An Unfinished Short Story

Sometime perhaps at the onset of this year there was a short story competition (I don't recall who was running it) with a cash prize, and I began to write something that took place in a dark and epic fantasy world I had shelved for some time. Unfortunately, as I was working out the details of what would have been a slightly complicated short, I realized that the competition was specifically looking for uplifting, hopeful stories, and this one was not that. I used that as an excuse to move on and worry about more pressing projects.

The other day I was flipping through my shelved projects and reread what I had for this short story, and decided I may as well throw up the opening scene onto the blog, and maybe one day I will return to its world and finish it.

Anyway, here it is:

It was the incessant gurgling below that opened the eyes of Noapra. She blinked rapidly, the scene within the darkness coming to light. It was slow and irregular, dripping from each body in its own, twisted rhythm. The victims’ moans and cries overlapped one another, and weaker still— beyond the pained— were the voices of those most gone: loopers, still-babbling as madly as the day they were caught.

“Thisss way,” one whispered repeatedly. “Thisss way home.”

The strays and loopers hung from chains, hooks driven into their skin. Bloodmoths feasted, their bodies glowing red as they greedily drank their share. The blood from their open wounds vanished into the drain at the bottom of the Charnel Sump.

The metallic smell in the air was sweet, and just as the satisfaction hit her nostrils, so to, did her own pain settle into place. The splintered wood of the stake, digging in her back, the chains that bit into her wrists, the burn of her shoulders from the strain, and feet numb from hanging.

She could sense something plastered to the left side of her face, followed by a dull ache at the tip of her ear. The realization of what had been done nearly stole the breath from her lungs.

I’ve been clipped.

She had been branded a criminal, and would be so forever more. She looked about, seeing no other stakes above the Sump. Beyond the darkness were other pits, their own songs of torture and madness ringing out into the eternally dark sky of Umbrath. Far off into the shadows, a city of dark spires and bloodlights stood. Far, far away.

Am I to hang here until death?

Staking was a punishment done within the City, so why was she out amongst the Sumps? Why was she left alive and exposed to the horrors on the border’s edge? She could see its dark trees, as dead as everything in Umbrath, and the sharp and jagged rocks. Her eyes got lost in their mystery, and soon she was imagining things told to her from kin— of leaves, herbs that grow from the ground, and soft greens that tickled your feet. All in Waldara, where the Elyndorn’s had green eyes and could change nature with song.

There was no time to count. Umbrath never saw light, and so she hung on the Night God’s hour, her conscious fleeting until it wasn’t, and her restraints were loose, and her body falling to the dirt edge of the Sump.

She laid on the cold earth, her eyes seeing only the pointed boots before her face, her mouth sucking in dirt with each breath. A hand jerked her to her feet, and its owner made a sound of frustration as she did little to help carry her weight.

Another set of hands came to support, and soon her feet were dragging across the land, feeling nothing but the agony of the blood rushing back into her veins. Her lids were heavy, but she could see them, the two Guards, with their arched helmets and the glow of their red eyes.

“What did you do, Night Sister?” One of them asked. A cart appeared from within the dark, and they all but tossed her onto the back.

What did I do? She could hardly imagine a thing, her head so clouded, and all that did come to mind was incomprehensible. Voices she knew but could not name in that moment, faces that hurt to imagine, and disappointment. The feeling was overwhelming, as if she had just unearthed a wound deep, pulling it back to devour her once more.

She stared up at the empty sky, wincing at every bump, the soft conversation of the guards flowing in and out of earshot. Her entire body was alight with pain— burning, pulsing, agonizing pain. So severe, that she could not move, could not think. She simply stared upwards, a silent plea to the Night God to bring an end to her misery.

The Throats of Umbrath encompassed her vision— each entrance into the Kingdom carved into black stone, narrow at the onset and widening out as one navigated its dark passage towards the City.

The air was warmer within, the smell thick with copper and dirt. The roads were narrow, lined by buildings that could not breathe, and beyond poked dark towers climbing the sky towards the overlooking Castle. They pulled her to her feet, ushering her forward.

I’m shaking.

Looking down at her manacled hands, the realization that fear had overtaken her body left her only confused. Worse yet, her breathing had gone shallow as the Guards dragged her down the dirtied road.

Noapra’s eyes settled upon whispers to her left. A small building stood, Guards out front, and a group of travelers preparing to leave watched her with uncomfortable intensity. She could not hear what words left their mouths, but the sight of the large disc in their hands— stone, freshly stained by glowing blood— had her lurching towards them, her hands reaching out as if a desperate attempt to grab someone or something.

Her mouth moved, a croaked voice barely escaping as words she did not know fought for release. She had fallen to her knees, and the Travelers reeled back in freight, staring down at her as if she were crazy.

Why? What is this feeling?

The Guards yanked her to her feet, smacking her head with enough force to bring ringing to the one ear. She followed them by foot now, suddenly renewed with energy as her head nearly turned fully around to stare back at them. The disc was important. The sight of it had lit something within her, but she couldn’t remember—

A face caught her eye. A familiar one, young and thin, red eyes narrowing back as it regarded her curiously.

“I know her!” she tried to scream, but her words came out garbled and she was shoved forward once more.

“Enough, Criminal Scum,” A Guard warned.

Street crowds parted as they went, and Noapra felt herself become lost in the rows of burning red flames that lit the way up the ascending road. The crimson shade across the City made her hunger lash out. Her stomach was a pit far deeper than the Charnel Sump, and she couldn’t answer when her last meal had been.

“…See the way she lept for it?” The hushed words of the Guards drew her ears.

“As gone as the others.”

“Gone?” Did they hear her question? Was her voice too weak? She did not receive a response, let alone a reaction.

“It’s the Token,” one continued, “The sight of one must have awoken something.”

The Token. The disc the travelers had held.

Yes.

She could feel the words were true. She had reacted to the sight of it. A God Token, she recalled, used to allow safe passage through borders. It felt as if air had returned to her body as she latched onto the memory. She had held a token once— but what for? Had she been a trader prior to losing her memory? Were those thoughts of other lands memories of places she had truly been?

Noapra began to study her surroundings more closely as she limped and staggered along. She knew she was home. Everything about Umbrath made sense to her. The Night Elves. Their skin was gray, and eyes red as the blood they drank. They never saw sunlight, and the Night God kept them safe from the horrors that surrounded Elyndor.

Her back straightened a little, finding new strength in her legs. One Guard looked back, the swooped back-point of his helmet nearly taking her eye out as she collided into the back of him.

“By the Night, watch it,” he spat at her. He looked at the other. “Hard to imagine she ever made it back.”

“Where?” This they heard, sparing her another glance as they took their first steps onto the winding stairs that lead to the Castle.

“What are you babbling about now?”

The Guard to her front-left shook his head, staring at her with eyes that lacked the other’s anger. “Aye, Night Sister, best you hold tongue as we enter the Lair of the Night Queen.”

Noapra did so, turning her mind over and over, failing to get through the wall that had become her memory.