Kerrygold Bank

Prompted by a request to assign professions a mythical animal that suits the role, This beginning of a story was born. It’s the beginning of a strange bond, and there may be more later. This story is still not yet free.

I went to the vault, intending to clear it. The time – lock would engage soon, and we didn’t want anybody getting stuck. The massive wheel was heavy, but spun without resistance, not even a squeak. I pulled the door open,and looked in at a huge red lizard, looking back at me in statement.

No. That was no lizard. That was a damn dragon. Fire erupted, just a wisp, and I slammed the vault shut, turning the wheel. Hell no. To hell with that. Maybe someone slipped me something and I was hallucinating, but I wasn’t going back in there without backup.

The intercom crackled on. “Officer! Wait!”

That voice. That pitch, that command. I wasn’t used to hearing it plead, but…..”Miss Kerris?”

“Who is that? Is that Tolson? O’graf?”

“Slate Grey, ma’am.”

There was a pause. “Is that a joke?”

“You’d have to ask my parents, ma’am. Ma’am…..are you alone in there?”

“…..Yes. Please let me out.”

I’d never heard her say please, either. I spun the wheel and pulled the vault open, coming face to face with …..”Miss Kerris.” I leaned around her to look into the vault, but it was empty.

“Please keep what you saw to yourself.”

“Ms. Kerris, you’re a…..dragon?”

“Listen, Officer Grey, if you cause trouble for me, I will make you disappear, just like that. This bank is mine. I built it from nothing. You will keep my secret, one way or another.”

“It’s just a little surprising, ma’am. You looked pretty fierce.”

She stood a little taller. “I was pretty fierce – looking, wasn’t I? And majestic.”

“Very majestic, ma’am. Noble.”

“Carry on, Grey. I may have use for you later. Stand ready.”

She walked away, strutting a little more than normal, and I sighed in relief. I don’t know what I just stepped in, but it looked like I was okay, for now.

A beeping started up behind me, and I went to look around the vault briefly, before closing it. A row of lights turned right, a series of thunks as the vault locked itself for the night. Maybe the vault was the wrong word. Maybe it was more properly a hoard.

Ms. Kerry -Tasiel Kerry, more appropriately, though her birth certificate said Tasha – went home to her flat, a little extra spring in her step. “Noble,” he’d called her. Sure, she’d prompted him, but humans just didn’t know how to give compliments. “pretty,” and “lovely,” as if her pride should be in her appearance. He had complimented her character – ferocity and nobility!

She closed her door behind her, and leaned back against it, allowing herself an undignified little dance of delight as she kicked her heels off, directly onto a shoe rack. It’d been so long since she’d gotten a proper compliment. She would have to reward this man with his silly name. Slate Grey. Might as well call him Grey Grey. Double Grey. She’d think of a better name to embarrass the human with later.

She strode into her bedroom and to the bed strewn with gold coins. She undressed, revelling in the cool air on her skin after the heat outside, and threw herself onto the bed of coins. Reaching over her head, she scooped her fingers through the coins, holding a few aloft. An aureus, a yin yuan, a floren, and a bezin. Not originals, of course, replicas of particular coins she owned, those locked in a safe in their cases, with their certificates. But still gold, most of a purity higher than the original’s standard. Paper money just wasn’t the same. It was so flimsy, you couldn’t feel the value of it. She scooped a handful of coins over her stomach, smiling, sheltered once again with her treasure.

As she luxiated in her gold, she thought back to her compliments. She knew she was letting them influence her, but she didn’t care. She’d let the childish human manipulate her, for now. It felt nice to get real compliments for once.

The Choosing of the Gods

The request for this prompt was merely “define this character”. I decided that her outward appearance of strength would not be what defined her.

I peeked through the tent flap and caught a glimpse of movement in the distance. A lookout. I shrank back to wait, then peeked out again. They would not stop me, of course, but neither would they leave me to myself. Finally, the way seemed clear. I rushed into the shelter of trees and darkness to the holy spring, the only place that was mine. Any other would be driven mad to walk here, they said. Perhaps it was true.

I looked into the water and beheld myself, painted in the patterns that marked me as the God-Chosen. I did not feel God-Chosen. Paint stained the water as I touched the surface, and it was like it washed the strangeness out of me. Suddenly I had to be clean. I scooped water, scrubbing the paint away. I rubbed my face and neck until my skin felt raw, and the paint bloomed into the water, carried away by the spring’s flow.

Finally, I saw my face reflected in the moonlight. This young girl, who was she? Not the God-Chosen of a tribe. The elder God-Chosen — my mother — said that the gods spoke to me through the spill of runes from my hands. But did they? My hands felt like a girl’s hands, clumsy and unsure. I heard no voices, and I made no promises as she had done. Perhaps it was for the best. The gods were capricious, and had used false words to toy with her before.

I touched the water as if laying my hand upon a friend’s brow, addressing my words to the reflected moon in the night sky. “My name is not Hesralta God-Chosen. I am Sryilla Tusfelt. I am a girl. And I am lonely.”

“Your mother was not lonely, at your age.”

All sound ceased but for this voice, and as I whirled I found the entire world was at rest. Windblown leaves hung in the air, insects sat embedded in the air like a stone set into jewelry, even the dust that my movement unsettled had frozen around my feet. “Who are you?”

She ignored my words. Naked and pale, she sat on a rock to watch me. Her brilliantly silver hair floated and streamed as she moved, as if she were underwater. “Your mother was satisfied with her position. She lived in accordance with her rank in the tribe. She told people what to do. She used the respect that was afforded her.”

My eyes widened, and my blood ran cold. I began to fall to my knees, bending to press my face to the dirt, but in a flicker she stood before me, and a cold slap stung my cheek. Her tone was gentle, a counterpoint. “Do not bow and scrape. Stand, speak. Alone among humans, you do not ever bow to anybody.”

I recovered from my shock and stood straighter, my mind awhirl. “You are Luwana? You are . . . the moon?”

She did not look at me as she went to the holy spring, sinking into the water with each graceful step. “I am.”

“You say my mother was confident in her role. Is that why you spoke to her, and only now speak to me?”

Luwana turned, her eyes narrowed. “It is why we never spoke to her. Your mother has never been God-Chosen. You are a different concern. You question your place, your worthiness, you never claim more than you know. Your name is no longer Sryilla Tusfelt. Nor are you Hesralta. You will return to the tribe and declare yourself “Nayralea God-Chosen”. Come. Bathe.”

I had not come to do more than wash off the ceremonial paints. But when the moon calls, you do not hesitate. I let my robes slide off my shoulders and stepped into the waters, shivering at their chill. Luwana turned and held me, drawing me deeper. “Shed your ties, little mortal.”

I felt the pull. Somehow, I knew what to do, but I looked up to her, ashamed of the fear I felt. “Will I be alone forever? I hate this. Nobody wants to be near me. Everybody is afraid of me. I could choose anybody I wanted for a friend or a lover, but it would only be because the God-Chosen asked it. Can’t I ever just make friends?”

She stood in the water with me, her eyes searching me. “You would reject our gifts?”

I shook my head, mourning what I was about to lose, and took a breath to dive beneath the water. Her hand on my throat caught me. She did not strangle me, but her grip was so firm it might have been rooted in the bones of the earth itself. “I am not done with you. If our choice saddens you, why accept your fate?”

I looked into her silvery eyes, then down. Her eyes shone right through me, and looking into them was too intense for more than a moment’s gaze. “My people need guidance. I have a duty to them. I always have.”

She watched me, and I feared that my answer was not good enough for her. But her gaze softened, and she pulled me in hugging me close. “It will be okay. You won’t always be alone. Now, find your way.”

I nodded and dove into the water. I had stood in water a few feet deep a moment ago, but now I swam deeper into the darkness. My arms burned and my lungs began to ache, but I swam deeper; I knew if I turned back I wouldn’t find a surface behind me anymore. Finally, the waters lightened around me, and I broke a surface, gasping for breath. Anybody else would have changed their position in the world, swimming so far. Somehow I understood that every stroke had changed me, instead.

“Nayrlea!” Luwana was there, hugging me again. A naked man with bright, cold blue eyes watched from the shore.

“Luwana . . . I made it.” I slumped in her arms, muscles trembling. My eyes turned to the man watching from the shore. His eyes roamed me, and my face burned under his gaze.

“You made it. Let me introduce you to Al Kutb .”

I had to fight the urge to lower my head; the guide-star had come to see me Chosen. “I am honored.” My voice squeaked, and my face burned hotter.

Luwana raised her hands as if calling, and moonlight answered, weaving a thin robe around me. “Stop staring, Al Kutb. You’re embarrassing her.”

He looked at Luwana, and the way his eyes roamed her was clearly not innocent. “You know where my real interest lies. Looking at her is just appreciating good artistry.”

“Hush, Al-Kutb. Mortals are present. We must have some secrets, even from our Chosen. Come, we have a gift for you, Nayrlea.”

Luwana took my hand and led me to shore, where Al Kutb held up his hands, opening them to reveal a small white mouse. “This little one is soul-bound to you now, Nayrlea God-Chosen Tuwalt, ”

Luwana moved past me, irritated. “I thought we agreed on a cat!”

His glance at her was amused, his smile smug. “But she squeaks to like a mouse.”

“She’s beautiful.” I stood up straight, fighting the urge to bow before the gods. “She’s beautiful! I thank you, Al Kutb.”

Luwana seemed a little mollified, and Al Kutb seemed even more smug, if such a thing were possible. “You have the honor of naming her. Trust her. She will guide you as I guide the ships. She will teach you who your true friends are; and who truly loves you, too.”

I looked down at the mouse in my hands, who leaned up toward me. I lifted her higher, and my lips pulled into a smile as her tiny paw touched the tip of my nose.

Luwana’s voice came to me gently. “You are the spiritual leader of your tribe now, Nayrlea God-Chosen Tuwalt. We will guide your visions and the spill of any rune from your hand. Go in peace and honor.”

I looked up, and leaves were drifting through the air, crickets were chirping, my dress was mere cotton, and I was alone but for a mouse. “Wait! I’m not ready! I’m . . . I’m not special, I don’t know what to say!”

A squeak made me look down; the mouse was peering up at me, as if to ask what happened next. “I’m supposed to know what to say. Am I supposed to know your name? Perhaps ‘Whisfayn’. You are supposed to show me who is friend and who is foe, you are a gift from Al Kutb, and it means way-finder in the old tongue. Do you like it?”

The mouse sniffed at my palm, then began to climb my moonlight shift. I helped her to my shoulder, and I started on my way home. I looked at the pile of robes by the water, and decided to leave them behind – they belonged to a different girl.

I wondered what I would do, what I would say. Things began to seem very complicated. Somehow, as ordinary as I felt, I would have to declare myself truly God-Chosen, and declare my authority to supersede my mother’s.

I hoped my mother would not resent me. I hoped I would not have to declare her false. I hoped I would not be declared heretic. For a moment, I had convinced myself that with the support of the gods, everything would be okay. Now, I suspected it would not be so easy.


Nayrlea God-Chosen, formerly Hesralta God-Chosen, formerly Syrilla Tusfelt returned to her people, the first to have been presented as a successor to the gods, and accepted. She returned in moonlight that became her robe, accompanied by a star that became a mouse. Her mother had chosen her daughter, but chose well, for she was twice-chosen by powerful gods, by the moon and by the guidestar. Today, I go to the choosing. When I die, my writing of my predecessor will add a page to our written traditions, as having been the successor chosen for the gods to accept – or reject.

Also added to our traditions will be these writings of myself. I will not be accepted. I wear the paint and throw the runes, I return from the holy spring sane and whole. But I didn’t want this life, and the Gods have never spoken to me. My runes foretell only what chance decides to agree with later. They will see my heart, and know I am not devoted enough.

Yula wants this choosing badly; it was her mother’s, and Yula thinks she should have been named to succeed her. She said a harvest goddess once spoke to her, after all. After I am rejected, she will probably have it. I am glad that the time approaches to choose someone, though. Nayrlea God-Chosen has been ill, and to guide us takes much of her strength.

I leave this as a record for the Gods and Our descendants. May they remember Nayrlea God-Chosen, may they remember her named successor, and if I may be so bold, may they remember Yula. She is headstrong, but I love her.

My final words to those who would call us ‘ancestors’ are this: question yourself. Answers are within you, but if you do not know those halls, you will only get lost when you seek them. Question yourself, know yourself, and the answers will welcome you.

I am Nosamo the Successor, formerly Nosson Rilnr. I now go to be chosen. Or not.

Wings of Burden

Image Prompt: Water by WLOP

Original

Image: Water by WLOP (DeviantArt)

I looked into the water with a sigh, feeling the chill of the water soaking into my shift. The water adhered the fabric to my skin revealingly, though the ripples on the water distorted my form. I crouched closer to look at my shape in the water. It was artistic, nature. This art was the highest and purest kind, born from the interaction of natural principles. Below my reflection fish swam, venturing closer with my stillness.

And then there were the wings.

Continue reading “Wings of Burden”

Unarmored

Night Diner

This is the third story in what I call the ‘Soul’ series, based on artwork by Klegs.

Original

Artwork: Night Diner, by Klegs (DeviantArt)

“Man, that was great!” Sarah was excited, animated, all the things that set me on edge. But she wasn’t like most people. I knew that she needed to just talk. I was content to listen, and she didn’t take offense.

“It was just me! I mean, the bar was a hole in the wall, but I wasn’t just opening for someone, either. They wanted me! They even applauded!”

I just sipped from my drink, listening. I remembered my impressions as she spoke, building her words and my memories into a fuller picture. The bar was small, and the stage tiny. It smelled like stale beer. People drank and played pool. At first, there was disinterest, then a spark of curiosity as a new face took the stage. “How did they look at you while you played?”

“Man, it was crazy!” Her hands came out of her pockets to gesture. “Everybody was looking at me. It was awesome! It was terrifying! You got to tell me you got pictures of it all, you got pictures, right?”

I remembered that spark of curiosity in their faces kindling into something more, glasses stopping in the air as people paused to look. I already knew that the footage of that moment would go into my final edits. “I got pictures. And I got video.”

“Awesome! We’re getting this on YouTube tonight, right?” Her hands took my arm, but let go again, going back into her pockets against the chill. “Sorry. I’m crowding you. I’m just so excited!”

I smiled and glanced over at her. It was a small smile, but meaningful, and from her expression of relief, I think she knew it. “You’re a step ahead.  Most people just think I need to change.”

“Screw them. You’re you, without regrets.  Anybody tries to make you change, I’ll kick their ass for you.” She thumped her hand on the rail for emphasis, and I could hear the metal resonate like a bell.

I smiled again and felt my cheeks heat. Not many people could get through my shell, but it always unsettled me how quickly those close to me could raise my emotions. I wasn’t used to being emotional. “Yeah. So YouTube. I don’t want to put it up raw. You did really good. Give me some time. I can make something great with this.”

“Yes!” She hopped in place, then clapped her hands. “Thank you! You! Are! Awesome!” I felt my cheeks heat more.

“Just doing what I can do.”

“Doing it great! For me! Without me even asking! Come on, you’re great. People get paid for that stuff!”

I looked at her, not knowing how to respond. I was tempted just to put on the armor and shrug, but I couldn’t do that to my best friend. Instead, I turned and hugged her. It was brief and awkward, then I let her go and turned back away, and put the straw in my mouth so I wouldn’t have to say anything.

She watched me, then leaned back against the rail. I glanced over, and she was grinning like a madwoman. “Thanks.”

I knew she wasn’t talking about the video editing. “Sure . . . you’re welcome.”

Paranormal Activity

A challenge to myself, to write a story for a picture chosen by somebody else.

Original

Eight o’clock. I had n’ left work this late in months. All of the other purchasing agents had quit on me or were detailed to other tasks.  It was just me right now, and I was exhausted. The monorail roared down the track running parallel to the road, the street flashing bright and dark as the windows rushed by.  I didn’t pay it much heed, until it went dark, though.  The streetlights went out, the house lights went out, and I could tell the train wasn’t powering down the rails anymore, only coasting.

I turned around, and looked down the mountainside – I could see so much of the city from here – and I was just in time to see the whole city go dark in patches. The train stopped with a squeal and hiss of hydraulic brakes, and then everything was quiet.  I looked at the train and saw people in the glow of their phones, some pressing against the windows to see outside.  A city-wide blackout. Continue reading “Paranormal Activity”

Impression

‘Camping’

This is the second story in what I call the ‘Soul’ series, based on artwork by Kleg.(DeviantArt)

Artwork:RV, by Kleg(DeviantArt)

Original

The RV – and me, laying on top of it – came into sight on the laptop’s screen as I piloted the drone up the hillside.  My fingers danced over the keyboard, angling the camera to keep the RV in view.  I eased the drone into the corridor that the road carved through the forest, and had it shed altitude as it closed in for a landing.  As it settled to the roof beside me, I saw myself through the drone’s camera, shadowed but illuminated by the laptop’s screen.  I smiled to see myself, and I watched my lips twitch into a smile.  I’d never quite get used to that.  I turned onto my side to dismounting the camera from the drone, connecting it to my laptop.  I heard the ping that indicated the footage was downloading. Continue reading “Impression”

Inseparable

Hello, sister.