Trinkets

Part I:  Excerpts from the Tomes of Chaos

By Brian Marchetti

A shroud of fog and mist masked what lie beyond the edges of the ferry.  Even with his infravison, Harlan struggled to see even his own hands.  Perhaps if his blood were pure elven, he might observe more, but he doubted so.

The half-elf sat with his arms wrapped around his knees.  As the ferry swayed, Harlan’s stomach clenched.  He covered his mouth waiting for the urge to pass.  After a few deep breaths, his stomach settled.  He never fell ill to sea sickness before.  Maybe the poor visibility caused his unease.  Maybe it was something else.

The injuries about his body did little to calm his tension.  A gash above his eye finally stopped bleeding, but his chest and arms ached from fresh bruises.  Whatever that thing was they found in the depths of Seren Hold… Harlan had never seen such a monstrosity, a dead tree come to life.  He barely escaped with his life.  Unfortunately, that was not true for all in his company.

Harlan winced at the thought.  Hidden by the mists, the corpse of Jacq, a Paladin of Westfort, traveled the waters with him.  The man was a worthy warrior, a stalwart ally, and a close friend.

I failed him,

Harlan thought.  All the training, all my preparations, all in vain. 

 

He leaned forward, cupping his face in his hands.  His thick brownish-red beard felt sticky from the dried blood that coagulated in the tangle of hair.  The ferry lurched once more.  Harlan shot a hand down to steady himself.  His fingers brushed the leg of Jacq.  He snapped his hand back as if pulling it from boiling water.

Harlan’s mother often warned him of befriending humans.  “Their lives are too short,” she said.  “You will outlive them, as I outlived your father.”

But Jacq did not wither away from old age as Harlan’s human father.  Jacq just celebrated his twenty-seventh name day.  Even in the fleeting life-span of a human, that was too short.  He was robbed of decades, the glories of his order, a wife, children…  Harlan shut his eyes, but in the self-imposed darkness, the brown and green tendrils of that beast took hold and wrapped themselves around Jacq once more, squeezing the life from him.

Even after the creature was slain, the tendrils did not release.  While the others searched for what the magistrate had sent them there for, Harlan cut away the foliage wrapped around Jacq’s corpse.

The four surviving members of the company wrapped the body in linens and carried him to the ferry.  Jacq not only deserved a proper grave, but the order of Westfort demanded it.  Harlan meant to ensure that Jacq kept his oaths, even in death.

The ferry started to slow. Then stopped.  The fog relented, revealing the dark, muddy edges of the shore.

Harlan rose to his feet.  One of his company, a Halfling named Doyle, sprinted past to the shore.  His stubby legs churned with the effort.  The bottoms of his robes never touched the ground.  Harlan was uncertain if that was the result of expert tailoring, or one of Doyle’s spells.

“Help me with Jacq,” Harlan said over his shoulder to the other two remaining on the ferry.

“I’ve the chest,” Jesper said.  The man stood about a foot taller than Harlan, and just as thin.  His dark eyes were small and his nose too large for his face.  Back in Teryn, where Harlan and Jacq met Magistrate Oran, Jesper was in irons for thievery.  The magistrate offered him freedom in exchange for his services.

Jesper carried the chest they found in the bowels of Seren Hold.  He stepped past Harlan and followed in the muddied footprints of the Halfling.

Trusting a thief proved impossible for Jacq, and difficult for Harlan.  Jacq had no use for a man without principles.  Harlan had to convince his friend to allow the rogue into their company.

“Take his feet, Harlan,” Dhreen said.  His elven accent added an edge to the words.  His rounded eyes and high cheekbones were punctuated in the moonlight.  His dark hair, the color of tree-bark, was tied in a ponytail and fell to the small of his back.

When Dhreen reached down, a bit of sleeve slid back, revealing the tattoos that snaked around his arms and ended on the tops of his hands in a dark triangular point.  From what little Harlan knew of the elvish language, the name ‘Dhreen,’ was similar to the words for ‘dark thorn.’

Harlan and Dhreen carried Jacq’s limp body to the edge of the make-shift camp that Doyle started.  They gently lowered the corpse to the ground.  Harlan turned back to the waters.  The ferryman waited at the edge of the shore.  Harlan walked back, reaching into his coin purse for the mark the magistrate had given him to use as payment for passage to Seren Hold.

The ferryman stretched out his hand.  Harlan handed over the mark.  The fog returned.  The ferry drifted backwards, disappearing into the mists.

Back at the camp, Jesper fiddled with the chest.  He laid out a series of small metal picks that he used to probe inner-workings of the lock.

Doyle piled wood in a circle of stones.  He reached out with his hand.  Closing his eyes, he whispered inaudibly.  Green sparks jutted from his fingertips and sparked the tinder.

Harlan never cared for magical fire.  Yes, it served its purpose, providing light and offering heat, but it never felt ‘warm.’

Dhreen gathered some of the stones Doyle did not use for the campfire.  He placed them near Jacq’s body.

“What are the stones for?” Harlan asked.

“For the Paladin.”  Dhreen said.

“Jacq?”  Harlan asked.

“His body will float to the surface.”  Dhreen said.

“We are not putting his body in the water,” Harlan snapped.  “He is a Paladin of Westfort.  He must be buried.  His God commands it.”

“The laws of human gods mean nothing to me,” Dhreen said.  “Nor to you.”

“They meant something to him,” Harlan said.  “We fought side by side for many years.  He saved my life countless times.”  Harlan choked back tears.  “At the very least, I owe him a proper burial.”

The click of an opening lock interrupted the argument.

“Got it,” Jesper muttered.

Doyle rushed from the fire to see what spoils awaited them in the chest.  He pushed himself up on his toes and stared inside.

Jesper rummaged through the contents.  He removed several scrolls held fast by wax seals.  Doyle took one and studied the symbols.  He pulled at the tip of his white beard with ink stained fingers.

“How interesting!” Doyle said.  “Seren Hold was supposedly built to map stars and constellations, and study them, but these seals contain symbols of conjuration magics.  I see nothing of the heavens here.  It seems I have much reading to do this evening!”

The high-pitch of the halfling’s voice tinged everything he said with cheerfulness.  Doyle filled his arms with the scrolls and carried them to the campfire.

“The magistrate said we keep the gold and treasure, he wants the scrolls,” Jesper yelled to Doyle.  “Take care by that fire of yours.  I do not want to find myself at the gallows when we return.”

“Yes, yes,” Doyle replied as he carefully cracked one of the seals.

Beneath the scrolls, Jesper found a fair amount of gold coin and seemingly random items.  A pair of daggers wrapped in cloth piqued Dhreen’s interest.  The blades were expertly crafted.  The golden hilts of each held a black gem, the size of an ogre thumb, at the base.

Dhreen grabbed one.  The blade gave off a soft, moon-like glow as his fingers wrapped around the hilt.  He tested the weapon’s weight and sliced the air.

“I’ve never held such a well-balanced dagger.”  Dhreen said.

Harlan held the other weapon.  The same glow pulsed from the blade.  There seemed a hum, so low, he wasn’t sure if it were real or imagined.

The dagger felt lighter in his palm than expected.  It seemed an extension of his hand, his arm, his entire body.

“These must be enchanted,” Harlan said.  “If Doyle can pull himself away from his scrolls, maybe he could tell us more about them.”

If Doyle heard, he did not stir.

“There’s plenty of gold in here.  Enough reward for the four of us to-,” Jesper began.

“A fifth goes to Jacq’s order,” Harlan said.

Jesper opened his mouth to protest.

“Jesper,” Dhreen said with a shake of his head.  Jesper grimaced and turned his attention back to the contents in the chest, muttering under his breath.

As the thief divided the coin, Harlan spotted a bag, smaller than a coin purse, tied and bound near Jesper’s leg.

“What is that?” Harlan pointed to the bag.

“Hmm?” Jesper looked up to Harlan, obviously annoyed that the half-elf had interrupted his count.

“The bag, Jesper.  What’s in the bag?”

“Norhing more than trinkets.  Go ahead,” Jesper tossed the bag at Harlan, “have a look.”

Harlan snatched the bag out of the air.  He emptied it into his hand.  A collection of silver rings, tarnished and aged, filled his palm.  A worn figure adorned the largest ring.  He held it up to the moonlight.  Black marks scarred its edges, as if it had been scorched.

He slipped the ring easily onto his small finger, twisting it until the figure sat on top.  No matter how close he looked, he could not make out what the figure represented.  It appeared to be both man and beast at once, but its edges were too worn to decipher what meaning it held, if any.  Perhaps if Doyle grew tired of his scrolls, he might take a moment to identify it.  He tried to take the ring off, but it stuck on the knuckle.  Odd, since the ring slipped on with ease.

Harlan pulled once more.  The ring would not moved, not even twist.  A small measure of panic caught his breath.

The ring started to warm.  At first, he dismissed this as a result from his failed attempts to remove it until the worn figure started to glow.  A subtle purple hue lit just his finger and then his hand.  The ring tightened its grip.

“Harlan?”  Dhreen asked.  “What is it?”

Harlan did not answer.  The ring burned.  He screamed as a flood of red and purple light engulfed him.  Smoke bled from the ring, rising into the air.  Like a thunderhead, flashes of forked lightning erupted throughout.

Dhreen unsheathed his sword, Jesper moved behind the chest.  Doyle remained near the campfire, his eyes away from a parchment laid flat with stones.

Harlan pulled at the ring with futility.  The black smoke began to take shape.  In a few moments it took the form of a man.  Transparent muscular arms and chest floated before him.  The lower portion of the torso funneled into the ring.  Purple lines defined its shape.  A strong jawline squared about the face.  A topknot sprouted from its head.  Golden eyes, severe and boundless, stared intently into Harlan’s own.

“Master,”

the words came deep and whispered from the figure’s unseen mouth.

“What-,” the word croaked from Harlan’s dry throat.  “What is it?”

“A djinn!” Doyle said.

“Of course,” Dhreen said, sword still in hand.  “What else could it be?”

“A djinn?”  Jesper asked, his eyes just above the edge of the top edge of the chest, a missile nocked in his crossbow.

“Thrice master may request.  Thrice thy will be granted.”

 

“What does it want?” Harlan asked.

“It’s quite simple,” Doyle began as if describing how to brew tea.  “Djinns are enslaved spirits trapped in any number of trinkets, rings, lamps.  According to the ancient histories of-”

“Get on with it, Halfling,” Jesper snapped.

“You have freed this spirit,” Doyle said.  “For freeing it, it will grant you wishes.”

“Wishes?” Harlan asked.

“Yes, indeed!” Doyle said cheerfully.  “Take great care in what you wish for.  Djinns are peculiar creatures.  They take requests quite literally.  It may be angry, no telling how long he’s been trapped in that ring.”

“You will,” Harlan turned to the Djinn.  His voice cracked with hesitance.  “You will grant me three wishes?”

“Thrice master may request.  Thrice they will be granted.”

Harlan twisted the ring once more.  It was fastened to his finger as if part of his skin.  The end of his sleeve was spotted with dried blood.  His thoughts turned to the memory of that beast that took his friend’s life.  The body lay at the edge of the fire.

“Jacq,” Harlan finally said.  This was his chance to redeem himself.  “I wish for Jacq to be returned to life.”

The djinn floated to the corpse.  Its golden eyes squinted.  The light from the nearby campfire did not reflect off the djinn’s ghostly form.  It leaned over Jacq.

“It has not yet… soured.”  The djinn’s eyes turned back to Harlan.  “Thy bidding is my command.”

 

The spirit lifted its hands to the sky.  Jacq’s body floated from the earth andlevitated a few feet above the ground.  The linens began to unravel in slow circles, as if several unseen hands worked to free the body.

As the linens fell away, Jacq’s body floated back.  The unraveled linens served as a bed.  The djinn lowered his hands, placing one palm directly above Jacq’s heart and another above his head.

A purple mist surrounded both djinn and Jacq.  A low, deep hum reverberated about them.  The ground vibrated with the sound.

Jacq’s head jerked back.  The djinn lifted his hands and the purple mists evaporated.  The spirit floated back to his spot in front of Harlan,

Jacq screamed in agony.

“Twice master may request.  Twice thy will be granted.”

Harlan rushed to Jacq’s side.

“Jacq!”  Harlan yelled.  “Jacq!  Can you hear me?”

Jacq continued to scream.  His face twisted in pain.

“What is happening to him?”  Harlan asked.  The half-elf cradled his friend’s head in his arm, trying in vain to ease his suffering.

“The djinn brought him back, but did nothing for his wounds.”  Doyle said.  For once, the Halfling’s voice lacked its natural cheerfulness.  “The injuries may kill him once more.”

Jacq’s breathing quickened.

“Heal him!  I wish for you to heal him, djinn!”  Harlan yelled over the screaming.

“Thy bidding is my command.”

The djinn placed its hands above Jacq’s head and heart once again.  A faint yellow-orange glow came from the spirit’s hands like drifting embers.

Gasps for air replaced Jacq’s cries, slowly turning into steady breaths.  Jacq closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.  Color returned to checks and his chest rose and fell evenly.

“Once master may request.  Once thy will be granted.”

Harlan remained on his knees.  Jacq’s head still cradled in his arms.  The warmth of life returned.  Blood flow pulsed against Harlan’s fingers at Jacq’s neck.  Tears welled up in Harlan’s eyes.

I cannot let this happen again, Harlan thought.  All the training, countless hours with a sword, was simply not enough.  If he could not keep his friends alive, what worth did he have?

“Djinn!” Harlan called out.  He lowered Jacq’s head to the ground as if placing a sleeping infant in its crib.  “I wish to be more powerful.”

“Harlan!  Ho!”  Dhreen yelled.

“Thy bidding is my command.”

“That is not the most efficient request.”  Doyle stroked his beard.

“Fool,” Jesper snapped.  “That elven blood has clouded your-” A harsh glare from Dhreen silenced the human.

The djinn lowered his head before his master, and then lurched forward, barely visible hands reaching into Harlan’s chest.  The half-elf stumbled backwards.  The djinn’s arms pulsed with reddish light.

A prick of heat warmed Harlan’s heart.  The djinn pulled back its hands and stared.  The half-elf raised his hand to his chest.  The ring cracked, snapping loudly like bone.  It fell from his finger and dissolved into dust before reaching the ground.

The purple mist that served as the contours of the djinn’s muscular frame began to fade.  In a few moments, all that remained were the golden eyes.  Just as the purple mist, the eyes faded away, like candle flames dimming without air.  Then, they faded into nothing.

The heat in the center of Harlan’s chest erupted to his arms and legs.  The tips of his fingers and toes felt as if fire might burst them.  He fell to the ground, writing in pain.

Dhreen stood above him, the elf’s mouth moved but no words were heard.   The moon was high and full in the star-riddled sky.  The white light spread, encompassing the entirety of the heavens.  It became blinding.  Harlan shut his eyes.

 

To be Continued???