Today's word was suggested by my mother who I think decided to scupper me by giving me 'lamp shade' which then got the random genre 'fantasy'. That's right. A fantasy lamp shade. I've done my best!
So, ladies and gentlemen, I give you - "The God Stone".
Tomorrow's word is 'beekeeping' (as suggested by my father) and the random genre is 'science fiction' - finally a genre I'm comfortable writing! Disclaimer: this does not mean the story will have fewer grammatical slips than normal.
If any more of my blog readers want to suggest a word, I'll write you a story too! (as always, the genre will get randomly picked out of a list).
PS: If Peter Jackson reads this, I am more than happy for you to turn this 1,700 word fantasy story into an epic trilogy. Message me and we'll discuss terms.
The God Stone
The
pressure of people at the tower's gates was building and soon the dam
would rupture and sweep them away. Oona was too high up the tower to
hear the exact words of the rally's speaker, but the tone was all too
obvious: aggressive, strident, angry. Just like the speaker, she
thought. It was tempting to lean just a little further out of the
window to hear what lies were being peddled this time, but it was a
long way down to the ground and there was nothing more that the crowd
would like than to see one of the Lamp Lighters dash their brains out
on the cobbles below. That was the genius of Mayor Wulf: he'd taken
the nagging fears of ordinary people, exaggerated them out of all
proportion and given them a target for their terror. He was trying to
bottle their lightning and he didn't care who died in the process.
That
was probably the outcome anyway, she thought, once the townsfolk
plucked up enough courage to tear the gates down. Theoretically, the
person of a Lamp Lighter was inviolable but she didn't care to test
that with an angry mob. Mayor Wulf had whipped them up into such a
frenzy that anything was possible, even from such a usually placid
bunch. They thought of themselves as Crusaders first now and citizens
only second.
She
retreated inside to the cool intellect of the tower. Master Jacob was
in his office, giving a few last instructions to his personal
attendants, principally which secret passages would lead out of the
tower quickest, how to collapse them safely and who to turn to once
the Order was destroyed. They bowed respectfully and shuffled
backwards out of the office. Oona waited until their footsteps had
returned to a more regular pattern and entered the office herself.
“You
stupid old man!” she shouted, slamming the door shut behind her.
Jacob
sighed wearily and dropped his ceremonial hood, revealing pale skin
and eyes with almost translucent blue corneas. Everything about him
had bled colour over the years.
“I'll
ignore that,” he said mildly. “It's behaviour unbecoming of
someone I've raised to be my successor.”
Oona
gestured at the window.
“So
if I behave, I'll be the Master of an institution that won't exist in
twenty minutes,” she said, mouth a cold slash across her face.
Jacob
shrugged.
“If
the mob kills me before you, you'll have the distinction of being the
last Master of the Order.”
Oona
glared at him. Over the months of his tutelage, her respect for the
old man had slowly transmuted into disdain for his lack of energy,
his lack of vision and, above all, his lack of urgency in confronting
Wulf. For his own part, Jacob knew that she hated him, but didn't
care enough to do anything about it any more.
“I'll
check the God Stone,” she snapped and stomped out of the room.
Jacob remained seated, raised up his obsidian letter opener and
started carefully picking under his fingernails.
With
its usual attendants gone, there was no-one to complete the Ritual of
the Evening. In her heart, Oona secretly wondered whether the God
Stone actually needed all of the pomp and ceremony surrounding it or
whether it would shine on regardless.
It
was shining as brightly today as it ever did and that reddish
radiance filled the room like a warm bath before surging out of the
chamber's glass walls and out over the land below. Oona genuflected
and skipped and hopped and span across the sacred sigils painted on
the floor in the prescribed sequence, all the while singing the Song
of the Evening with the note-perfect accuracy of a true believer. She
absolutely did not look at her lack of a shadow or how bleached the
neon colours of the sigils had become.
Jacob
drummed his fingers on his desk and thought about Oona. Clearly, the
mob would soon break down the gates and kill them both. There would
be regret and sadness about murdering Lamp Lighters, but only after
they'd both been torn apart by wild beasts with human faces. The
logical conclusion then? Though Jacob prided himself on many things,
it was his logical facilities that he prided himself on most. The
logical conclusion was to open the gates voluntarily before the crowd
reached peak hysteria and just give them the God Stone – it would
fatally disrupt their momentum and, maybe, the shock would allow he
and Oona to walk out to freedom. The only problem was that Oona was a
true believer – a zealot really – and if the sacred texts said
that the God Stone couldn't be used for evil, she'd happily die
trying to stop a mob of thousands.
Maybe
she could be persuaded. Wulf might or might not be evil, but his
followers were just townsfolk scared of the dark.
A
roar of approval rose outside, so strong that Jacob heard it through
his closed window. It wouldn't be long now. Maybe it would be best
not to tell her his plan at all. The God Stone might illuminate the
whole world – except the Shaded Lands, of course – but it was
very small. A man could slip it into his robe pocket, if he was quick
and careful.
Jacob
stood stiffly and limped down the corridor to the God Stone's
chamber.
When
he entered, Oona had already finished the Ritual of Evening and was
stood at the windows at the far end, looking out. Jacob slowly
crossed the floor, carefully navigating around the God Stone. There
had been a time, back when he'd been a young angry acolyte like Oona,
when it had made his skin prickle with its ethereal radiation
whenever he'd been in its presence. The sensation had diminished over
the years, like his hair colour.
It
really wasn't much to look at: a grape-sized lump of dark metallic
rock, uneven in shape and etched with tiny red letters, levitating
itself a few inches above an ornate iron stand. Strange to think
something so small could light up the entire world.
When
Jacob reached Oona, he saw that she was looking up at the sky, rather
than down at the angry crowd.
“The
ancient texts speak of lights in the sky,” he said
conversationally. “Tiny points and a single giant fire, long burned
out through mankind's sin. Children's stories probably.”
Oona
gritted her teeth and didn't reply.
“Look,”
he said, trying again. “Wulf might be Mayor of the Wick today, but
he's just a man. The God Stone is forever. Whatever evil he does, it
is ephemeral and so is he. 'Wherever the God Stone lays, there will
be light also'.”
Oona
looked down at the crowd, now starting to surge towards the gates
leading to the tower. They were tall and very strong, but not
invulnerable.
“Book
of the Dawn, chapter three, verse two,” she replied leadenly. “But
doesn't the Book also say 'The land was divided into the Light and
the Dark and each had its own people, who lived in peace together yet
separate.' Book of the Day, chapter four, verse four.”
Jacob
cursed to himself. The last thing he needed now was an argument over
scripture, especially when he'd not read the dratted Books for years.
Oona
finally turned her head and looked him square in the eyes. She saw a
frightened and lazy old man, someone who's faith had ossified a long
time ago. He saw an angry and naïve child, cloistered away from the
hard grind of life outside the order. There was very little time to
find common ground, to reach an agreement.
“Have
you ever been to the Shaded Lands, my apprentice?” he tried,
changing tack away from an argument over minutiae that he could never
win.
Oona
returned to looking out of the window, to looking down at the crowds.
It was obviously that she was already thinking about a heroic last
stand.
“I
did, a long time ago,” Jacob continued. “Missionary work isn't in
vogue any more...”
“Since
you became Master,” she said bitterly.
“With
reason,” he said evenly. “I led a party of missionaries from the
Wick towards one of the Shaded Lands. We camped by the Shield Wall
there to make a brief study of the holy runes on it. Did you know
that no-one knows understand why the Shield Walls are opaque to the
God Stone's light, but normal walls are transparent? It's why there
are any Shaded Lands at all. It...”
“It's
God's will,” Oona said.
“Yes,
but why are they the only things that block the light from the God
Stone? They were put there intentionally to create the Shaded Lands.
Think about it: someone intentionally built them! Studying...”
“It's
God's will,” Oona repeated flatly.
“Perhaps,”
Jacob conceded. “But that night, as we camped and prepared our
excursion into the Shaded Lands, a band of vampires raided around the
wall and murdered everyone but me. We'd arrived with the best of
intentions and left with one man, scarred by the death of his
comrades and spattered with their blood.”
“They're
altered humans,” Oona spat. “'Vampire' is a slur.”
Jacob
almost gave up then and there: if the only thing she took from that
story was a slur on altered humans, then there really was no hope for
her.
The
tower gates squealed as they buckled and fell. The crowd poured in.
It would take them time to beat down the main door: maybe a few more
minutes.
“Vampires
are not our friends: they are murderous, insatiably hungry fiends.
They are not people. Perhaps Wulf isn't wrong with all of his talk at
the town hall of a Crusade into the darkness. Maybe taking the God
Stone out into the darkness and using its light to burn every
abomination in the Shaded Lands isn't evil. Perhaps we should be
listening to our brothers and sisters in town and to our Mayor,
rather than ancient stories millennia old. Perhaps we need his
Crusade. How can we be safe until the light shines everywhere?”
It
was a desperate last gambit, Jacob realised, and it had failed almost
immediately. Oona looked at him like he was a weak old man, riddled
with doubt and compromise. It wasn't far from the truth, he admitted
sadly.
“Two
peoples living in peace,” she said, all rage now slowly subsumed as
if she'd come to a final decision. “That's what it says in the
Book. I will not abandon that because of fear: fear of the vampire or
fear of my own people. Everything has a right to live, even if we
fear it absolutely in our very marrow.”
With
a swift motion, she crossed to the God Stone, picked it up between
forefinger and thumb and swallowed it, just as hammering and shouting
came to the door of the chamber. Oona, for all of her anger, seemed
calm now, even relaxed.
“I
have my faith,” she said quietly. “What do you have?”
Reluctantly,
Jacob returned to his office, picked up his letter opener, tested the
edge with his thumb and joined her as the door burst open.
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