Enigmatic Fantasies #3 - The Invincible Emperor Covington [#33]

Sort of sequel to this story: http://30leaves.blogspot.com/2018/07/the-song-of-baolo-short-story.html
You don't have to read the previous story to understand this one, they even have the same intro. However, both stories have the same narrators.

~~~~ 

            Up the street, in the town's only tavern is an unusual sight. In a corner table, coated with cobwebs, sits the tavern's most senior patron Baolo. Baolo is dressed in the most colorful clothing, befitting of a bard or noble. In his lap is a harp with broken strings and in his hand an empty mug that contains only dust. Baolo is a peculiar patron, for he is not among the living, he is but a skeleton in fancy dress. He has been a part of the tavern for longer than most people in the town have lived.

            While he may be among the dead, Baolo is still the talkative sort. If you flip a gold coin into his mug he'll regale you with a wondrous story. Usually about himself. However, sometimes he'll speak of others who've caught his metaphorical eye.

            Today I asked him, "Tell me the tale of someone truly invincible."

            Baolo hummed as considered my request, "What spurred this?"

            I already had an answer, "I want to know what it means to be invincible. Untouchable my mortal hands."

            The skeleton chuckled, "I have a story in mind then, but it might not be what you expect."

            I nodded and tossed a coin in his cup, "Very well, begin your tale."

            Baolo hummed as he collected his thoughts, "This is a story about the ruler of a nation in a faraway land...."

~--~

            He was known as Emperor Covington. A middle-aged man, short with oily skin and gray hair in a buzz cut. He was a man of character and pride, but his eyes said more about himself than any of his monologues. Songs and stories claim he was the child of the sun god and that it was his divine right to rule.

            As one among six children, his path to rule was fraught with competition, but he was a man of character. In the end, none of his siblings proved to be a true danger to his destiny. They were buried before any could reach the age of 20.

            This man, this great emperor sat upon the throne for decades. No man could topple him, no assassin could slay him, no politics could restrain him. He believed himself invincible, but who could blame him? No human could ever pose a threat to him.

            On the first day of the thirty-fifth year of his reign, he was met with the strangest news. A messenger brought a letter with a single phrase from his most trusted advisor, "the Sun is failing." The emperor was confused at this message and demanded his advisor speak to him directly. Instead of his advisor, he was given another message with the same phrase written upon, "the Sun is failing."

            At first, Covington scoffed, "it may be the height of winter, but that does not mean the sun will fail. Is he not familiar with the passing of seasons?" He dismissed it as a lapse in judgment on his advisor's part and thought of it no longer.

            As the months went by the Sun sank lower into the sky. Even as winter changed to spring and spring to summer, the Sun fell further and further. Eventually, daylight lasted for mere hours. Covington was at a loss.

            As the days shortened the nights grew colder. With less sunlight came less growth in the plant life, especially in crops. With less daytime came less activity and less work, for who would work in such conditions? As the Sun continued to fail, the empire began to suffer.

            In mid-summer, Covington finally realized the message was true. He despised being wrong, but he hated the idea of his empire's peril even more. The emperor again demanded his advisor to speak to him directly, and was again told the same, "the Sun is failing."

            This only made him angry, "I know the sun is failing, but why? Have I angered my father in some way? Is this punishment for some crime I have committed against him?" Covington received no answer to these questions. He attempted to meet the advisor and learn more. Yet, the advisor only repeated the message with a single addendum. "...that is all I know."

            The emperor was at a loss, he wanted to preserve his lands, but he could do nothing. He was but a man, and this was a force of nature. He could not force days to be longer again. He could not preserve the crops through sheer force of will nor could he put the sun in place. He was truly powerless.

            He still believed that this was a punishment delivered by his father. What else could it be? Yet, no matter how long he poured over his decisions in the past few years, not one could be found to insult the god of the sun.

            Covington went to every temple devoted to his father and prayed at each. He desperately plead for forgiveness, if not for him then for his lands. He begged for a way to make things right. He cried for mercy from the sun itself, yet he received no answer.

            At the end of his rope he again asked his most trusted advisor for aid and was told the same thing, "the Sun is failing."

            He screamed in the man's face, "I know the Sun is failing, I'm watching it happen. The day lasts a single hour and the crops have died from frost in mid-summer. Not a soul in the empire can work more than a few hours a day. What I must know is what can be done? Why is this happening?"

            The advisor responded slowly, "All I know is that the Sun is failing. Even I am uncertain of its meaning, but I do not believe this is a form of punishment."

            Covington paused for thought. He had assumed from the start this was a punishment directed towards himself. After all, such a drastic alteration in the world could not be simple nature, it must have a divine origin. Covington sat on this thought for several days.

            It was almost autumn, but it certainly didn't feel as such. The land was frigid, the farmlands were nearly barren and the Sun never even rose above the horizon. Covington observed his lands in their deepest peril. As the Sun continued to fall further and further. It was at that moment a realization swept through his mind.

            The message was simple and straightforward, "the Sun is failing." It was not metaphoric, it was literal. This was not his father's idea of a punishment, this was a sign of something far worse. The emperor finally knew the message's purpose, it was a warning his father would die.

            Covington now wished this was a punishment directed at himself. For that would have been preferable. "I have wasted this year to inaction, with the naive belief I could soldier on as though things were normal. Now that I finally realize the message's purpose, it may be far too late to stop this disaster."

            The emperor, with no other option, began a trek to the holiest and greatest temple in the land he could find. Once he reached those hallowed halls he again begged his father, but not for forgiveness. "I ask now, is there anything I can to do help you father?"

            Covington did not expect an answer, but he did receive one. A simple "no."

            The emperor was not surprised by this news, he already expected as much. "Is there any way I can preserve the smallest fraction of my empire? Or at least my people?"

            Again the answer came down, a single "no."

            Covington did not reject this answer, he only nodded and left the temple. Upon his return home, he sat in his throne and reclined back. His palace and his lands were tinged with an uncomfortable chill, but the emperor was unfazed. Instead, he remained in silent contemplation as his precious empire was consumed by the night.

            It is said no human could pose a threat to Covington, and no one ever did.

~--~

            I blinked in confusion as his story came to an end, "then what happened next?"

            Baolo looked me square in the eye, "Nothing."

            I repeated him, "Nothing?"

            He chuckled, "Nothing at all, ever again."

            I understood him now, "I see."

            Baolo began to hum again, "I tell you this now, there is no such thing as invincible. There are only big fish in small ponds. Some may go their whole lives without meeting their better. However, I must warn you no matter who you are, and no matter how great and powerful. There is someone or something out there that can destroy you and everything you believe in completely. Pray you never encounter it."

            I closed my eyes, "I understand."

            He continued his hum, "Until next time then?"

            I nodded, "Until next time." I left the tavern and returned home. I needed time to stew on Baolo's lesson. I can only hope I don't encounter such a terrible fate like Emperor Covington.

~~~~

The Song of Baolo was one of my more popular stories from the past three months, by view count at least, and I thought it was time to play off of that. I deliberately wrote the story in a strange way. It's inspired by history textbooks and how certain myths and fairy tales are told.
Regardless, I had fun writing it, although I never intended it to grow so large. It was supposed to be under 1,000 words, but it just sort of inflated to around 1,500 without me realizing it until I was done. Oh well.
Now then, next week is the beginning of October and that means it's time to begin, The Night of One Hundred Horrors! Just for next month I'll be posting a story Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, bringing me up to thirteen stories for the month. Also, all the stories will be horror based. So, be sure to read them in the dead of night with all the lights off.
Until then, Read, Comment and Enjoy.

Strange Sci-fi Tales #1 - When Home Is Away From Home [#32]

Inspiration/Prompt: "A Science Fiction story based on the concept of home."

~~~~ 

            He trudged through the seemingly endless factory with the oil can clutched close to his chest. The many robots and machines that filled the factory surrounded him on all sides. Yet, they still failed to register his presence. At this point, he was certain they couldn't.

            The sound of constant production filled the factory to the brim. Yet, it felt empty and quiet to him. He never felt so alone in his life, and desperately desired to reach home. Not that he could, but a man can dream. He ducked into a far corner of the factory, away from the sight of all the machines. Finally, he arrived at a network of pipes.

            "Home Sweet Home," he lied to himself as he began to navigate the pipes. Past the pipes, in an untouched portion of the factory was his destination, his "home." A cozy spot in a dark corner of the factory hidden between the pipes. It wasn't much, a mere twenty feet of living space. It was truly cramped living, but he had no choice. It was this or nothing.

            The space was "furnished" with several large pieces of fabric. Some were in place for comfort, others were used to store his few possessions. The only potential light source was a single oil lamp placed in the corner. Although, it was currently extinguished.

            He gently placed his oil can in the corner and retrieved his lamp. He took a seat on the largest piece of fabric, sat the oil lamp nearby and turned it on. Finally, he retrieved a blanket from the opposite corner and wrapped himself in it. The blanket was stitched together from old clothes and rags but showed minimal signs of wear and tear.

            He laid on the ground, only a thin layer between himself and the cold, steel factory floor. He shut his eyes and tried to go to sleep. He tossed and turned for some time, but never managed to drift off. It didn't feel right for him to sleep here, this wasn't his "home." It was home in a sense, he returned to this place every day, he slept here, he was even born here. Yet, it still wasn't "home" to him, which always made him melancholy, because there was a time it was home.

            It was a long time ago, he wasn't sure how long. Months? Maybe even years? He wasn't certain, he had no time reference in the factory. No sunlight, no seasons, not even a clock. Regardless, back when his "home" was still home a most horrible event transpired one day.

            "They" came, extra-terrestrials, aliens, invades from another world. He didn't really know who "they" actually were, or even what they looked like. All he knows is they came, they saw and they conquered. It was so fast and so sudden he had no time to prepare. At the first sign of invasion, when the alien ships darkened the skies, he hid in his basement. When he next emerged, everything was gone. The people, his neighborhood, the streets, even the top half of his house. All that remained were bits and pieces of fabric, the only thing the aliens never took.

            He had tried to awake his inner survivor and forage for whatever he could find in this now empty world. However, he returned from that venture to find what little remained of his home gone as well. Replaced with a giant sheet of metal that seemed to stretch forever in all directions.

            He remained in the former location of his home for a long time. Forlorn and ready to accept his fate. Yet, it never came. While he remained there, the factory was simply built around him. The robots which constructed the factory never acknowledged his presence. It was only by luck that left the location as a dark, unused corner of the factory. He was thankful for that at least.

            Now he continued his struggle to fall asleep, while the nostalgic memories of home tormented his mind. His home that he desired. The home he grew up in. The home he inherited from his parents. The home he invested so much time and money into just to make it perfect.

            He was still there in a sense. Separated only by several feet of steel. Despite that, nothing felt right. The empty factory was not home, he didn't know what it was really. He had to do something, he needed to something. He wanted to make this "home" to feel like home again. He just wished he knew how.

~~~~

This was another story I originally created to submit to a periodical, but never finished. I forget what it was called now, but it was a sci-fi anthology magazine. The original version was meant to be significantly longer, which is part of the reason I never finished it. I got about two-thirds of the way through and simply couldn't figure out how to end the story.
There was a lot more fluff and detail in the original as well. I miss it, but it was a sacrifice I had to make to shorten the overall story for this blog. Maybe one day I'll finish the original and post it here, but that won't be for a long time.
Until then, Read, Comment and Enjoy.

Enigmatic Fantasies #2 - The Woman From Lochmere Lane Part 2 [#31]

Part 1: http://30leaves.blogspot.com/2018/09/enigmatic-fantasies-woman-from-lochmere.html

~~~~ 

            His first call came two days later, he was in tears. One of his experiments with the book went awry, and he had burned his left arm with an unknown liquid. The pain was so great he was afraid he would lose his arm. I'd heard of this before, a classic mishap with common potions brews. This was an easy fix.

            First I told him, "In order to treat this wound you'll have to do exactly as I say. Don't question anything I ask or tell you to do, understand?"

            He screamed out a mangled yes.

            "Good. First, take some pain medication." Truthfully, no over-the-counter medication would be strong enough to numb the pain. The hope was a placebo effect would calm him down enough to follow the rest of my instructions. "Don't bother with ointments," I told him, "they can't help the kind of burn you have."

            He continued to panic and scream for a while until he managed to find some pain relievers. As expected they didn't help much, but now I had his attention. "Next, do you have any oak trees on your property or are there any nearby?"

            "Why?" he managed to say.

            "Answer the question," I yelled at him.

            He nearly descended back into his pained screams from before, but still managed to answer, "Yes."

            That was what I wanted to hear, "Excellent, now for the next part you'll need a knife..."

~--~

            "To make a long story short," she explained. "I talked to him through an old healing method that used oak tree bark and leaves to heal his burns. It was a basic remedy, but the mighty oak is a holy tree. Perfect for countering the unholy liquid that burned him in the first place. Thankfully, he had a white oak in his front yard, I don't think a red oak would have been enough."

            You roll your eyes.

            "Regardless," Valencia began again, "after I helped him with this little incident, your friend seemed to warm to me."

            You tilted your head.

            "He would call often, and began to take my advice very seriously," she played with her cigarette. "I had made some honest progress with him over those first few weeks. His panicked calls where he asked me how to reverse his latest mishap were slowly replaced with inquiries for genuine advice. I never met him in person again, but I could tell from the tone of his voice he had begun to reverse his affliction."

            Your eyes lit up but quickly deflated as you realized where she was going with this.

            "However," she sighed, "just as he began to turn himself around, his temptations got the better of him."

~--~

            It was a little over a month after I had begun to regularly dispense advice to your friend. He slowly began to slip off the deep end once again. I first noticed when he'd rebuttal some of my advice with the material he'd read in his precious book. The first time it wasn't egregious. I provided him with basic advice for one of his experiments and he told me he already learned that elsewhere. It didn't reach the point of concern until a certain experiment about four weeks ago.

            You see, after a month under my guidance he felt ready to move onto a more complicated endeavor. The creation of a small barrier. Barriers are by no means the most complex magic. However, for an absolute novice with no prior experience they can seem insurmountable. So, for his first experiment with barriers he started small, and attempted to trap a common housefly within one.

            He had me on the phone as he prepped the experiment, in case he "trapped his hand in it or something." It was a simple set up really. Draw a sigil on his kitchen table, release the fly over it and activate the barrier with the sigil as the base. I thoroughly described to him the proper way to draw a sigil and what materials to use. A very important step, as failure to draw the sigil properly could result in any number of horrible outcomes.

            I had told him, "Since this is practice don't bother drawing the sigil in your own blood. Red paint should be sufficient. Be sure to use as few strokes as possible when drawing it. Even small variations can change the barrier's behavior. If you screw up, wipe up the paint thoroughly and start over. Lastly, when activating it distance yourself from the table and touch the edge of the sigil with your finger. Understand?"

            Then he for the first time in over a month he questioned my advice, "Can't I activate it verbally? Wouldn't that be safer and easier?" He wasn't wrong, it would be easier, but not necessarily safer at his level.

            In turn, I warned him, "And what happens if you misspeak? I told you never to question me didn't I?"

            He coughed, "You did..."

            I was more than a little frustrated he'd suddenly doubted the validity of my advice. I expressed my displeasure thusly, "Where did you even learn of that anyway? I never told you anything about incantations."

            He remained silent for a few moments before he answered, "I read it in the book. It recommended activating barriers verbally so you could maintain a safe distance."

            Admittedly that was decent advice, but not something he needed to worry about at his level. The experiment continued from then on without incident, but I was suspicious. I wondered where in his book he had read such advice and what it could mean. I had this deep-seated sensation in my gut he was about to do something foolish. His future experiments only reinforced this idea.

            His barrier experiments quickly progressed each night. From houseflies to spiders, to mice, a raccoon and eventually a deer. He also dabbled in potions again and even managed to turn a crow into a familiar. The last one was particularly impressive to me as he didn't even consult me for it. So, it was quite the surprise when he called me to ask about the proper care and feeding of his new companion.

            The situation with the crow finally prompted me to ask him, "What else have you been doing without consulting me?"

            He made a meek reply of, "Nothing much, nothing serious at least."

            I pressed further, "Oh really? If it's nothing serious I'm sure you can tell me, I want to know how well you're progressing on your own."

            He mumbled a bit before answering, "Mostly reading through the book..."

            I almost had him, "Really? What chapters? What content?"

            I could almost hear him sweat at this point, "Just stuff like advanced potions and um...familiar training um...s-summoning..."

            Suddenly his hesitation began to make sense, "What kind of summoning?"

            He didn't answer for a long time, "N-nothing major, just basic stuff like, like..."

            I knew what his plan was and again I warned him, "I can't believe I have to repeat this again, but it seems you didn't get it the first time. If you continue down this path, you will die. Stick to the simple parlor tricks, you actually have a talent for those."

            I received a familiar response, "But, I'm so close..." and with that, he hung up on me.

~--~

            "And that's the last I heard from him," Valencia put out her cigarette, "I hoped he would come to his senses. I even called him a couple times, thinking I could scare him straight again, but he never picked up."

            Your gaze drifted to the floor.

            "If you want my professional opinion," she left her cigarette in the ashtray, "your friend is a victim of his own hubris. He overestimated his own mastery of the dark arts and attempted something he was not capable of and died for it."

            You winced.

            "I cannot say for certain what your friend attempted to summon, but I can guess," Valencia leaned back into her chair, fingers clasped together under her chin. "It was something that defied human understanding. The indescribable monster that lurks in your nightmares."

            You refused to meet her gaze.

            "As for the why," she turned to look out at the moonlight view behind her. "Maybe he wanted power, maybe he wanted to prove something or perhaps he wanted answers. It is also possible he didn't even know why himself. For whatever reason, he bit off more than he could chew. He will eventually fade from memory as simply another mysterious, unfortunate death."

            You shot her a frustrated look.

            "If you want my advice," Valencia turned back towards you, "for your own sanity it is best to let this rest. Return to your life and leave this unfortunate accident behind you. The alternative means ending up like your friend, another mess that people like me will need to clean up."

            You glared at her before you realize the full implication of what she said.

            "Also, be sure to avoid your friend's old property for a while," she continued. "At least until I can give it a thorough cleaning."

            You gave her a confused look.

            "Well, I've explained what happened to your friend. I hope you're satisfied," Valencia rested her arms on the table. "If you have any more questions tough luck. Walter, please show them the door."

            Before you could even respond the man from before appeared beside you, as though he was always there. In a few swift motions, he yanked you out of the chair and rushed you to the door. Within what felt like seconds you found yourself outside, with your back to the front door. You looked up to the still-lit window and saw the light fade away. You turned back to your car, the night was dark and the moon still hung in the sky. You don't know how long you were in there, and part of you is afraid to hear the actual answer. You shook your head and returned to your car, you needed time to think. You switched the car on and drove off into the night.

~~~~

So, there you go, my longest story yet. This was fun to write, it took me a long time, but I probably could have written it a lot faster.
As for the magic in this story, I deliberately suppressed its presence to give it a mysterious air. Honestly, it was half made up and half inspired. For example, the white oak bit from the first part. The white oak is considered a holy tree and water drawn from the tree is believed to have healing properties. However, other stuff like the barrier and potions were mostly created as I wrote the story.
Regardless, I'm really happy with this story and I hope you people enjoyed it to. I've got more quality stories ready for the next few weeks, especially for October.
Until then Read, Comment and Enjoy.