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Just Plain Old Fiction

Fiction

This is an experiment. I write fiction. These are and will be incomplete stories or novels or whatever. I might turn them into novels or short stories or whatever. I might not. Don’t call them your own. I am the author and I can prove it. Otherwise, enjoy them, if you can.

The Last Of An Eastern Empire

The ambassador from J’yonell walked into the room. His gold and black cloak flowed around him. The hood was pushed back, informally. The shell pink and pearl of the walls around him made made him almost look like a bee about to take nectar from a flower. He walked to where the governess sat at the table and leaned and whispered in her ear. The young woman got up and walked out of the room. The ambassador bowed and said “Your majesty, it is most urgent that I speak with you about . . .”

“I am with my child, Rugour. Can’t it wait?” His Majesty, Royal Emperor of The Eastern Kingdoms, was sitting, hunched over, at a small table. Beside him, his five year old daughter was furiously painting a large sheet of paper. She was painting it pink. Pink — shell pink — was her favorite color.

The ambassador shivered and shook his head. Pink was his least favorite color. “No, your Highness. This cannot wait. I must speak to you imm. . .” The man had begun to say the word “immediately” when he suddenly found himself out of breath. There was a sharp pain which rose up from his chest to his throat. He fell to his knees and turned quickly away from the table. He vomited violently.

The Emperor stood and looked around him, quickly pulling his daughter to him. The ambassador’s dying form convulsed and blood began to stream from his ears. “Olinshev! Come quickly!” There was no immediate response to the Emperor’s cries and he felt a surge of panic well up in him. He had to get his daughter out of this room. Hide her. Get her to safety.

He started toward the outer door but a sound from the hall outside made him turn. “Olinshev! What have you done?”

“Only what I must.” Olinshev, the High Practitioner, answered his Emperor from the other side of the door. “Your family must not reign for one more generation. It is The Vision. It is The Truth. It means The End if you continue. You will not continue.”

While the Practitioner spoke outside the door, the Emperor was hurrying. Two tiles on the far wall, in the corner, hid a tunnel. These tunnels went all throughout the palace. He had played there as a boy many times. He struggled to pull the tiles out as he could hear the man outside the door building a powerful spell.

“Lishea. My darling. You must listen to me. You must go. Stay inside the tunnels.” He handed her her study bag. “Use your powers to get food and drink, if you must. Stay inside the tunnels, as deep as you can, until you can no longer sense danger. Use your powers. I will try to . . . survive this. You must survive. When it is safe for you to come out, look for Attere. You know him. He will hide you and keep you safe if I can not.”

“But Papa . . .”The Emperor could hear the power behind the door growing in intensity, in a moment the spell would be finished and it would do its worst. “You must go. Be good. I love you.” He put the tiles back in place and rushed to the center of the room.

There was a pen lying on the table, and he scribbled something quickly on the paper that the child had been painting on. The pink paint was thick and he had to go over what he had written a second time. Just as he finished, before he had even a chance to set the pen down, the far wall disappeared and he was staring into the crazed face of his own High Practioner.

Olinshev, glanced around the room and grimaced, “Where is the girl?” It was a question he knew the Emperor would never answer. He touched his hands together and a great blinding light flew from where the palms touched. The light reached the Emperor just as he slammed his hand against the table over the words that he had written on the paper. He was gone.

Olinshev rushed into the room and looked down at the paper. “No! Not that!” He grabbed the paper and tore it into shreds. “Where is that girl?” He shook his head. He would find her. It was only a matter of time. He would build the most powerful search spell and loose it into the palace, across the country-side, into the whole world if he had to. That child must die.

“I am with my child, Rugour. Can’t it wait?” His Majesty, Royal Emperor of The Eastern Kingdoms, was sitting, hunched over, at a small table. Beside him, his five year old daughter was furiously painting a large sheet of paper. She was painting it pink. Pink — shell pink — was her favorite color.

The ambassador shivered and shook his head. Pink was his least favorite color. “No, your Highness. This cannot wait. I must speak to you imm. . .” The man had begun to say the word “immediately” when he suddenly found himself out of breath. There was a sharp pain which rose up from his chest to his throat. He fell to his knees and turned quickly away from the table. He vomited violently.

The Emperor stood and looked around him, quickly pulling his daughter to him. The ambassador’s dying form convulsed and blood began to stream from his ears. “Olinshev! Come quickly!” There was no immediate response to the Emperor’s cries and he felt a surge of panic well up in him. He had to get his daughter out of this room. Hide her. Get her to safety.

He started toward the outer door but a sound from the hall outside made him turn. “Olinshev! What have you done?”

“Only what I must.” Olinshev, the High Practitioner, answered his Emperor from the other side of the door. “Your family must not reign for one more generation. It is The Vision. It is The Truth. It means The End if you continue. You will not continue.”

While the Practitioner spoke outside the door, the Emperor was hurrying. Two tiles on the far wall, in the corner, hid a tunnel. These tunnels went all throughout the palace. He had played there as a boy many times. He struggled to pull the tiles out as he could hear the man outside the door building a powerful spell.

“Lishea. My darling. You must listen to me. You must go. Stay inside the tunnels.” He handed her her study bag. “Use your powers to get food and drink, if you must. Stay inside the tunnels, as deep as you can, until you can no longer sense danger. Use your powers. I will try to . . . survive this. You must survive. When it is safe for you to come out, look for Attere. You know him. He will hide you and keep you safe if I can not.”

“But Papa . . .”The Emperor could hear the power behind the door growing in intensity, in a moment the spell would be finished and it would do its worst. “You must go. Be good. I love you.” He put the tiles back in place and rushed to the center of the room.

There was a pen lying on the table, and he scribbled something quickly on the paper that the child had been painting on. The pink paint was thick and he had to go over what he had written a second time. Just as he finished, before he had even a chance to set the pen down, the far wall disappeared and he was staring into the crazed face of his own High Practioner.

Olinshev, glanced around the room and grimaced, “Where is the girl?” It was a question he knew the Emperor would never answer. He touched his hands together and a great blinding light flew from where the palms touched. The light reached the Emperor just as he slammed his hand against the table over the words that he had written on the paper. He was gone.

Olinshev rushed into the room and looked down at the paper. “No! Not that!” He grabbed the paper and tore it into shreds. “Where is that girl?” He shook his head. He would find her. It was only a matter of time. He would build the most powerful search spell and loose it into the palace, across the country-side, into the whole world if he had to. That child must die.