
Ash? Now I see...
"Oh no no, you can't be!" the voice chuckled.
"Can't be what?" Darren asked, looking around in the room.
The grew quite all of a sudden, the whispered: "One of the damned! A bearer of the mark. A vessel of a demon. A...a..."
"A harbinger of doom?" Darren suggested while looking behind crates and barrels, "A bringer of plague and death?"
There!
He found what he was looking for behind one of the larger barrels: an unusually large pile of ash and cinders. It moved slightly every now and then.
"A monster!" the voice squeaked as if in terror. The pile moved again.
"Now you're exaggerating," Darren said, trying to sound a bit hurt, "I can assure you, I'm still quite human." While speaking he had removed his left glove and vambrace, revealing a tattoo that covered his hand and forearm.
The voice gasped: "You may think of yourself human now but once the mark takes hold of you there won't be a shred of humanity left!"
"I wont let it come to that," Darren answered. " Now either come out and show yourself or I'll accidentally step on this rather large pile of ash in front of me."
"Fine! Fine! I'm coming. But tell me, how did something like this happen to someone so young? You're not a member of the Cult, are you?" the voice asked, this time having lost it's echo and sounding weaker.
"I've never been a member of any cult or order" Darren answered.
"Then how?"
"That is none of your business..." A formless grey pile had climbed on top of the barrel and was moving hectically, little arms appearing every now and then.
"Would you mind?" the pile asked.
Darren inhaled deeply and then blew on the pile, sending ash flying into the air and revealing a little grey old man.
"I knew it. A stove fiend. Now wonder this place is full of ash," He coughed waving away the ash.
"Seems like you know your monsters," The little man smiled at him.
Darren shrugged: "I had a good teacher"
The stove fiend seemed surprised at that: "A teacher? Who?"
"That's none of your business" Darren said, still coughing. Whenever the stove fiend moved or even talked new ash was sent into the air.
"Just like how you became one of the damned is none of my business?" the little man asked waving an arm in the air. All the ash in the air cluttered together and fell down if large flakes, making the air breathable again.
"Better?"
Darren nodded: "Thanks."
The fiend waved it off: "You're welcome. Does that mean the two are related somehow?" He continued.
The question caught Darren off guard. "How did you...?" he asked, unable to mask his surprise. The little man cut him off.
"I just guessed," he said. " And looking at your expression I'd say that I guessed correctly."
"You're cleverer that you look, old man" Darren grinned. The little fiend bowed at the compliment, sending ash into the air again. It fell back down like before.
"Since it's none of my business, I won't ask you about it any more. Unless...you want to tell me about it?" The old man looked at Darren.
"I don't"
"Ah. A shame. I would have liked to hear it," he said, sitting down. Darren had meanwhile gone back to the barrier and was examining it again. This time it felt smooth and rock solid.
"You know, you can really stop looking for whatever it is you're looking for," the fiend suggested.
"I'm looking for a way out of here."
"And what will you do once you find it?"
Darren thought about it for a second. "I'll go give the innkeeper a good beating."
"How do you know that he's involved in this?" The little man questioned.
"Who else could it be?"
The stove fiend seemed to think about it for a bit.
"But would it solve anything?" he asked.
"It would make me feel better," Darren answered.
"Would it?"
Would it really?
"I'll know once I'm done."
"But why not just kill him?" the fiend asked, looking serious.
"What? Why should I kill the man?
"It would save others the trouble you're facing right now."
"Others? Have there been people before me as well the have gotten stuck down here?" Darren demanded.
"You didn't answer my question," The fiend reminded him.
Darren looked at the little man. "No, I would not kill him."
"Why? Is it because he isn't worth the trouble or because you can't?" The old man kept on questioning him.
"I think you already know the answer to that," Darren said, smiling.
"You're right about that," The fiend said. "As to your question: yes, there have been people stuck down here before. Four mages and a pries if I recall correctly."
"And?"
"And what?"
"And what happened to them?"
"They're all dead."
Darren looked at the barrier again. It looked like a perfectly normal doorway except for the pinkish something floating in his way. Frustrated, he threw a small crate at it. It flew right through the barrier and got smashed onto the ground.
"As much as I enjoy watching you make a fool of yourself I can assure you that there is no way out of here," The fiend said.
"None?"
"Not even a mouse hole. Would I still be here if there was one?"
"How did  y o u  end up in here anyway?" Darren asked.
"I made a bargain with the innkeeper and ended up getting the short end of the stick," The little man answered, looking sad.
"So the innkeeper is involved in this after all. What kind of bargain was it?"
The fiend grinned at him:"That is none of your business."
"Fair enough. Are you sure there's no way out?"
"Absolutely. I made this barrier after all!" the old man boasted.
"What!?" Darren exclaimed.
"It was part of the bargain," the fiend said. "And once the inn is closed, which won't be until early in the morning, the innkeeper will come down here and put a few bolts into you with his old crossbow. Oh and before you even think of it: killing me won't rid you of the barrier."
"Great! First I get stuck in a dusty old basement and then I find out that I'll be killed. What next?"
"Well, once you're nice and dead I'll eat you," the stove fiend said.
"...I hope you choke."
He suddenly felt tired. He walked over to his bag, which he had luckily taken whit himself, fished out a glass and sat next to the barrel of whiskey.
"What will you do?" the little man asked him.
Darren opened the cask and his glass full.
"Cheers!"

After the last customers had paid their tabs and headed for home the innkeepers breathed a sigh of relief. No one had noticed it. No one had noticed that the young man who went down into the basement hadn't come back up again. No one had heard a crate being smashed nor laughing and singing later on. The innkeeper had and he was certain that someone would ask him about it. Luckily, everyone was too busy drinking and having a good time.
When the inn was finally empty he locked the door, got out his old crossbow from an even older chest and headed down to the basement all the time swearing to himself that this was the last time he'd do it.
The first thing he saw when he was walking down the stairs was the broken crate in the middle of the floor. He walked to the back room but didn't enter. The stove fiend was sitting on a crate, humming something to himself, he couldn't see the other guy.
"Where'd he go?" the innkeeper demanded.
The fiend pointed behind a crate at the back of the room.
"He couldn't take it. Drank too much," the fiend said, sounding sad.
"He's dead? Fer how long?" the innkeeper asked in disbelief.
The fiend shrugged: "There's no way to tell time down here."
The innkeeper cursed under his breath. If the guy had been dead for too long the priest wouldn't pay him. He carefully walked to the back of the room, not letting his eyes off of the fiend but the little creature was staring at the wall. The innkeeper went to where the fiend had pointed and sure enough, there he was. The young man was sitting on the ground, propped up again a crate, apparently sleeping. Keeping his crossbow at the ready, he nudged him. There was no reaction. He did it a few more times, then, still getting the same result, kicked the guy as hard as he could. Nothing. Lowering his crossbow, he turned to head back up. It was a bad idea.
Something lunged at him from behind and he fell to the ground with a loud thud. His only weapon flew from his hands. He tried to grab it but the stove fiend was already sitting on the crossbow, grinning. He jumped back to his feet and would have lunged at the little man but a dagger on his throat stopped him.
"You're slow," the fiend remarked.
"How about I kick you in the thigh and we'll see just who the slow one is," Darren sneered.
"What do you want?" the innkeeper demanded suddenly feeling uneasy.
"Just two things," the stove fiend said. "But first, why don't you sit down? My neck will start to hurt if I have to keep looking so high up."
The innkeeper nodded carefully and sat down on the floor.  The dagger stayed on his throat.
"Firstly, we want to get out of this room," the fiend continued.
"And the second thing?"
"I want to know what you've been doing with the people that got stuck down here," Darren said.
The innkeeper sat still for a while, looking straight ahead.
"There's no way out of hear, none for you at least," he said calmly.
"Lies!" the little man exclaimed.
The innkeeper stared at the little fiend with rage in his eyes. The little man smiled at him.
"There's no way I'm letting  the two of you out of here," he said, staring at the wall again.
"Are you sure?" Darren asked. The dagger was uncomfortably close to his neck.
"Think of your son," the fiend suggested.
The man was furious for a second, then felt lost and finally gave in.
"All right," he finally yielded. "But leave my boy out of this!"
The fiend nodded: "We won't touch him."
The innkeeper took a deep breath.
"CAEL!" he bellowed so loudly that the walls seemed to shake.
For a while everything was quiet. Then a soft voice called out:
"Pa?"
"Down here lad," the innkeeper shouted.
A young boy came down the stares, rubbing his eyes sleepily. When he saw his father sitting on the floor with a dagger on his throat he froze.
"Now be a good boy and push that big crate in to corner."
The boy continued to stand still, shaking slightly either from cold or from fear. Noticing that the boy was looking at him, Darren gave a quick nod.
The boy quickly scrambled to the crate.
"This one?" he asked.
"That's the one. Now push it away. Anywhere will do," the innkeeper told his son.
The boy pushed the large crate away from the corner.
"Now do you see a symbol on the floor where the crate was?"
The boy nodded.
"Wipe it off."
The barrier began to shimmer, changing colour rapidly, and then burst like a bubble.
"Now tell me about the d..." Darren began.
"I took them to the priest," the innkeeper cut him off. "Beyond the village. He threatened to hurt my son if I didn't do it. Now get out of here!"
"Thank you for your hospitality," the stove fiend said, bowing graciously.
"And for the whiskey," Darren added, putting away his dagger.
After they had left and the crate had been put back into its place the boy asked cautiously:
"Where those friends of your?"
"I'd rather be friends with the devil," the man grumbled. "Now off to bed with you!"

It was early morning when Darren finally left the inn. The church was only a kilometre away from the village, on top of a small hill, it's tall tower clearly visible against the  dawning sky. The first birds had begun to sing when he got to the front door.
The tall oak door was locked, barred and too sturdy to break down. He circled the building twice, looking for a way in. The ground floor had stained glass windows the were above his head but not quite out of reach. The front and the back had of the church two smaller and simpler windows. The one on the back was slightly ajar.
It would have seemed like a good way in if wasn't almost four metres above the ground.  Nevertheless, Darren decided to give it a try. He walked to the side of the building again and, with a running start, managed to climb onto the edge of one of the windows. From there he was able to climb on to the roof. Trying not to slip on the smooth tiles, he carefully walked to the end of the building and lowered himself down the edge just above the small window.
As he hung there the tips of his boots touched the top of the window. He pushed the window open carefully. It creaked horrendously. Darren swore under his breath as he let go of the roof. He barely managed to grab hold of the edge, the frame creaking under the sudden weight. Darren heaved himself up and stepped into the room.
Panting lightly, he looked around. The small chamber he was now in contained a desk, a few chests and dozens upon dozens of books. Nothing having caught his interest, he walked to the door. Straining his senses, he listened carefully. Faint footsteps could be heard coming from below. Throwing caution to the wind, he opened the door and went down.
A priest was pacing back and forth in front of an altar, muttering something to himself nervously. At the sight of Darren he let out a sigh of relief.
"Finally! What took you so long? I have a church to run you know. Here's your share. Tell Rylan that I only need a few dozen more and we're done," the man blurted as he handed him a purse full of coins. Darren wasn't expecting such a "welcome" and was at a loss for words.
"Rylan?" he finally managed to ask.
"The innkeeper. Didn't he send you?"
"Not quite."
The priest was confused:"What do you mean? You threw the body in the basement, didn't you?"
Darren smirked: "I am the body."
The priest gaped at him for a moment, then turned to flee but got slammed into the wall.
"I'll give you  o n e  chance to explain yourself," Darren uttered angrily.
The priest whimpered trying to escape but Darren slammed him into the wall again.
"Talk!" he snapped.
"I only wanted to make this place holy!" the man blurted out. "S...so I had Rylan, th...the innkeeper, k...kill any magical creature he encountered, hu...human or otherwise. I paid h..him for each body brought me. H...he didn't want to do it at first but when I threatened his son he complied."
"And the bodies?"
"T...threw them into the tombs below the church and bound their souls to this place."
"You did what?!" Darren exclaimed in disbelief.
"It was for the greater good  of the village," the priest whined. "The people I've bound here were nothing more that petty thieves and crooks!"
"You know they'll sooner or later attract demons here. What will you do about those?" Darren sneered.
"I'll fight them! Once I have enough souls here no demon will stand in my way. Only a few dozen more and I'll be done," the priest beamed. "And who do you think you are that you can judge me in my own church, damned one?" he continued boldly, looking Darren in the eye. "I know what you are. Your green eyes tell me more about you than you think. You have no power over me here! You can't kill m..."
Steel flashed through the air, leaving a red line on the priests throat. Crimson blood ran down his neck, smearing his hems and dribbled onto the floor as the man fell to his knees and then on his side, dying.
Darren cleaned and sheathed his dagger, shoulders still trembling from rage. He didn't have to kill the man to ensure that he'd cease he rotten plan. He could have beaten him, left him a half wit if he had to. He know how. But he chose to kill.
"And?" the stove fiend asked him, appearing out of nowhere as he stepped out of the church. "Did it make you feel better?"
Darren looked back at the dark shape lying in a red pool and nodded, felling the mark on his arm grow warmer and warmer.
"It did."
For :iconlive-love-write:'s weekly writing prompt:
We had to write something beginning with the phrase "Can you hear me?"
I rushed it at the end (hope it's not too eminent).
Any critiques will be showered with love.
Pointing out spelling, grammar or other silly mistakes and I'll give you a cookie and a llama :D
© 2010 - 2024 Jantsu18
Comments13
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Ozkumeti's avatar
Hey, centuries ago you asked me to review your story on dragon cave. (Zovesta here) So... here you go.

Well, the story idea is decent enough... the characters could do with a bit more fleshing out, but as this is a short story, I'll cut you some slack.

There are quite a few of grammar and spelling errors, but I'm sure combing through the story will fix them. And you really should use double spaces after each conversation - it was starting to hurt my eyes to read.

My main problem is how quickly it reads. That's normally a good thing, but I was getting confused. You need to clarify things, add in more description, and slow things down a bit. Don't be worried about bogging us down a little, it makes for a very enjoyable read. I mean, I read the whole thing in maybe fifteen minutes without a single bit of atmosphere or mood coming to me.

The story itself was a little confusing, we were thrown into an unknown world without any explanation or history or anything... maybe making Darren think a little bit, be a little nervous and shifty because he's... something. I don't know what he is. Seems like a human to me. I dunno.

On the whole, a good idea that was rushed through. Definitely fixable, though. :) I wish you luck on the writing adventure!