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Christopher
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Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296
Purgatorial Incarceration

0 posted 2001-03-03 07:44 PM


Author's Note:

Nothing lengthy this time! This is a second "part" the the not-too-short-story Inspiring the Lost. The first part can be found here: /pip/Forum15/HTML/001049.html And you're likely to want to read it first.

In this part I've tried to "mature" the writing a little bit from the lighthearted tone of the first part. This is intentional. What we're seeing is the progression from a virtually carefree existence to one of trial and tribulation. We see the infuence of our group of friends affecting Bran not only in manner but in his thinking. And, not least of all, we see more of the story develop.

C

Inspiring the Lost – Part Two: Circle of Friends
©2001 Christopher Ward


“Is he ok?”

Bran heard the supple voice through a dense haze surrounding him like a scarcely remembered nightmare. The first thing he recognized was the comfort he felt at not being alone. As long as there were others nearby he would be fine. Wondered next if he were dead, but decided against it when he began to feel his feet. Trying to shake his head following those realizations he discovered that he couldn’t find it – his head. His whole body seemed disassociated from the neck down to the shoulders up.

“I think he’ll be fine,” another voice responded to the first; deeper and seemingly abashed. “…It was just a shock.”

“Jonathan!” the first voice admonished. “If I’ve told you once… Look, she may be a great friend and all, but most people don’t know that. To them, it’s death to stare into the eyes of a panther. Remember how badly we reacted when you two started wrestling in Quintarrou? And we already knew she was your friend. Imagine someone who doesn’t know that. At the least,” she concluded in the same angry tone. “You owe him an apology.”

Bran didn’t hear Jonathan’s mumbled response. He was too busy trying to find a vertical position that would reduce the buzzing in his brain. Though he’d never actually seen magic, he’d heard about it in stories and such. He imagined the forces surrounding someone who was working a spell must feel similar to the ones which seemed to be pressing his ears into his head. Forcing his eyes to roll back from beneath the lids, he focused on where he was. The last thing he remembered was the deadly panther smiling, then staring directly at him…

He sprang upward in a fit of panic. Startling those around him, he flashed his attention back and forth across the clearing. Interrupting him, three people (was the old man still rummaging through his pack?) knelt beside his sitting body giving words of comfort and encouragement.

“The panther?” He questioned, trying to fend off comforting hands. Before anyone could respond he saw it sitting off to the side, next to the old man who was poring over a large scroll. She, the panther, appeared to be sleeping.

Despite this revelation, he tried to scramble backward.

Jonathan forced him to turn attention away from the cat.

“I’m sorry Bran. I should have told you. I knew it was her you saw in the bushes, and I thought I’d just have a little fun with you.” He glanced at Arianna, then back at Bran. “I’m sorry – I should have thought it out before I did that. I forget what other people think. Linden,” he said, pointing at the sleeping cat. “Is my friend. Contrary to the legends, it is not death to stare into her eyes as long as you too are a friend. She’s never hurt anyone who wasn’t trying to hurt myself or one of our friends. I swear.”

The tall man waited patiently while Bran stole glances at the other two, and at the panther in between. He was still frightened, but not quite as badly as before. Warily, he nodded at Jonathan and stood up.

“If you say so sir.”

Jonathan smiled and patted him on the back. He then did the last thing Bran wanted: He called Linden over.

The black cat leisurely rose, stretching powerful muscles as she commenced yawning with a maw full of sharp, feline teeth. Standing, she then walked in their direction. Bran tried to press himself away, his mind arguing over whether to run or cower. But the tree behind him and strong hands on either side prevented him from doing either.

It wasn’t that she was necessarily menacing. But those large, sharp teeth and huge padded paws gave her an air of unmistakable power. And Bran knew as well as anyone in Leafwood that power was equal to danger. To him, that meant the panther was dangerous. If not for the three at his side, Bran would have fainted again. Instead, he shivered as the panther came up to him and sniffed his leg.

Bran’s father also told him that power kept in check could also be of great benefit, and those wielding it great friends. Tentatively, he reached a hand in the air before her nose, trying in vain to keep it from trembling.

Linden sniffed gently and nodded. Without warning, she shifted her considerable weight, standing on hind legs and resting her paws on his chest. While not crushing, the burden was still alarming. She brought her nose within a hair’s breadth of Bran’s and sniffed once.

Bran looked beseechingly at the others through the corners of his eyes, keeping his head perfectly still so as not to disturb the cat. Now that his initial fear was fading he was becoming more fascinated with the animal. But not so much so that he was comfortable having her hot breath on his face.

Jonathan laughed, putting a hand on Linden’s neck. “Come on girl, leave the poor boy alone. I think he’s had enough excitement for one day.” Again, Linden smiled. Turning from Jonathan – whom she’d paused to look at - she faced the young man again and swiped a prickly tongue over his face. Despite his new appreciation of the panther, Bran felt his knees start to give way. They firmed only when she pressed away from him and settled back to the ground.

Bran was sure he could feel the earth tremble beneath his feet. Either that, or he was shaking so much he couldn’t tell the difference.

“I think she likes you!” Jonathan announced with an infectious laugh.

Soon they were all chuckling, even Bran – though he didn’t’ tell Jonathan that he hoped Linden didn’t like him… for lunch. Instead, he dusted his shirt off the best he could and followed the others back toward their little camp.

He did the best he could to avoid the large cat, giving her a wide berth. A few steps and he remembered his lunch pack. He ran to the bushes to retrieve it. Pausing a moment on his knees, he cast a glance at the group to verify that all five were there, and then quickly rejoined them.

“Jonathan?”

The large man nodded, his full attention on the cold bread and cheese in his hands. The others, with the exception of Koreth were likewise involved. Bran noticed Linden’s ears perked and her tail twitching back and forth in an agitated motion, her attention on the forest behind the immediate brush.

“Are there any more friends of yours waiting in the woods?” He asked hopefully.

Jonathan’s brows furrowed, as he finally looked at the young man. “No,” he drawled. “Why?”

Bran sighed a weary sigh. Internally he repeatedly kept asking why today had to be one of those days. “Because,” he explained. “ There’s more rustling in the forest. I think Linden hears something too.” He pointed at the large cat who was even now sitting up. A low rumble issued from somewhere deep within.

It was definitely a menacing growl.

Bran had to wonder how he could have mistaken her earlier behavior as threatening. Though he wasn’t the target of attention, he could feel the heat of danger exuding from the giant panther.

Jonathan closed his eyes a brief moment while patting the great cat’s neck. Bran was poised to comment on the inactivity when the man stood swiftly and began pointing at people, following with issued directions.

In moments, all was cleared and they were heading deep into the forest in the direction opposite the disturbance. Much to his gratitude, they never questioned Bran joining them.

As if sensing the alarm of its human guests, the trees appeared to pull back from the group, opening pathways on which they could travel. Though Bran had spent his entire life in Leafwood and knew the forest well, some of the paths they began following were unknown to him. Even the dense foliage overhead, resplendent in its normally bright hues, seemed to take on a darker pallor. Trees now fit in crimson shades of dusk spoke in caresses of concern and haste. Bushes that were normally a cheery lime now clustered tightly in small groups of cowardice and pitch.

The six walked swiftly, but in silence.

Bran ached to ask what was going on, but refused to be the first one to break the quiet. The speedy actions of the group led him to the immediate conclusion that this was something wholly familiar to them.

Once they were wholly away from the clearing, Jonathan nudged close to Bran. Looking directly at him, the man mouthed the word “town,” then lifted his hands in question. Instinctively, Bran gauged direction. Though the forest seemed odd to him, he was still able to recognize landmarks. After a few tense but brief moments, he pointed out the direction.

Then tugged on Jonathan’s shirt when he turned the opposite direction. The tall man shook him off, but Bran persisted. Jonathan paused and whispered in his ear so quietly that he almost couldn’t hear. “Do you really want to lead danger to your doorstep?”

Bran nodded hesitantly. There was merit in Jonathan’s words, but the young man knew he’d feel more comfortable within the safety of his hometown. Though brinked at the chasm between being a boy and a man, he desperately wanted his mother at the moment. Even so, he followed the group, finding himself in between Jonathan and the smaller of the Kalornians, Kevin. That worthy kept flashing distracted, yet reassuring grins at him.

The silence of the woods began to press in around the group. First the birds stopped chirping, even though this time was usually when they were at their most raucous. Next, the sounds of other animals dwindled. Next, the insects began to fade away, until one determined cricket played its rebellious tune to spite the quiet of the rest. In the end, it too disappeared, leaving only the padding of the group’s footsteps to echo through the trees.

Despite this ill omen, Bran was beginning to become hopeful that they’d escaped attention when a loud whistle pierced the still air nearby.

In an eye-blink’s time, the four surrounded him and had weapons drawn. They pooled a circle, with each facing a different direction. Bran wished desperately that he could do something, find some measure of protection. It was then that he noticed the large cat next to him, growling deeply at the unseen menace. Though not as good as his mother’s arms, Bran felt some small comfort at the panther’s presence.

With a tentative hand, he pet the animal’s neck. It was more for his reassurance than hers, but Bran sensed appreciation rolling off her dark features. With a grateful smile, the young man shaded his eyes and looked into the dwindling daylight at the hazy forest surrounding them. All was still and nothing stirred.

They came out of the dense silence as thunder crashes the heavens.

From all sides, seemingly hundreds of small, green men flooded into the party. Each wore a black headband and nothing else, their hairy, unkempt bodies flashing grotesque parodies of man. Long fingers with ragged nails clung with undeniable surety to the hafts of wooden clubs – each end spiked with sharp nails. Bran felt his stomach flip when he saw that on many of the spikes were ragged chunks of flesh, some old, some new – all appearing human.

Then things were moving so fast that Bran could do nothing more than allow himself to be dragged along with the tide of the group. The four seemed to flow as a single unit, each guarding the others’ backs while fending off, and often killing the attackers. Blood and offal overwhelmed the young man’s senses and he felt himself drifting away into a maelstrom of stench and terror.

But each time he began to falter, Linden was there, prodding him on and propping him up. She would nuzzle him or push him, whichever the situation demanded. In either case, she remained by his side until he followed.

A mottled hand reached through a brief break in the party’s defense. Olive and palsied, it stretched to grab Bran by his hair. It retreated immediately, as sharp claws raked triple marks of carmine pain across the gangrenous flesh. Though it did him no harm, Bran found he was becoming more aware; found himself waking from the shock-induced trance.

He stepped on an arm. Looking down, he noticed that while it held a club, it wasn’t attached to a body. Unthinkingly, he swiped the club; doing his best to ignore the disembodied member and the ragged, bloody flesh at the end opposite the fingers.

Immediately he felt better, the weapon giving him a sense of security. It didn’t allow the illusion that he was competent in its use, or in any less danger. What it did though was to allow some measure of control over his destiny. Now, it was no longer solely in the hands of those around him. This simple fact, minor in reality, meant a world of difference to the young man on the receiving end.

Bran was positive he was going to be required to test this measure of control for many moments. The group seemed hard pressed and even the young man’s inexperienced eye could see that the four were slowing.

Jonathan still swung his giant sword in sweeping arcs, damaging or destroying everything green – trees and goblins alike. But the height of the arcs were decreasing and more and the clubs were coming in closer. Arianna too swung a sword, though she was now using it solely as a defensive weapon. Kevin had a sword in one hand and a long, thin dagger in the other. He used the knife to parry and the sword to kill. He seemed proficient with both, though several streaks of blood on the small man’s face showed that he too was tiring. Koreth didn’t have a sword. Instead, the stout old man carried a heavy staff, which he swung about with abandon. Though not as deadly as a sword, the staff did serve to knock back any creature foolish enough to get too close. Now, it was serving to push away the encroaching creatures in an attempt to keep them at bay.

More and more, hands were reaching through their defenses and Bran found himself swinging the club in the narrow confines of his position in the circle. In the back of his mind, Bran felt revulsion for having to take life. His conscience tried to tell him it was defense, that they were nothing more than monsters. But he felt heavy with the weight of the goblins’ blood – it tried to drag him into the abyss of self-loathing. Thankfully, what the other goblins saw were the results – and they were more wary when approaching him. This gave him enough time to dance around his angst and push it aside for a time when he could better meditate on it – if it failed to resolve itself sub-consciously.

A loud horn sounded through the forest, the edge of night riding on a note. Bran and the goblins turned in the direction of the sound. Peripherally, Bran was grateful to note that none of the others turned toward the echo. Instead, they used to opportunity to increase their attack, forcing the goblins to turn their attention back to the group.

At this time, there were perhaps two-dozen of the gangly creatures left. All the rest were dead, dying, or unconscious. So far the group had managed to maintain with its original members. When Bran saw his father leading a group of men into view, he was sure that they would all make it. It was his father; of course he was safe.

Caught between the hammer – Jonathan, Arianna, Kevin and Koreth – and the anvil – Bran’s father and the group of townsmen with him – the goblins lost any semblance of order and began to run. But now they had nowhere to run. Instead, the remainder died at the hands of the hammer and the anvil.

In the moments following the last scream, the single cricket began to hum his tune. He was barely audible over the sound of heated breath, but was persistent. Soon, his brethren joined him, followed not too far by the birds. When the howl of a distant wolf echoed through the trees, Bran knew it was over.

“Thank you,” Bran’s father, Nessan, smiled at Jonathan. “With your help, we’ve killed them all.”

“All?” Jonathan laughed woodenly, wiping his bloody blade on the body of a fallen monster. “That was just a small advance scouting party. Likely it’s one of a dozen such parties and all ahead of a giant army filled with creatures worse than goblins. All?” he repeated, pausing to sheathe his sword. “No, I guarantee there are more out there. A lot more.”

Bran suddenly realized that he felt like crying.

© Copyright 2001 C.G. Ward - All Rights Reserved
Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187
St. Paul, MN
1 posted 2001-03-04 12:52 PM


Totally awesome addition to your story, Chris. The added maturity of Bran especially was especially welcome. I already like Linden's character... LOL. Now I just need to wait for part three...

And I found a few mistakes

"Wondered next if he were dead, but decided against it when he began to feel his feet." I think this sentence needs a subject, LOL

"With a tentative hand, he pet the animal’s neck." I think "pet" needs to be in the past tense.


"And every state of mind, left to itself, every shutting up of the creature within the dungeon of its own mind - is, in the end, Hell" - C.S. Lewis

Skyfyre
Senior Member
since 1999-08-15
Posts 1906
Sitting in Michael's Lap
2 posted 2001-03-06 02:30 AM


Hey there mister.  

Not too sure about the wisdom of mentioning the "death to look into a panther's eyes" bit twice here ... like the boy who cried wolf, it loses power with repetition.  I think it would be easier to edit out of Arianna's admonition than Jonathan's apology, if you want my opinion (and you know you do – *g*).

"The last thing he remembered was the deadly panther smiling, then staring directly at him…" (pgph 5)

Don't like "deadly panther" here.  In fact, I think you're wearing the poor species name out.  Use "cat," "beast," "feline" ... I'm sure you can come up with a few others as well.  Unfortunately for you, ‘panther' is not a commonplace enough word to bear repeated use in such close proximity.  

"Jonathan forced him to turn attention away from the cat. "

How dare you leave this sentence flapping and forlorn like this when it could very easily (and effectively) be used as the first sentence of the following paragraph??  Sentences are people too ...  

"
Linden sniffed gently and nodded. Without warning, she shifted her considerable weight, standing on hind legs and resting her paws on his chest. While not crushing, the burden was still alarming. She brought her nose within a hair's breadth of Bran's and sniffed once.

Bran looked beseechingly at the others through the corners of his eyes, keeping his head perfectly still so as not to disturb the cat"


LMAO – would you believe I have actually seen this happen?  When I worked at the wildlife center, that is ... and it was a golden panther, not a huge black one, but hey ... the look on his face was priceless!! Very good word choice with "beseechingly" ...  

"Then tugged on Jonathan's shirt when he turned the opposite direction"

Nope.  Shame on you.  

"Bran felt his stomach flip when he saw that on many of the spikes were ragged chunks of flesh, some old, some new"

Chunks?  CHUNKS?? *shaking head*

"Blood and offal overwhelmed the young man's senses and he felt himself drifting away into a maelstrom of stench and terror"


Methinks "drifting away" is a bit too peaceable for this particular scene ... "thrust into a maelstrom ..." perhaps...?

"Olive and palsied, it stretched to grab Bran by his hair. It retreated immediately, as sharp claws raked triple marks of carmine pain across the gangrenous flesh."

Make one sentence out of this: "stretched to grab Bran by his hair, but retreated immediately as sharp claws raked triple marks of (no carmine, please) pain ..."

". This gave him enough time to dance around his angst and push it aside for a time when he could better meditate on it – if it failed to resolve itself sub-consciously."

Drop the last clause here.  You're thinking too much.

"Caught between the hammer – Jonathan, Arianna, Kevin and Koreth – and the anvil – Bran's father and the group of townsmen with him – the goblins lost any semblance of order and began to run. But now they had nowhere to run. Instead, the remainder died at the hands of the hammer and the anvil."

Try "attempted to escape" instead of "began to run" in the first sentence, thereby avoiding the repetition of "run"so close.  You might shorten the second sentence, too: "There was nowhere to run."  Drop the "instead" in the third sentence and do not under any circumstances consider keeping the reiteration of the hammer-and-anvil analogy.  Once is good; twice is tacky.

"In the moments following the last scream, the single cricket began to hum his tune. He was barely audible over the sound of heated breath, but was persistent. Soon, his brethren joined him, followed not too far by the birds."

The birds were humming, too?  

""Thank you," Bran's father, Nessan, smiled at Jonathan. "With your help, we've killed them all."

"Killed them all" is yaaaaaaawn.  Might work better as "Without your help, we might not have (caught, gotten) them all."

And lastly, just a bit of finger-shaking from the sword-owning part of me ... how dare Jonathan sheathe his blade without pausing to wipe the gore on the decimated corpse of one of those little beasties??    


Despite all my nitpicking, though, I enjoyed this immensely.  Don't know what I'm going to do if you ever learn to pay attention to detail ... I might be forced to simply sit back and enjoy!!


Linda


Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612
Hurricane Alley
3 posted 2001-03-07 08:50 PM



I loved it!!! And the critiques..they are as much fun as your story.

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