#Cabbie in PARTICULAR here because that guy went from me wanting nothing to do with him at ALL | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

xaz-fr · 5 years

Photo

I’ll edit links for previous chapters later but you know how Tumblr feelse about links but they’re all in the zs tag

Set in a fantasy world of the semi socialist society Fey Alliance with magic, dick head dragon riders, benevolent necromancers, and even bigger dick head gods of mischief. The Zealous Servant is the story about a guy named Spayar who, has to keep his crown prince of a bff from being murdered by his entire family by murdering them first. Though Spayar just wants to take a nap and find a cute boy to kiss and not have to worry about his corpse potentially being dragged through the street after a war. Better win that shit then.

I will only ping this particular list once and if you want to be pinged for future posts a like or reblog will get you on the next pinglist. Reblogs (especially with a dumb comment but not required) are way more appreciated as it allows other people to see the work

@deadpool-scar-bro @starry-ampelope @golden-lionsnake @massdestructionn @frxemriss

Finally y’all get to meet Diylan, the last pretty major character of the story. He doesn’t have a super lot to do right now but in future things he is SUPER important. Also he’s basically the boy version of Tassa: a real slut and I fucking love him

It was pouring out. Not exactly surprising. Spayar had his rain coat hanging on the back of a chair just outside the family shrine. In the Alliance most Feylon went to temples to pray. Spayar was the first born of immigrants and hadn't been raised the same way. He knew the process of going to a temple and leaving offerings for all the gods, like he'd taken his siblings to yesterday but it wasn't how he worshipped, not how he'd been taught by his parents.

In Dirin everyone had a patron god that chose them at a young age. Sometimes in a dream or in an event in their life. While free worship of the other gods awas encouraged most Dirinians primarily worshipped only their patron god. They kept shrines to their gods in their homes. He had older aunties and uncles from Dirin who had their gods tattood or branded onto their bodies as a form of constant worship.

The family shrine had six statues, one for each of the children, and one for their parents, in an elaborate alcove his father had added onto the house when Spayar was small, when Calli was but an infant and Spayar was just starting to really talk. He'd built it around the same time they both stopped talking in Dirnine exclusively around him so he'd learn Feylian better and without their accent. The shrine was a gilt table covered in Dirin motifs: palms, hyenas, crocodile, and great sand dunes that cupped the western part of the country. A sphinx sat with raised wings in the backdrop. The statues of the gods were arranged by size with the largest being Spayar's and his parents and then his siblings’ being smaller.

Relora’s goddess had one eye in the middle of her forehead and was shrouded in veils that concealed most of her body. Her name was Dehvonokoz, she was a seer, a counterpart to the Feylon Belldha. Spayar Sr.’s statue belonged to the god Enko, the god of fire and willfulness. He leaned against a long spear, balanced on one leg, the other foot resting on the calf of the standing one. Enko had no true feylon counterpart but seemed to be a male version of Galaia.

On one side were Anora and Duren’s personal gods. Duren’s was the Feylon god Maldrin, god of makers and a bit of a trickster. He had a wide, grinning, mouth, and balanced a knife on the tip of his finger. Anora’s statue was to the Feylon goddess Pacia, goddess of mercy and was always depicted as a young woman wearing full plate armor. To the other side where Calli and Spayar’s gods. Unlike their siblings Calli and Spayar had Dirin gods, as they were more Dirinnan than their little siblings. Their parents had decided it was better this way. Calli’s statue was of the goddess Nuvokon, goddess of wells and springs and held a jug that poured ever flowing water onto a parched earth. She also had no true Feylon counterpart but Calli hardly ever prayed to her either.

Then there was Spayar’s. Densinn, or as his mother called him: Sevok, the lying crocodile. No matter what pantheon he resided in Densinn always looked the same: an iconography that spanned the continent. He was a young man with a charming smile, mouth sewn shut, hands cut off at the wrist and wrapped in golden fleece. Densinn was not a god most people wanted to associate with. He was a trickster godmwho would lead you down a path you didn't want to go down if you weren't careful. Spayar had dreamed about him when he was a boy. A haggard man with eyes like fire, bloody stumps for hands, still trying to open his mouth despite the stitches.

Densinn was not a benevolent god but appeared in many stories of the gods especially around the brothers Lemp and Anceion as one of the first gods they wove into being along with Can'dhe, Perunez, Galaia and Tipal. Densinn was the god of language and had been the first one to utter a word and whisper it into a human's ear. He'd taught humans to speak, write, and create sign language. He had a gold and poison tongue that spoke truth as often as it spoke lies. He'd been the first thing to lie as much as the first to sing and orate. Once he'd been a powerful god like the other first borns but earned his fathers’ ire because of his lies and tales, and his promises to teach dogs and fish to talk like he had their precious humans. So the brothers had ripped out his tongue, sewn his mouth shut and chopped off his hands so he could never speak again.

Mostly under protest Spayar worshipped Densinn and called him that out of spite. He might have a personal god like a Dirinnan but he wasn't and knew he wasn't going to give Densinn the satisfaction of using his Dirnnan name. He also didn't pray often but he'd been meaning to lately, especially after what had happened to him lately. Talking like a man possessed. Like a man unafraid of death.

“You did that when I saw Teldin, didn't you?” he asked the statue. “And with Pale Cross. You're going to get me killed at this rate.” Densinn was a liar but great at saying whatever he needed to get the job done. “I’m not a use to you dead.”

The statue was unmoving. Spayar sighed and looked up at the ceiling in annoyance. “You’re not even listening are you?” he huffed softly. He'd seen the statue move once or twice as a boy. He'd told his mother and she just said his god was watching him, which with a god like Densinn was not always a good thing.

Spayar went to his rain coat and grabbed his coin purse. He found a golden atrin and brought it back to the painted wooden statue. He made a slight face as he bent the atrin and pulled it with his mattallurgist magic. Elemental magic wasn't a weave or a spell, it was just an extension of being and Spayar was not very good at it. The trick back at King’s Casket where he'd pulled Pale Cross’ knife out of his belt had been a fluke and a lucky one at that. Even he'd been surprised it had worked. Not cutting himself hadn't been, but his ability was limited. He fiddled with the soft metal, shaping it in his hands before he got it to look approximately like how he wanted. It was a pair of roughly made golden hands. He added a spike to the end and lifted the little statue to pin them into the wrists. He put the statue back down.

“Don’t ignore me, Densinn,” he said seriously. “I’ve seen your shrine on Swan Island; I'm your only worshipper. Don't ignore me.”

“Spayar, mazuk, the cabbie is outside,” his mother called from the door.

“Coming!” he called back. “Don’t let me die, Densinn. You need me,” and he went to grab his rain coat. As he pulled it on he glanced back at the statue. He wasn't sure if he was happy or sad the statue was different. Densinn was winking at him. “Great,” he muttered and grabbed his hat from the chair seat and went out to meet the cabbie who was standing at the doorway with an umbrella ready for him.

—

The sand the wyrm landed on was warm even though Spayar’s boots which he was grateful for. He was cold! After the all day flight up north on wyrm back at high altitudes he was close to shivering despite purposefully layering up like he was going to Surassa for the winter. Being a fire warlock Von had been a blessing as he was able to keep them warm for a while but even he had difficulty with the high cold winds. No wonder flighters wore such thick jackets and pants all the time.

The sun was just starting to set when they arrived and were given over to a man who gave them a room and meals and said the Wyrm Lord would be alerted they'd arrived but were free to do as they pleased.

The room they'd been given was a shared room which Spayar did not like. He hadn't slept in the same room as Von since he'd hit puberty and wasn't looking forward to starting now. Von was just busy stuffing his face. They'd stopped once briefly for lunch but normally postal flighters even ate their meals awing if going across the country. Spayar couldn't say he was particularly hungry. The height and motions of the great wyrm had made food the last thing on his mind.

“Are we just going to see him tonight?” Spayar asked, picking at the steamed fish seasoned with more lemon than Spayar knew was possible.

“Yes. We aren't staying long,” Von said. “Teldin has the cooperation of the White Foot so there is nothing north or west of use to me.”

“The Norths,” Spayar said.

“I think they've had their share of war for a few more generations,” was all Von said. Spayar didn't disagree. “I want to get in and out of here.”

Soayar finally ate some of the fish. It was good, very sharp, which he wasn't expecting. “This isn't about the Wyrm Lord is it?”

“It is.”

“You just want bully him into giving your Diylan,” Spayar said, seeing through him.

“Okay maaaybe I am,” Von said with a slight grin. “But he has no alligence to my family other than that my mother is Asuras. There's no Conflicy yet so he hasn't picked a side.”

“That you know of.”

“Well are you not sharing information, Spayar?” Von gave him an annoyed look.

“No. I haven't heard anything either.”

“Exactly. Which is why I'm here now before my siblings show up. Once they learn I have the Rosalia they will try for the Drake just because the Drake hate them and want to fight them.”

“Which is stupid,” Spayar said blandly.

“Yes,” Von agreed. “Now are you done? You know how Diylan is. The sooner we see him the better we'll find him in his room.”

Spayar ate four more bites, which was about as much as he could stomach. “Okay, let's go.” He made sure to take off his coat before following Von.

The Wyrd was an old, mostly dormant, volcano. Most of the mountain was in some way hollow and the central cone was a great shaft that ran up through the entire mountain to the sky. When they left the tunnel it was just barely still light out and Spayar glanced up, the circle of sky was starting to turn indigo as night approached. At the bottom of the cone was a large grounds filled with hot sand, warmed from underground to help keep the Wyrd warm even at this altitude. A ring had been cut around the bottom of the cone for foot traffic and two long, spiraling, staircases ran up the entire length of the cone in opposite directions with damaged landings at regular intervals. Down on the first floor the walls were covered in mosaics of orange groves and the sky, the ground paved in circular designs. Spayar had to admit, though there were no real buildings in the Wyrd the place was still beautiful and covered in the wealth of the Drake.

"So, Diylan?" Von asked as they stood for a moment under the cut overhang of the central cone, both trying not to gape at the magnitude of the Wyrd and failing a bit. "Which staircase is he again?"

"The red one I believe," Spayar said. The staircases had the front facing side of each step painted red or blue and where they overlapped was purple. "Two curves up?"

"Why don't you just stop acting like you don't know exactly where he is?" Von grumbled, Spayar grinned, "You're completely insufferable."

"Come along my princeling," Spayar chuckled and started for the red stairs. At each landing there were huge grooves cut into the rock and Spayar knew they weren't there for decorative purposes. Climbing stairs sucked even for Von, who lived five floors up, so it was just much easier to get your wyrm to fly up to your landing, grab on, and climb off, than to have to walk up the stairs to your landing.

They were both out of breath and Spayar's legs were sore when they reached the proper landing. No matter how in shape you were stairs were still rough, especially with how many they'd just climbed. "Show off," Von grumbled as across from them on the blue staircase a wyrm landed on the wall, great claws digging into the wall, and their rider sliding off and onto the landing without incident. They then opened a portal and the wyrm crawled in and was gone.

Spayar chuckled, "C'mon, we're almost there," and he went into the tunnel on the landing. Here the lights were magical in nature, growing brighter as people neared them. They walked down the hallway, along the curve of the mountain, to a door. Spayar knocked. No answer. Spayar knocked again, louder this time. Von gave him a look and Spayar traced a new weave into the door to check to make sure he was at least in there were magic, just giving a brief courtesy inspection of the room and yes, Diylan was indeed in there.

"Well?" Von asked.

"He's in," Spayar banged his fist on the door. "Diylan, open up, I know you're in there," he yelled.

There was a moment and then the door opened. "Who the hell is- oh... you two," Diylan wasn't wearing a shirt and barely wearing any pants, which were holding onto his hips for dear life.

"Did we interrupt?" Von asked though with the air of someone who really didn't care.

Diylan gave Von a look, "Yes actually, you are," he said irritably. "But the royal family doesn't care if they bother the common people do they?" Diylan was the only one of their friends who gave Von the same amount of shit Spayar did. Diylan wasn't afraid of Von like most of their friends were, even if they didn't realize they were.

"Nope," Von said, "We require you now and they can wait."

Diylan gave Von a look, "You know when people normally tell me that sort of stuff they're usually promising me more than a hard time. Unless you're up for that," and Von rolled his eyes even as the tips of his peaked ears turned pink. "Didn't think so," Diylan looked at Spayar, "What about you junior?" he asked.

"I'm far too good for you Diylan," Spayar said. Not that Diylan wasn't nice to look at without a shirt on. Diylan was hot, tall and huge with pale white skin, green eyes with gray scleras, short, messy copper hair with a silver streak along one side and more freckles than you could count. Too bad he was a bit of a man whore and even for Spayar that was too much.

Diylan leaned against his door frame, Von now completely forgotten. "That so?" he asked, his green eyes gleamed with challenge. "And who's to say that, hmm? Too good to lower yourself to some flighter?"

"More I don't like easy men," Spayar said.

Diylan smirked, "I can be hard for you Spayar-

"You two," Von interrupted, mortified as he realized what his friends were doing. "Can you not?"

"Awww? What's wrong Gard? Don't like me encroaching on your territory?" Diylan asked.

Von actually flushed a little, "I don't need to watch you two flirt," he said irritably. Spayar rolled his eyes a little.

"Ah... seems your lord doesn't like the idea of you having any fun, junior," Diylan said.

"Oh lay off Diylan. He's only sixteen and still a boy.” He and Diylan laughed. "Okay that's enough fun at our prince's expense," Spayar said.

"Yeah yeah, come in, I'll get dressed," Diylan moved out of the way and they went in, Von trying to control himself better but it was nice for Spayar to see Von actually get flustered. It also made him glad Von seemed so against Spayar getting with Diylan. There was a small sitting room in the front and half a wall between it and the bedroom. "Get up love, got more pressing things to attend."

"What? But we were-

"I'm quite aware what we were," Diylan interrupted her, "But I have important guests. So get dressed a see yourself out," and Diylan was pulling on clothes. Spayar and Von sat while he was talking.

A minute later a woman came out from behind the half wall, dressed, and glared at the both of them. She wasn't really pretty but had huge breasts. Diylan was way too predictable. She left the room in a huff, slamming the door after her. "You sure know how to pick 'em Diylan," Spayar called.

"She's not my wife, so why should I care?" he called back and Spayar heard leather moving against itself.

"She could have been," Von said, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair.

Diylan came out from his bedroom, "Please. I might be easy but I know how to keep myself sonless if at all possible."

Von looked him up and down, "Quite a thing that. A flighter who doesn't want a son. You sure you're a Drake?" he asked.

"Children are horrendous little monsters. I'll gladly save myself the trouble of ever having one," Diylan made a face and finished buckling his thigh length flak jacket before falling into the remaining chair gracelessly. "So, what do you two want? You didn't come all the way from Assarus for a personal call. If you had I would have gotten a letter demanding I come to the capital," and Von smiled a little. At the very least Von didn't make friends with idiots, say what you wanted about their habits in bed.

"One is I need to speak to the Wyrm Lord-

"Good luck with that."

"It's important."

"Yeah, what about?" Diylan said and picked at his nails. "Jollen doesn't make idle chatter with princelings."

Von scowled at him, "A Conflict is coming. I am trying to get ahead of it," Von said.

Diylan stopped picking his nails and turned to Von. He put his elbows on his knees, face serious. "Come again, Gard?" Diylan said.

"I know you're not a fool, Diylan. I'm sure you've heard an inkling of a Conflict," Von said, "Teldin and Tallalsala and Dellin are also making preparations. Forces are being mustered. If I wasn't here one of them would be. Unless they have been?"

"No," Diylan said, "None of your siblings have come to the Wyrd."

"Good. Then I need to speak with Jollen."

"About what?"

"A mutually benefitting alliance for us," Von said.

Diylan leaned back in his chair, looking huge and menacing with his flak jacket and steely grey eyes save for the circles of pale green. Diylan was not a skilled fighter, instead his skills were in desk work, which he gladly did. Diylan was one of the apprentices of the Overseer and a potential successor. A man who obeyed only the Wyrm Lord they knew everything about everything in the Wyrd. As a junior overseer that meant Diylan knew more about everything than a normal flighter. "What did you plan?"

"I'll discuss that with Jollen-

"You will tell me," Diylan said. "The Wyrm Lord only meets with people who have been cleared by the overseers. Prince or not you are still a man."

Von scowled, "I want his assistance in my coup. For his cooperation I'm prepared to make all sorts of promises for when I'm Asuras."

Diylan looked at Von, then Spayar. "You know about this?" he asked Spayar. Spayar nodded. "Who else is on your side?"

"Galinsum, the Shade, praetor X'vazior and his army, as well as a smattering of lower lords."

Diylan appraised Spayar, "That's all?"

"So far," Spayar didn't mention the Rosalia. No need to start an argument.

"You're lying about someone," Diylan said, narrowing his eyes a bit, "You're a good liar Spayar I'll give you that but I'm supposed to tell the good liars from the bad ones. Who else have you gotten?"

Spayar thought quickly, who the hell could he say instead of the Rosalia? If the Drake knew Von was already friends with Helida not only would they not agree to joining with them but they might also get thrown out. "Lord Addling," Von said, and Spayar didn't look at him until Diylan did.

"Why would you omit Lord Addling?" Diylan asked.

"It's not official," Von said. "He has agreed to nothing, so we aren't counting his number, but we want him."

Diylan looked contemplative, steepling his fingers, and looked at Spayar again, Spayar made his face unreadable. "I'll get you a meeting with Jollen," he said.

"Thank you," Von said.

"Don't thank me yet. Jollen likes your mother. He might not take kindly to your proposition."

"How's your crop this year?" Von asked.

Diylan blinked slowly and looked suspicious, "Why do you want to know?"

"You know my mother isn't going to help you," Von said. "Trade is still regulated to the normal limits on importation across our borders. Your oranges looked lackluster this year. I've heard from other cities that their harvests are so bad they'll have to ration it this winter if they want get food imported in the quantity they need. My mother needs to die, the sooner, the better, for the entire Alliance. If I don't do it my siblings will. We won't let our people starve because of our mother."

Diylan gave him a look, "... You have a point," he conceded. "Was that all you came to the Wyrd for?" he asked.

"Haven't seen you in a year or so," Spayar put in.

"Well, two years on you," Diylan said to Spayar.

"I was serving time."

"And you didn't even write. How rude," and Spayar laughed.

"I wasn't going to waste ink on you," Spayar said.

"That hurts junior."

"Hurts what? That icy thing in your chest you call a heart?"

"I'll have you know my heart is the only thing that is icy," Diylan gave him a look.

"Ahg! Stooop," Von cried and covered his eyes. "Anceion's gaze above, please stop flirting," he said miserably.

Spayar and Diylan laughed, "I think your little princeling needs a taste of what its like," Diylan said.

"What? What what's like?" Von demanded.

"He's really rather stupid sometimes isn't he?" Diylan asked Spayar.

"He’s still got his virtue what do you expect?” he teased Von a bit.

“Spayar!” Von cried, a flush high in his cheeks.

"What?" Spayar asked him, grinning, sometimes it was too much fun to have a laugh at Von's expense, especially with Diylan around. It was, effectively, like having two of them around and while sometimes Diylan annoyed the hell out of Spayar they were very alike and both of them knew how to poke Von without actually pissing him off. Von frowned deeply at him.

"And what I meant was," Diylan continued, having the decency to at least not laugh, "that Spayar has to suffer through all your flirting, I don't see why you can't suffer through his," Spayar gave Diylan a dark look for that. Spayar wasn't sure if most people were just stupid or obvious but of their friends Diylan was one of the only ones who really noticed Spayar had a thing for their prince. It would be just less painful for everyone if Von didn't know though since he'd make it weird and awkward. "Unless, you know," Diylan quirked his head at Von, "you're some sort of homophobe."

Spayar barely reacted fast enough to grab Von's arm when he lurched out of his seat. Diylan jerked back, pressing into the back of chair when Von stood up and looked ready to strike him across the face. "I can take a lot Diylan," Von said, voice hard "But don't ever insult me like that again," and he tugged his arm out of Spayar's grip. "Now go get me that meeting with Jollen," he ordered. Diylan swallowed a little, looked over at Spayar and then got out of his seat. He'd never seen Diylan slink in his life, but Diylan positively slithered out of the room, just to get away from Von.

"Von-

"Can you believe him?" Von cried once Diylan was gone and turned to Spayar. "Accuse me of being that. You're my best friend," his voice quieted quickly after his initial outburst. Spayar just looked up at him, honestly he didn't know what to think himself. Diylan had been pretty out of hand there. "And I don't care who the hell you, or anyone takes to their bed. But by the gods there is nothing worse than watching Diylan flirt because he's a slimy creep when he does it."

Spayar grinned a little, "I'll agree with you on that," he said.

“That's the part I forgot with him,” he sighed. “He's better not doing that.” Von looked contemplative for a moment, "You-" he paused, hesitant. "Would you? With him?" he asked awkwardly.

"Uh..." Spayar said, "No, he's not really my type.”

Von deflated a little, "Okay," and he sat down abruptly.

"You alright Von?" Spayar asked him.

Von looked at him, "I just... don't think you should sell yourself short. You're too good for him."

Spayar laughed a little, "Von, the last thing you need to be worried about is my love life-

"Well I do! Sometimes," he hunched a little, "I just want you to find someone who makes you happy," and Spayar was so stunned he couldn't speak. "You don't really... like anyone and sometimes I get concerned."

"Neither do you," he pointed out.

"I'm a prince," Von said, "and... too young right now to think about that," he swallowed. "No one wants to be with a prince.” Everyone attached to princes or princess were usually cast aside after the coups, the ones who didn't die fighting for their prince or princess usually never dealt with politics again, or went near the capitals. It was better, because they would never bend to another Asuras . Some of them went to a temple of Lemp in their grief and shame to be brought to the Shadow Lands. "You could still be something without me," Von said.

"No," Spayar said, "I couldn't. Because if you go to the Shadowed Lands I'd be in front of you. Because to get to you, they'd have to get through me first," Spayar said in a hard tone. He wasn't fooling around. Whoever wanted to kill Von would have to kill him first, because he wouldn't let any harm come to him so long as he drew breath.

Von sighed, "Thanks," he said quietly, not smiling but looking at Spayar gratefully.

—

When the Wyrm Lord agreed to see them Spayar was cautious. Of course he was. It was no secret that Jollen liked Virilia, and at least thought her competent, or perhaps more he thought her benefitting. He was waiting for them in his office but didn't stand when Von entered. He had one of the few views in the entire Wyrd with his office having an open air window to the volcano cone.

"Your highness," Jollen said when Von stood before his desk. There were no chairs, everyone who came here was expected to stand.

"Wyrm Lord, I trust your fairing well-

"I didn't agree to a meeting of pleasantries, boy," Jollen said harshly. "I am a busy man with a busy house and many things to do. Get to what you want and then you may be on your way."

Von swallowed, he hadn't been expecting Jollen to be so harsh. The man was like a wolf, his hair a shimmering silver with black shot through it and his eyes ice blue inside black scleras. Every feature on him was sharp and lean and he didn't have a scrap of fat on him. Sitting down he didn't look too big but like most flighters Jollen not only reached six foot, he exceeded it by far. "I'm sure you can hazard a guess why I'm here," Von said.

"The same reason Dellin wanted to speak with me."

"Dellin's here?"

"No. But he tried to speak with me regardless. Then he insulted me and made me very upset."

What was with the Le'Acard children and pissing off noble houses lately? Spayar didn't understand. They should know better, but it seemed like all they were doing was misstepping. He hoped Von didn't misstep. Spayar also wasn't sure Jollen wasn't lying. Diylan said no other princes had come through here. Unless it was earlier. Or maybe Diylan didn't know. "I'm not my brother," Von said.

"Well I certainly hope so," Jollen said, leaning back in his chair and folding his fingers together.

"Do you like my mother, Jollen?"

"She has her uses," Jollen said.

"And what are those?"

Jollen smiled a small, wolf, smile, "That would be between me and the Asuras, your highness."

"I want your help Jollen," Von said, "You're not stupid, I would never accuse you of that. You know why I'm here and what I want from you."

"The Drake are not interested," Jollen said.

"I can offer you things Jollen," Von said.

"And what when you die, little princeling?" he asked. "I was a boy when your mother took the throne and I saw what siding with the wrong side did to my father, to my house. My father sided with her brother-

"Who should have been Asuras and you know it," Von said.

"Of course he should have,” it came out as a snarl. “Only the weak take the leftovers. But your mother is Asuras now. I like your mother, because she is weak. The Drake offer nothing in these schemes. We want, nothing."

Von bit his lips, he sucked his teeth a moment in thought and then said, "Not even be on the same field as the Rosalia?" he asked.

"What do those bitches in the west have anything to do with it?" Jollen growled.

"Helida is on my side," Von said. "She doesn't back the weak either. When I win she'll have played a valuable role in helping me claim my throne. Do you want to be cut out by them?" he asked.

Jollen's eyes narrowed, "Tell that slut of Lemp to go to do us all a favor and kill herself,” Jollen said.

"I'll be sure to. And maybe when she retaliates against such slander I'll just... look the other way," he turned his head a bit like he was thoughtlessly averting his eyes.

"Are you threatening me, boy?" Jollen asked.

"Of course not, Jollen," Von said. "But when I am Asuras it will be Helida with me. I've never known a Drake to let a necromancer get one up on them," he said and Spayar didn't look at Von, though he wanted to. Von was out of his mind right now. He'd just threatened Jollen, one of the most powerful men in the Alliance. And he was baiting the man. Not even Densinn’s influence would have made Spayar say something so wreckless. Right? He was starting to regret asking Densinn to pay attention to him. Jollen wouldn't hurt Von but Spayar was a commoner despite his position as d'aelar and easy pickings for a Governor. "You've been rough on the Rosalia since my mother decided she liked you better than them. I doubt Helida has forgotten, or that she'll be kind in her retaliation."

"You'd threaten me with civil war?" Jollen said.

"Unlike you, Jollen, my accenion is not given to me in the Book of Bloods. I don't plan on dying," Von said cooly, "I am not my siblings. I am Vondugard Le'Acard and let me tell you; I live up to my name," now Jollen swallowed. The hero of old, Vondugard, had been Archon and personally led every battle of the Asuras that had claimed most of the eastern provinces. He'd been relentless, ferocious and showed no mercy to his enemies. Most eastern provinces, like Dodorum where the Wyrd resided, had many tales of Vondugard both good and had. "You are either with me, Jollen, or you are against me. Which is it so I know if I need to keep wasting my time in this tiny province out in the middle of nowhere. If so, when I'm Asuras you can stay here and rot for all I care. So what is it Jollen?"

Jollen stared angrily at Von, "If I join you I want assurances," Jollen said.

"Name them."

"We'll think about them," Jollen said. "When the time comes you'll have your answer. In the meantime I want you out of my Wyrd."

"Fine. I want one of your flighters to accompany me home," Von said, Jollen's eyes narrowed.

"Fine I'll assign-

"I want Diylan Rastin," Von said, "a junior overseer, you won't miss him."

Jollen's mouth went thin. "Fine," he said through grit teeth. "He will be ordered to stay out of the affairs of the Le'Acard," though Spayar knew Jollen saw what Von was giving him. With Diylan with them he'd have a constant eye and ear on Von to report his doings, and Von would gain a protection of a flighter. Diylan wasn't a good fighter, but most people didn't know that, all they'd see was a flighter, a warrior mounted on wyrm-back, standing at Von's back. "Take him and get out of my Wyrd."

"We'll be in touch Jollen, I'm sure," Von bowed a little to him. Spayar was caught off guard enough do that as well. Then Von turned on his heel and walked out. Spayar took one last glance at Jollen and then followed after his prince.

"Have you lost your mind?" Spayar hissed once they were outside Jollen's office and headed for the offices of the Overseer.

"I got what I wanted," Von said dismissively. "I don't care if Jollen does or doesn't back me," Spayar grabbed Von's arm.

"Excuse me?" he asked, turning Von to him. He lowered his voice, "You don't care?"

"I wanted Diylan, that was all. And I wanted Jollen to know that he'd better start picking sides. The Drake can't afford to be bipartisan," Von said quietly.

"And you thought the best way to do that would be to piss him off?" Spayar rubbed his forehead.

"He told me everything I needed to know, and got me Diylan. Everything went exactly as planned," Von said, pleased with himself and started to walk towards the Overseer office.

"Yeah, plan you didn't tell me," Spayar said, watching him go but didn't follow.

Von stopped and turned back to Spayar, "I don't tell you everything Spayar. Just like you don't tell me everything."

"Not about this," Spayar hissed. "This is our lives. You tell me everything." Von was being unreasonable and just now he'd used Spayar as nothing more than a show of force. Jollen knew Spayar was d'aelar and despite saying nothing that entire time him just standing behind Von said enough. Spayar had never felt so used. Von was his friend but in that moment all he felt like was a prince’s primary vassal. He didn't like it at all.

Von looked at Spayar, "I do what I have to." Spayar glared after Von as he continued towards the Overseers offices. "Come along Spayar, we need to tell Diylan the good news." The words from his mouth didn't even sound like his friend. Either he was just barely keeping it together or instead of Spayar Densinn had indeed decided the best way to pay attention to Spayar was through Von. Neither option was pleasant and it didn't make him feel better either.

Spayar grit his teeth and followed after Von because he was too good a friend to keep this up. And what else could he do? Nothing. "And what's that?"

"That he gets to go to Assarus, and," he added this with a devious look, "he gets to go to my sister's naming day," he grinned a little. "If we're lucky he'll get into her bed and give her some vinerial disease-

"Von please, have some class," Spayar sighed. "She's more likely to give him one," and Von had to cover his mouth so he didn't laugh too loudly.

#Writeblr #Writblr #Original writing #Original fantasy #Fantasy #Zs

18 notes · View notes

kootenaygoon · 6 years

Photo

So,

I painted this back in November, in the midst of my transition from the Nelson Star. I’d been attending Power By You, a CrossFit gym downtown, for nearly two years.

The trainers there had come to my rescue when my relationship ended, and Katya in particular was incredible at holding me accountable to my eating and training goals.

When I moved the last of my stuff out of Nelson a few weeks ago, I stopped by PBY around 4 a.m. and I left this painting outside for my friends Ali Popoff and Leo Grypma (cutest couple in Nelson, tee hee).

Preamble over. Next up, I’m publishing the text of my story “Enough of seeing” below. It’s one of the stories in Whatever you’re on, I want some (taking inspiration from Denis Johnson’s short fiction collection Jesus’ Son) and it’s told from the POV of Paisley Troutman, my gypsy folk powerhouse of a main character. She’s just fled from her island refuge on Quatsino, leaving her girlfriend Amber Bennett behind.

I would love feedback to [email protected]. Thanks for reading.

The Kootenay Goon

Enough of seeing

Will Johnson

AFTER I LEFT, a busload of singing Christians fed me potato chips. There was the talkative insurance agent wheel-tapping along to Shania Twain. Then a spacious SUV piloted by a handsome African man wearing a Bluetooth headset. And finally the family from Saanich, who picked me up along the Malahat Highway and dropped me off in Goldstream Park.

I crouched shitting, semi-conscious in the evening’s shadows, amidst dangling sword ferns and moss-blanketed tree trunks that ascended dripping into the canopy. At the public washroom I’d rushed pathetically, ass clenched, only to find the door bolted. What was the point, even, of bringing rolls of toilet paper when I couldn’t even keep them dry? Mushed maggot clumps stuck to my digits, and I pitched the whole mess into the foliage. My thoughts scampered directionless through the corridors of my mind. One of the Christian kids had spent hours attempting to convert me, proselytizing with parroted anecdotes and memorized Bible verses, body slung playfully over the bus bench, making a spectacle of his suburban innocence. I knew he was probably safely indoors now, supervised, while I shivered under the universe’s nakedly disapproving glare.

“Don’t you want your life to have meaning?” he asked.

The kid’s bill-tipped hat seemed custom designed to rest in the crease of his hair. He read to me from Ecclesiastes: “The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear its fill of hearing. What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again. There is nothing new under the sun.”

I couldn’t tell whether he was hitting on me or not. His confidence had a creepy edge to it, like he’d spent his whole life being told how right and special he is.

“Basically, we believe life doesn’t have true meaning unless you have Christ in your life. These kids get one week a summer to get a taste of what’s in store for them if they commit their hearts to Him.”

You’re always going to exist, I thought. Even after you develop critical thinking skills and ditch this medieval religion, there will just be another sixteen-year-old hankering to take your place.

And another one after that.

While cross-legged in the insurance agent’s Mazda Miata, I shared a dainty joint she’d retrieved from her bra. Her hazard lights flashing on the shoulder, she asked me to stand sentinel while she squatted to piss in the scrub grass, hiking her skirt over milky fat hips. Her car was paper-stacked, with crumpled fast food wrappers and discarded drink receptacles piled in my footspace like the lining of a gerbil’s cage. She promised to take me as far as Nanaimo, where she was meeting a man she’d met on an online dating website.

Beneath billowing orange-pink sky explosions we left the highway with a gentle lean and coasted to a stop at Nanaimo’s first intersection. Immediately upon stopping the insurance agent’s manner changed and she began to divulge intense, personal details about her relationship with this man. “I’ve given myself over before, right away, because it feels right. That’s the type of person I am. I’m really accepting, and if I’m going to be in a relationship then I’m going to give it my all, you know? And I know sometimes that means I get taken advantage of. I understand the dangers, but I do it anyways. Does that mean I’m self-destructive, do you think? Is there something wrong with me? I’m trying to recognize my negative thought patterns.” Eventually she dropped me off at a bus stop by the high school, and drove away.

The sky was overtaken with purple, the pinks darkening to blood red, and then ocean-like the blackness rose. The driver of the SUV, a girl’s soccer coach on the way to a conference, was listening to people argue about gender equality on the radio. I was still semi-stoned and couldn’t follow the debate, so I leaned my forehead against the glass and fell asleep with condensation dripping down my face. When I woke up we were idling in the parking lot of a Duncan motel, and the man waited wordlessly for me to climb out.

“Take care of yourself now,” he said.

The next morning, around 7 a.m., the family from Saanich picked me up in a minivan while I marched along the shoulder, spearing the concrete with a Gandalf-like walking stick. There were two blond parents and a pair of well-behaved kids, preteens probably, a boy and a girl. The Malahat Highway wound up through rock clefts, the sloped curves and humped apexes giving drivers ample opportunity to collide with oncoming traffic. The family was eating McDonald’s breakfast and talking about a television show I’d never heard of, so I quickly became bored and fell back to sleep. Forty minutes later they clambered out into the Goldstream parking lot, fist-knotting their hiking boots and pulling on matching Lululemon wind-jackets, preparing to hike up Mount Finlayson.

“You sure you don’t feel like some exercise?” the father asked, because he felt like he had to. He was stretching his calves. “We’d be happy for the company.”

“I’m supposed to be in Victoria by this evening,” I lied.

Morning bird calls erupted all around, and I watched the four of them laugh-jog into the woods, slapping each other’s arms and gesturing effusively at their surroundings. I detoured off the trail, scrambling over a few embankments until I was just out of sight of the parking lot. Then I went back to sleep under a shaggy Douglas Fir, with tail-like hanks of white-green moss dangling overhead and a spongy bed of it underneath me.

All that happenstance to bring me to this moment, mid-evening and mid-shit, when I jump at the scream of metal on metal.

“What the hell is your fucking problem? Look at my truck!”

The two vehicles had met, hood-to-hood, at the narrow exit leading back up to the highway. I was twenty feet away. Late evening now, the entire area was deserted. Glass shards twinkled in the glare while both engines continued to rumble. Two jean-skirted girls flip flopped out of the truck while the driver hoisted himself out after them. He had crashed into a small hatchback sedan, driven by a nervous college kid wearing a hooded sweatshirt. Even from the woods I could see his animal panic, his head ducking deer-like from one side to the other. Finally he opened the door.

The truck driver, I could tell, was a muscled hick kid perpetually ready to scrap. He was wearing a skin-tight black beater tucked into well-worn Carhartts. Each of his pock-marked work boots looked like it weighed twenty pounds.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“I guess I wasn’t paying attention. It was my fault,” said the kid. At least he’d figured out that much. “Listen, I’ll get my insurance.”

“You scared the girls.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Listen, I really am sorry.”

I stood thirty feet away in the dark, with my bag, waiting for the next thing to happen. Mist tendrils wisped through the tree trunks as the fight commenced. Bodies hurled, slapped, thumped. The logistics were banal, mundane in their simplicity—knuckles meeting shoulder blade, hip bone, neck—and the kid’s response ranged from feeble to nonexistent. He whimpered, pain-dancing in the headlights. The girls made a spectacle of attempting to intervene, shrieking like hyperactive kids and grabbing at their friend, until one of them staggered back from a elbow to the eye socket. The kid’s pavement impact sounded wet.

The truck crunched out of the parking lot, dragging the kid’s bumper, and turned right on to the highway. The kid was doubled over with both arms outstretched towards his feet, balanced up on one hip, like he’d been reaching for his toes and toppled over. He coughed and spasmed, jerking like a flattened windowsill insect.

Traffic droned through the trees. I jogged through the woods towards the highway, waving at the yellow eyes hurtling down the mountainside.

A taxi U-turned into the park’s entrance. I yanked open the passenger door and told him, “Some guy got the shit kicked out of him down there. Pretty bad.”

“Someone you know, hon?” he asked, glancing down the dark lane way. The glow from the kids’ headlights could be seen, but little more.

“No, just some guy. Unconscious, I think. You got a phone?”

He pulled his parking brake with a grunt, twisted his keys to turn off the engine. “Cell coverage is spotty out here, but let’s give it a shot.”

The cabbie’s tone was nonchalant, unworried. He motioned with a flash of his wrist for me to sink into the passenger seat, which I did gratefully. His composure was comforting. He was a thin, hard-looking man wearing a denim vest over a T-shirt that read Kiss My Bass. The flailing green fish erupted from his chest, already hooked. He held a flip phone to his ear while he smoked, the cigarette see-sawing as he spoke.

“What kind of injuries does he have?” the cabbie asked, phone chin-wedged to his shoulder. “They want to know how bad he’s hurt. Is he talking?”

“I didn’t really look.”

“Why don’t you run down there and check?”

The kid was gurgle-moaning as I approached, one of his feet dragging noisily back and forth on the ground. I stopped a few feet away, stomach-sick with empathy pain, staring afraid at the thick clots of crimson slicked into his hair and pooling on the pavement. I crouched down by his face and reached out to squeeze his hand, which was about all I could manage in that moment. I wondered if he could feel my skin, whether my presence here during this moment would register in any meaningful way. He was pretty, skin soft like an infant’s, with an expensive-looking and elaborately shaved white-blond haircut. His gasps came with mint whiffs, and it made me sad to see how much work he’d put into his newly destroyed face—a ragged flap scraped off his eyebrow, a purpled lump rising in his hairline, his lips crusted and foamy. Eventually I whispered something to him that you once told me: “remember this is just a moment, and all moments end.”

Maybe I imagined the cheek-twitch of recognition. Maybe not.

Eventually two police cruisers pulled down into the parking lot, while another parked on the shoulder behind the taxi. Rain drifted at us sideways from the forest as cop radios rambled at the car’s empty interiors. I sat on a massive stump for nearly fifteen minutes before anyone thought to address me. I gave my account to an attractive woman with a tight black ponytail. While we talked two paramedics kneeled beside the kid and shone flashlights in his eyes. He remained unconscious, having rolled at some point on to his back luxuriously, but they readjusted him and pulled an oxygen mask down over his face. That’s when he began to vomit, pinkish stomach contents filling his mask until he choked and spat, involuntarily whimpering.

I thought once I’d told my story I could head back into the woods unnoticed, but the cops wanted me to come to the Victoria Police Department. They’d already stopped a truck, only a few clicks down the highway, and they wanted me to ID the assailant. I sat in an air conditioned room an hour later, my soggy bag under my feet, as the cops waited for the others to arrive.

“Hopefully this won’t take too long,” one of them said.

“They’re thinking brain damage at this point, with a head wound like that. Without you we’ve got no leads. You’re the reason this guy will do time.”

“Good job.”

I asked to use the washroom, and one of them led me down a hallway and opened the door with a key. After I finished, as I swung the door open, I was met eye-to-eye with the truck driver as he swished through the automatic doors at the end of the hallway. I meant nothing to him, of course, and as leftover urine spotted my underwear I watched as his female companions were led from the cold blackness of the parking lot into the station behind him. The first was Cleopatra-proud, chin jutting with dignity, though she was barefoot and bleeding. The second wasn’t so cooperative, and was bouncing back and forth between two flustered fat cops, who held their hands back as if in fear of a wild animal. She was young—sixteen or seventeen—and her flesh was hyper-alive with feral, drunk rage. Throwing her weight into one officer she propelled herself into a flying roundhouse that nearly caught the other one in the throat. She hit the ground hard, howled ape-like as she kicked her feet uselessly at the sky. It was a violent, bombastic, pointlessly beautiful spectacle and neither of her friends were there to witness it. Only me. As one officer pinned her face to the ground with his knee, she wrenched her face into position and clenched her teeth into the meat of his shin. I was transfixed. I’ve spent my whole life trying to summon up that sort of emotion. I’ve never been able to fight back.

The kid survived, I found out later. The cops made me promise to show up in court a few weeks later, then drove me back to the edge of the highway. White-gold, the sun incinerated the horizon as it cast its deep black morning shadows. Across the ways the trees congratulated me, groan-rocking, their limbs outstretched in preparation for the coming applause. And you said I was useless.

The Kootenay Goon

1 note · View note