Part 37 of Rob Donovan’s free serialised story set in the same world of Frindoth as his newly released book “Ritual of the Stones”. In this story we follow the journey of Pewtory the Lesser bard as he travels to Lilyon to witness the Ritual.
Pewtory the Lesser Bard part 37 – Destiny
Before Hanley had uttered a word Pewtory knew the Stranger had taken control of his body. Hanley was a large man with flabby skin but even though his appearance had not altered, Pewtory could see the power that exuded from the man’s frame now. The eyes were also a giveaway. They bore a hard, imperious gaze that sent shivers down the Bard’s spine.
Hanley got to his feet with unnatural grace for such a large man. Inside the man’s grasp, the blue fish flapped furiously as it gasped for air. In the bowl next to Hanley, Willow circled frantically in his distress.
“Please don’t hurt Wisp,” Pewtory said. He did not care how weak his voice sounded. Hanley glanced down at the fish in his hand. He opened his fingers and watched as Wisp flopped about searching for one of the bowls.
“Such weakness. To think I can control your emotions just by threatening a simple creature. Really Pewtory you are pathetic,” Hanley said. It was no longer Hanley’s voice though. As with Lionel the Lark, the voice was now gruffer and more eloquent.
“I have not done anything wrong, please put the fish back in the bowl.”
“You have not done anything at all! That is the point,” Hanley shouted.
Pewtory could not take his eyes off Wisp. The fish’s struggles were becoming weaker. His heart melted as Wisp’s mouth bobbed open and shut. He could see the red underneath the blue skin as her fins flared.
“You told me to befriend Elsie I have done that. You said you would instruct me further on what to do. I have not seen you since.”
“Don’t bandy words with me. You know full well what I want. She needs to die,” Hanley said and thrust a finger towards Elsie in the front row.
Pewtory looked at the old woman and his heart stopped. He had been so absorbed in his shock that he had forgotten about everyone around him. He had assumed the silence of the crowd was due to the shock of the sudden change of events.
He saw now that this was far from the case. The audience were frozen in their seats. They sat like sculptures in various poses of rapture. All wore expressions of happiness as they enjoyed the performance before them. They were completely oblivious to the Stranger’s intervention.
Pewtory couldn’t help but feel a tinge of pride as he studied the joy his act elicited from the crowd. A man in the front row gripped his wife’s arm as he lent forward in his chair, even statuesque Pewtory could see the excitement in his eyes. His wife adopted a similar pose but had one hand placed over her mouth as if she could not quite contain her contentment. All along the rows of people were focused on the spot where Hanley lay. The exhilaration seemed to be contagious. Arms were raised, fists pumped the air, some people smiled whilst other roared encouragement at the fish, their faces fixed in a feral growl. Beside him Rumena and Jagger crouched by the final bowl desperate to see which fish would land first.
Elsie’s smile was the widest of them all. Pewtory had noticed how her face had become more creased as she smiled; it now looked bizarre as deep fissures branched out from her eyes and cheeks. Her face looked like someone had hammered against a statue and caused it to crack.
“Please my fish,” Pewtory repeated.
Hanley threw Wisp back into the bowl containing Willow. For a moment she sank to the bottom and lay there breathing heavily. Willow rushed to her side and nudged her until slowly Wisp flexed her tail and managed to swim around.
Anger swelled inside Pewtory. The night had been perfect. Why did this Stranger have to appear now and spoil things? Pewtory in his anger forgot for a second what was at stake.
“The truth is I expected you to be weak. I have been watching you ever since you left the farm. For a moment I even thought you were going to surprise me. Nice job hurting your peddler friend by the way. When you tracked Elsie and her husband to their camp fire I thought you were going to go through with it and kill them both.
That was until your hubris got in the way. The moment they mentioned the Masker’s Ball I knew that you would not be able to resist. In fairness, I don’t blame you. You are a born performer Pewtory. Who wouldn’t want one final hurrah to realise their dream?
This is where my leniency comes to an end. You have until tonight to kill Elsie Brookman.”
“She is right there, do it yourself!” Pewtory screamed.
The Stranger laughed at that causing Hanley’s jowls to wobble.
“Imagine if I slit her throat and then unfroze everyone, how would that look?”
“You would never be suspected.”
“Magic would be suspected. It would eventually lead to me.”
Pewtory flicked at the feather in his ear. He hated how helpless he felt. “I didn’t mean right now. Why not kill both of them yourself, when they are alone camping?”
“You don’t know what happens when you kill a stone holder do you?” Hanley said, he cocked his head to one side as he spoke as if he toyed with the idea of telling Pewtory.
“No,” Pewtory said. He also decided he did not care. It was clear the Stranger had no intention of performing his own nefarious deeds.
“It does not matter, you have until dawn and since you seem to have a little trouble inferring the consequences of your actions let me show you.”
Pewtory felt a surge of pain around his temples. He flung his hands to his head and cradled his brow as he was forced to his knees. Spots swam before his eyes and he felt nauseous.
Suddenly his mind was filled with a kaleidoscope of images. He was shown what would happen if he refused the Stranger. The crowd would become unfrozen to find Wisp back in her bowl. There would be outrage, screams of “Charlatan” and “fraud” would ring out across the room. Pewtory would be shunned, labelled a magician that tried to pass himself off as a genuine bard.
The image shifted to all the people he had met over the past few weeks: Archie, Red Jack, Lionel the Lark and countless others, all writhed in pain whilst the Stranger stood over them. Another scene, the corpses of Willow and Wisp lay as dried up husks in an arid desert, the broken fragments of Beth next to them.
Pewtory felt burning tears on his cheeks as he tried to push the horrible images from his mind but they continued relentless. He saw men sitting around in a tavern and discussing famous Bards. Names like Pewtory of course were spoken but also the current Bards that performed around Frindoth, Bard Kallum being one of them. One of the men mentioned Pewtory the lesser, “Who?” was the response and the group erupted in laughter.
Slowly the searing agony in Pewtory’s head subsided. His ears rang and it took him a moment to realise that they throbbed from the noise of his own screams. A warm feeling coursed through him, energising his muscles and eliminating all effects of the pain he had felt only moments before. New scenes played in his mind.
They started with the finale of the race, the crowd providing a standing ovation and Pewtory performing a graceful bow. One person shouted his name and it was taken up by another and then a third. Soon the whole crowd chanted his name.
The picture forwarded to years in the future. He caught the briefest sight of time elapsing as the chaos of the Ritual unfolded. Elsie did not attend and the Gloom ravaged the country, Pewtory the lesser’s name was on everyone’s lips as families suffered the loss of loved ones. It was not a sad picture though. There was a sense of resolute determination. The people of Frindoth endured. They rebuilt the land and soon all that could be remembered was Pewtory the lesser, the man that started it all. He was famous.
A new scene saw the same men sitting in the tavern and discussing famous bards. This time Pewtory the Lesser bard was the first name on all their lips and they never mentioned another name.
A final image saw scholars pouring over texts studying his life and what possessed him to disrupt the Ritual. It was not made explicitly clear but it was obvious he had become the most talked about figure in Frindoth’s history.
The myriad of pictures ceased as soon as they had begun and Pewtory was left blinking the room full of frozen people. Hanley had returned to his spot on the floor and Wisp hung suspended above him in mid-air as if she too had been part of the spell all along.
Hanley lifted his head briefly and asked, “so what’s it going to be?”
Pewtory got to his feet and tried to recall where he was standing before the madness had happened. He tried to recall the euphoria he had felt during the performance but the act was too hard. He glanced down at Hanley who had already lowered his head.
“You know the answer,” Pewtory said.
With that the room returned to normal. Wisp flew through the air and landed in the final bowl and the crowd erupted to tumultuous applause.
