This is my first story on the Nifty Archive, so it mayn't be the best you've read. Yet, so far, I think it's doing fine. It's a fantasy story that includes magic, swordplay, and mythical creatures. The featured creatures so far range from trolls and witches, while I have simply mentioned that creatures like fairies, centaurs, elves, etc, do exist, yet the characters have had no chance to meet them yet. Eventually (possily soon?), the story will/may/could include themes of an erotic nature, perhaps between the same sex. Everything written is of a fictional nature. This is intended to be only a storybook told from the point of view of the writer, me, who is also the Enchanter; hence the title "The Enchanter's Storybook". But what writer out there can say that their created world was not inspired by their real world? Of course the characters are based on people, but the names have been changed to protect the innocent. For example, Marcus comes from a boy I once liked; they are similar in both name and appearance.
Set in a medieval world, abundant with magic and fictitious creatures, this story is about Marcus Mallow and his ascent through the dark outer world of his hidden human village of Rocky Pass.
Finally, if you are wanting to understand the plot, I urge you to read previous chapters. You wouldn't start a book by reading the ninth chapter, so don't start this series reading the ninth chapter.
Now to start the ninth chapter of the the esteemed fable, the Storybook.
The Enchanter's Storybook: Chapter Nine:
It was the first time Marcus had felt truly close to someone, intimately friendly in a way that would bind them contently. And it was the last person he would expect to have a deep conversation with, for it was Varia, scheming, deceitful, femme-fatale he had been travelling with.
You see, after the two had stepped off of the rowboat that allowed them safe passage over the poisonous Great Maude Lake, and continued their journey north to hopefully find Darius, they hadn't reached the village Varia had told him of even by nightfall. It was a disappointment, but the journey would have had to continue the next day, for they needed to rest not only for this night, but the night they had spent searching for the boy, Darius.
Yet they hardly slept at all. For Marcus was devastatingly worried about Darius, and grew more anxious the longer he was away from him; and Varia, well, she was Varia. She was insistent, rude, judgmental, and contemplating, but in a kind of loving way, a way that stirred her insipid manner. Marcus grew use to her witty insults, but the truth of the matter was that neither were exactly close to each other. And that was what sparked the night's events.
"Where do you come from, Varia?" he asked curiously, warming his hands on another one of her crackling, blue-flamed fires. It had gotten colder since they crossed the lake, and Marcus's hands were extremely irritable to him that he had forced Varia to spark a fire. It became so frosty that he could see his breath before him, looming out and lingering midst the chilly night air.
The stars were out, but the moon could barely be seen. It was a clear sky, unlike the day before, yet Marcus managed to find comfort in this night, albeit his only true friend was missing.
"Purgador," she told him. She held her hands out in front of her, and played with flames of the fire. Marcus had noticed her do that quite often, actually. Using some kind of magic, she forced it into a blaze, twisted strands of it through her fingers like string, and created strange faces in the blueness, Gods know why.
"That isn't an answer."
"Fine," she said, looking at him with a brooding grandeur. "Imagine the greatest city in the world, Marcus. That is what Purgador is. Houses made purely of obsidian glass, churches with towers so high that they rest on the clouds, grass that tastes like apricots. Imagine trees so perfect that they speak back to you, fruits so delicious and colourful that not even the fairies could grow better. Imagine the kindest, most powerful witches in the world, riding unicorns and flying on Pegasuses."
"What about brooms?" he joked, smiling sweetly. "Don't witches fly brooms?"
"No, you fool," she replied, slapping him playfully on the arm. "That's a myth. How preposterous would it be to fly a broom, and how uncomfortable too. It would ride right up my-"
"Just stop there, I don't want to know."
"Where was I?"
"You were telling me about Purgador."
"Ah, yes. The capitol of the Witchlands, you know. It produces the best, most powerful witches in the world. It has a guild of witches fighting to protect the Witchlands, and I was one of them, a Sister of the Witch Guild. That is what wearing black leather means: I fight for my country, I protect witchkind. I've been taught by the Guild since I was chosen at the age of ten."
"Yes, but don't you have a family, a lover? You couldn't have just been raised to fight," Marcus said, insistent on learning more about the cryptic witch. If they were going to be travelling together, they had to start developing some form of a relationship.
Her face turned sullen and sorrowed for a moment, but it returned to its porcelain stillness before Marcus could notice. But what he did manage to notice was the sudden burst of orange in the fire. It was gone in a second, but the flames flared a bright orange, and brought forth a mysterious face that suddenly swarmed with blue and vanished. The fire exploded, and later diminished.
"There was... someone," she murmured, closing her eyes, folding each hand into the other. She smiled, solemnly, somberly. "Nate..." she whispered, rocking back and forth in a picturesque manner.
Marcus could sense some kind of ill grief in her voice, some kind of secret. He stayed silent.
"Nice name," he finally replied.
"It is, isn't it? Short for Nathaniel, I think."
"And... what happened?" Marcus answered. He could see the tears streaming down her flawlessly porcelain face, so he could tell it wasn't a story that ended kindly.
"What do you think happened, dear boy? He died."
"Does the Guild ban relationships, or something?"
"Oh, of course not. Love is a potent emotion for power. Nate was just foolish enough to trust me. We had a great love, you could say, but the Guild advised its members not to... consummate the love. We did anyway, but my power... it was so great that it consumed me and... I was taken over by my darkness. I took my power beyond what it was meant to go, and it obliterated him the moment I was overtaken. After it wore off, I have lived in fear of being possessed by my own power. It happens whenever I feel great love, and can come at any moment I feel happy. I killed him."
"No, Varia. Your... power killed him. It couldn't have been you, not if you loved him."
"Do you love Darius, Marcus? Be honest with me now, no lies. I can read minds like you read books."
"I... I suppose," he answer awkwardly, shifting as he sat.
"Then fear you do not get possessed by your own power. It can happen to any magical creature with overpowering darkness, even you. But do not fear love, Marcus. Do not be afraid of your love. In this world, love is power, and no one cares if the love is between two women, never mind two boys! A boy and a boy can be in love, it is only mankind that frowned upon it. But there are still... those who hate the idea. Trolls are not fond of it, but they are brutes. Witchkind accept love in every form: same-sex, sodomy, incestuous, but remember that there is always a line."
"I do not have overpowering darkness, do I, Varia?"
"You can never know, until it decides to make an appearance," she warned. "But for someone who grants immortal life, your power is quite bewildering. My power cost me the love of my life, and I will never forgive myself. But don't let anything get in the way of your chance, Marcus. When we find him - which we will - you had better get him, or I may have to kill the both of you. Now sleep. We are in the Trollsturf now, and we better be well-rested if we have any chance of reaching that village tomorrow."
"Fine." He turned over rather stubbornly and was whisked off into a dreamless sleep. A dream of only blackness, but then a light appeared, a light that grew and beamed across the sky. The moon. And the grey falcon flew by once again, with Marcus looking through its eyes. It flew into the air from the campsite, and traveled through empty fields, until reaching a small speckle of a village hours into the night. Resting on the old stone walls of the village, the falcon look down over the world of the trolls. It was an empty world, apart from the odd troll or imp, even an elf.
Yet there was a party of four that sneaked into the village that night that caught Marcus's attention. Three were forest trolls, hermits living in the wilderness of the hills. Yet, their fourth member was not a forest troll, not even a troll from the village. It was a boy. It could have been a witch, but by the smell of him he was human. Marcus knew right away.
The boy struggled to break free of his companions, but they pushed him on through the grey little village, hoping to scrape a penny or two for what they thought was the last human alive.
They disappeared as they scurried inside of an old tavern with red windows.
And suddenly, the falcon took flight, and zoomed instantly back to the campsite as dawn approached, and Marcus shot up from the ground in slight dismay, sweaty and breathing fast.
"What's wrong?" Varia asked. It was daylight again, and she was using an old knife to carve stakes from branches of an ancient oak tree they had passed the day before. "Another nightmare?"
"No... I saw him, Varia. Darius." She hurried over to him in a scurry of wood and leather, helping him to his feet. "In my dream, I saw him enter a village with a big stone wall. He was with three forest trolls. They must have been hermits in the wilderness, because they found him and kidnapped him in the marshes. They're going to sell him."
"Well we can't let them do that. Come on, we are going to have to fight," she said, snatching her belongings from the floor and hurrying off in a steady march. Marcus had to run to catch up with her, but they slowed eventually.
"A whole village of trolls? We could barely kill two, and that was after they murdered you!"
"I let them kill me to buy you time, and they were trained trolls of the Mud Order. Assassins. These will be farmers, and probably won't even know how to clench their own fists, never mind hold a sword. Besides, we have weapons, and all they have are hoes and rakes to crop their harvest. It'll be easy. Like carving a cake. A brown, ugly cake, with warts and greasy hair. Easy."
The journey from the night's campsite to this troll village was a short one, to be fair. Marcus and Varia reached the destitute place in a matter of hours, after travelling through the fields. Some were wheat, others tomato, but mainly empty fields. They came into no company, and slid on through the countryside of the troll kingdom without any bother.
Once they reached the village, they saw the big grey fortification walls. They were ancient and so clearly falling apart. The debris had been left where it had fallen, and no attempts had been made at fixing it. No doubt it couldn't be patrolled on, so it was merely for show.
The portcullis of the walls had no bars to speak of, and could not stop entry, so it was almost like a regular threshold or gateway. Before they had even caught sight of a troll, Marcus sensed it would be easy.
"Come, embrace me," Varia said, once they could see the walls of the village in the horizon.
"What? Why?" was his reply.
"Your scent. Mine will mask it. Wouldn't want them smelling a human instead of a witch. You are now my son, Pan, and I'm your mother, Catrin. Do you understand, Pan?"
"Perfectly, Catrin, dearest Mother of mine."
"Oh, you are the greatest son a mother could have!"
He chuckled a moment, and so did she, before the true seriousness of what they were about to do returned to them. Varia's face became still and plain, giving away nothing; Marcus tried to mimic, but found it harder than he had thought, so he simply faked a rather pouting frown.
"Here," she finally said, through clasped teeth. He knew she didn't like what she was about to do.
She took out a steel dagger embossed in obsidian glass and tourmaline gemstones, with a pommel the shape of the All Seeing Eye; the symbol of the Witchgods. Varia pressed the black handle into Marcus's hand and kept it there.
"I don't expect you to fight, Marcus. I will create a disruption, a distraction, and we will sneak passed in the ensuing chaos. That is, if we even manage to find the idiot boy."
"He's in a tavern with red windows. That is where I saw them go."
"Then come," she instructed. "And remember, a trolls only weakness is their strength. Use it against them, and they are yours."
Marcus buried the dagger inside of his cloak, but kept his hand on it still.
The village walls were unguarded, and they weren't even noticed as they passed inside the village. It seemed like they weren't even looked at by the villagers. There were trolls everywhere, of all manners and sizes, each with warts as big and bulging as the other. There was an odd witch or two, to be fair, but trolls dominated the village.
After they had slid their way secretively into the village, Marcus guided Varia to where the tavern with the red glass windows were. It was an old, tatty building, barely able to hold its own weight. It looked like it was once a reception hall to the great stone fortress that once stood where now were slums and shacks, ramshackle and destitute.
"Stand back, sweetling," she ordered, stepping towards the entrance of the shoddy building.
Suddenly, Varia's arms exploded into horrors of blue flames, trickling up her clothes like swarming insects. She stretched her hands forward and streamed the fire from her fingertips. It blasted out like two endless snakes, pouring from her arms. They broke through the door and the red windows, turning the tavern into a boiling cook-fire. The tavern was afire instantly, blazing and booming, crackling in the heat. Screams erupted from inside, followed by fleeing trolls hurrying from the heat.
And, almost too suddenly, the flames desisted, leaving the building as if it hadn't even been touched by the fiery fingers of Varia's blue flames.
She wandered inside even before the flames had fully vanquished, followed shyly by Marcus. He took slow steps, unsure of what he'd be expecting to find inside of the tavern.
It was rather an awful establishment, in his eyes. Overturned beer caskets and amateurishly built tables. There was a bar, but it had collapsed in the scurry to be free of the flames. Broken glass bottles were scattered about the room, with the beer sticking to Marcus's shoes as he walked across the disgusting room.
Varia motioned through a side door that was a straight and narrow passage, leading up to several empty rooms and a stairway at the rear. She climbed, but was engaged by a troll on his way down. Before the man had time to think, Myrdok's old sword was lodged into his stomach. He tumbled to the bottom of the stairs in a clash of noise and blood, screaming and screeching.
Marcus quivered a moment, but Varia continued up the stairwell.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into the dying troll's ear, before he himself ascended the stairwell.
It seemed the troll's seething screams had attracted the attention of two just as ugly monstrosities. Marcus watched from behind as Varia dealt with them. The first quite literally fell onto her sword, and the other managed to grasp the witch by the hair and throw her to the floor. She squealed, like a dying animal, but thrust her sword directly into the trolls groin. It was lodged deep into him that not even all of her strength could remove it. So she unsheathed a twin dagger to the one she had handed Marcus, and used it to slice the remaining troll. The poor thing tried to run, but she threw it into his back before he even turned the corner of the hallway.
Bending down, she sneaked across the floor like a savage, and disappeared around a corner, silent and swift. Marcus followed, but something grabbed his foot.
He screamed, and booted the dying troll in the face. Ordering the last of its strength, the troll plunged its teeth into Marcus's foot and tore the flesh away. Marcus whipped out the dagger and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed. In the neck, in the back, and then he ran, straight into Varia. They both clashed to the floor, and Marcus found his dagger in her thigh once they had risen.
With a rather scornful look in his direction, she tore it out and licked the blood from the blade, before resentfully handing it back to him.
He looked down at his ankle, and found it pouring with blood. A great lump of flesh had been ripped, but in the adrenaline of the moment, Marcus couldn't feel a thing. He covered it before Varia could see, and the two continued down the hallway.
It was at the very end that came an old oak door, brown with a rusted handle. Slowly, Varia swung it open, to be greeted with a sword that plunged deep into her face. She screamed a horrible, distraught screech, before plunging her own dagger into the attacker's neck. He fell to the floor, crying out an inaudible name.
Marcus looked at Varia for a moment. Her porcelain face had been penetrated with a steel greatsword, sticking directly through her head from the bridge of her nose. She had a pout on her face like a rather tired porcelain doll, but carried on any way with the sword still in place.
The room was empty, besides the mattress on the floor and an old armchair in the farthest corner. There was a door that lead into another room, but Darius couldn't be there.
Screams suddenly shot from behind the door, the screams of more than one person. Varia hurried uncomfortably over to it and broke the door from its hinges, the sword still lodged in her face. Marcus followed, all-too-eagerly.
"Help!" a girl cried.
"Help us!" said Darius, screaming at the very top of his lungs.
Inside, the room was more of a closet, hardly enough space for one person, never mind two. Yet, somehow, packed so tightly together, was Darius, and Daisy Dweller, a girl that vanished from Rocky Pass almost a year ago.
"What the fuck is going on here?" asked Varia, probably at the lack of clothes on the two.
Before Marcus could stop it, a sudden dizziness befell him. It hit him like a slap to the face, and knocked him out cold, the flood cascading profusely from the bite in his ankle. The pain came to him all at once, and he screamed out in utter torment. The blackness swarmed his eyes like bees on honey, with a cry protruding the air. He felt Varia grab at him, and he heard Darius weeping, before the blackness finally consumed him.
Closes the Enchanter's Storybook
That was The Enchanter's Storybook: Chapter Nine. Thank you for reading, it means a lot to me. Donate to Nifty. Places Storybook into a locked safe, swallowing the key. Here's hoping it'll resurface before next week, for the next chapter of the Storybook
And remember: this very email address can be used to message me about our ideas, plots, comments - anything you have to say on this story, just email me. Even questions, if the need be.
Have an enchanting weekday, my pretty pink dahlias. Love, the stalker that often watches you sleep, your dear friend (and lover purrs at you), The Enchanter.