Date: Wed, 26 Jun 2013 16:43:25 +0100
From: Enchanting Enchanter <enchantingenchantor@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Enchanter's Storybook: Chapter Eight

This is the first story that have written on this website. It's a
fiction/fantasy story that will include mythological creatures such as
witches and fairies, trolls and suchlike. At some point, it will include
acts of sexual congress between characters of the same or different
sexes. This is not a real life event, but it is only a storybook told from
the point of view of the writer, me, who is also the Enchanter; hence the
title "The Enchanter's Storybook".

Set in a medieval world, abundant with magic and fictitious creatures, this
story is about Marcus Mallow and his ascent through the dark outer world of
his hidden human village of Rocky Pass.

If you are lawfully restrained or below the legal age of whichever country
you are in to be reading this, please leave. Thank you.

Finally, if you are wanting to understand the plot, I urge you to read
previous chapters. You wouldn't start a book by reading the eighth chapter,
so don't start this series reading the eighth chapter.

Now to start the eighth chapter of the tale.

The Enchanter's Storybook: Chapter Eight:

The blushing purple sky turned to a sickly dark blue before Marcus felt
sleepy. It came to him like a spark of lightning, and it felt like a heavy
burden pressing harder against his shoulders the longer he carried it with
him. But he pressed on through the maudeness of the Maude Meadows,
scurrying through grasses of blood red and autumn orange, bushes with crisp
leaves and trees with drooping branches that seemed to reach out and grab
him while he wasn't looking.

He didn't notice, but his stomach was growling horribly loud. He hadn't
eaten that day, and had no water. His tongue wasn't unbearably dry, but he
could still feel it there, irking him. How he had wished Varia had offered
him a morning meal that morn, or at least a drink of her waterskin. But
they had been off with the wind all too suddenly, and now he was starved
and quenched, surrounded by a vast and unending redness that seemed to
blush even under the darkness of the night sky.

Marcus usually found comfort in the glistening stars or the ominous glow of
the moon, or at least the distant howl of nightwolves and the chirping of
crickets, but none of that seemed to be this night. As far as he could see,
the moon did not brighten in the midnight sky, and somehow the stars were
hidden behind a sheath of grey and damnable clouds. He suspected it would
rain, but it never did. Of what he could hear, the nightwolves weren't
beings to exist in the Maude Meadows, as their howls somehow desisted the
moment they left the marshlands. The same could be said for crickets and
birds, any signs of life. Everything but the wind seemed to have died with
the sun when it sank below the horizon.

"Darius!" he called out again and again, over and over, for the thousandth
time that night. By then, he expected no reply but the wind. Yet still he
called, repeatedly, never stopping or fading, simply shouting. Where was
he? He asked himself over and over. Why did he leave me? Why, why why?

Oft a time he would call "Varia!" instead, finally facing the fact that
Darius had abandoned him and Varia had lost him. He was alone, in the misty
darkness of red, and all he wanted was his friend.

Yet he forced himself not to cry. Shedding tears was useless, he told
himself. It was childish, it was foolish, and he wouldn't do it. He
wouldn't lower to such folly.

"Darius, you bloody little bastard!" he shouted out. "Fuck you! Fuck all of
you! Varia, Darius, Kryt, Myrdok, Mother, Father, Granny Elisai! Fuck the
lot of you!" he screamed up to the sky. He dropped to the floor and grasped
blades of red grass and pulled as much as he could from the floor, ripping
it away and throwing it in the wind, pulling and tearing until the mud
stained his hands.

He turned over on the hard, red, cold floor of the Maude Meadows and
drifted into some state of worried sleep. The weight on his eyelids was
just so unbearable that he was asleep as soon as they fell.

His dream was blackness. Blackness that fizzed and dripped like ink, that
created ripples and waves like the sea. Eventually, it blew away to show
the Maude Meadows. He was a bird, a tourmaline falcon, gliding through the
dark midnight sky. Through grey clouds and hidden stars, he flew. He zoomed
away from the meadows, he passed through the marshlands and boglands, he
flew over the hills and the enchanted forests, through the Sunstretch
desert and over the mountains of Rock and Stone. Overhead came the tiny
speck of a village built in the between of two of the tallest mountains in
the world. With the sky so dark and the stars so hidden, the sleeping
village of Rocky Pass was hard to see, but it was still there, outlined
with speckles of candlelight and the glow of the surrounding fireflies.

The falcon bird drifted down further and landed onto an old tiled roof,
looking down onto Marcus's own land at the rear of his little beige
house. It was his mother's pride garden, the most perfect garden in the
Pass. His mother always prided herself in her garden, probably more than
Marcus himself. Although, something about his mother's garden was
wrong. The grass, however green, was bushy and overgrown. Wildflowers and
weeds had blossomed, odd stacks of fallen tree leaves scattered the
land. And in the center of it all, his mother sat on the plain hard floor,
crying.

"Mother, Marcus has been gone a month, an that Darius too. They have
perished," said his mother, curdled up beside the golden rose bush they had
planted together last summer. It seemed the only thing tamed in her garden,
the only thing that remained perfect. He knew his mother, he knew she would
keep the bush alive as some hope that he was.

Granny Elisai stumped from the shadows under a withering willow tree and
approached her, apprehensively. "No! No, you listen to me, Johan, he is out
there. I can feel it in my bones. I care not what you say, dear
daughter. He is alive."

"How do you know, Mother? I lost my last-born boy when he climbed that
awful Mount Skull. Why? Why would I let him go? He wants to see the dragon
bones, he told me. Jecker took him when he was younger, he was so good with
him. Now I've lost them both!"

"Marcus is different, Jo. I know he is. He is nothing like his putrid
father. He's out there, and I will find him. Darius was with him,
too. They're great friends, they'll look after each other. I tell you now,
Johan, I am an Elder of the Pass of Rock and Stone, and I will cross into
the forbidden lands and bring him back to us," Granny Elisai declared.

Marcus's Mother, Johan, looked up at her mother with teary eyes of
disbelief. "But Mother, you are a frayed old woman. Look at you. You are
not capable of the journey into that world," his mother said, reaching out
to touch Granny Elisai's hand. The old woman retracted and adjusted the
blue rose in her grayed lilac hair.

"I have made the journey before, and I shall do so again. I know the way:
through the mountains of Rock and Stone, the desert of the Sunstretch, the
enchanted forests, and the lands of hill and bog and marsh; once I have
passed through the Maude Meadows, I will travel across the Great Maude
Lake. At the other end of the lake begins the Trollsturf - troll
country. If I have to burn the troll country to cinders to find him, I
will, child. I will find him, Jo, I will. Just you see, just everyone see!"
the lilac-haired, wrinkle-skinned old woman decreed, pulling her daughter
off of the grass by her wrist and pushing her back into the beige-bricked
building. He remembered so many things from that house, but he knew he
would never go back. His forceful Granny Elisai would never find him, she
would forget him. His mother would too, and he had no certain father to
speak of but the deceased Jecker that he could not seem to remember.

Marcus saw his mother was a mess. Her blue eyes were watery and crying, her
blonde hair was untamed and messy. To be true, Marcus was the image of his
mother, even though he could not remember his father. She was beautiful, so
was he. It was said that his father was handsome, but had black hair and
grey eyes, his mother had told. He had none of that, not a single
resemblance to his father. He was his mother's son. Even so, he could not
return. He would not.

"I promise you I will bring him back to us. I will leave at daybreak."

The darkness dribbled back over the world like blood leaking from an open
throat, and before he could stop it, he was in the dark again. Lying on red
grass and surrounded by copper flowers and autumn trees, he returned to the
world of the Maude Meadow in seconds.

"What on earth...," he asked himself, though he couldn't configure an
answer. He was simply confounded. Perhaps it was just a dream, a regular
dream. But no, he knew, deep down, that it was not. What he saw
was... somehow... real, happening at this very moment in time.

He rose to the floor once again, somehow refueled. It was still night, yet
the sky was as black as it could be. "It's always darkest before dawn," he
muttered to the darkness. "Dawn is coming." He wasn't speaking directly to
anyone, but he still spoke.

Scouting north once more, he headed for nowhere in particular. He called a
name now and then, but only the wind replied. North, he walked. He forced
his foot in front of the other, each time, going north. Turning south meant
going home, and Darius knew that. So why would he go north if he wanted to
go home? It made no sense.

Then he remembered his Granny Elisai. After the hills came the lands of bog
and marsh. They had crossed that while searching for the boy, and entered
the Maude Meadows. But what came after it? The Great Maude Lake! If he
found that, the Trollsturf would be on the other side. Perhaps he just
wandered there. Or maybe he did die. It was the night before that he
left. He had to cross marshlands in the dark, and Marcus could hardly get
through in the day. Perhaps he perished there. Even if he hadn't, the
nightwolves might have gotten him, or a lone troll. Perhaps he did make it
to the Maude Meadows, and maybe he made it to the Great Maude Lake. What if
he drowned there? What if he crossed, only to be killed by the trolls in
the village Varia spoke of on the other side?

He couldn't be sure. But they roamed the marshlands with no sign of Darius,
and so far they had not found him in the Maude Meadows, so the Great Maude
Lake was his only option. So, yes, the boy went north; to the Great Maude
Lake, he was destined.

MEANWHILE, Varia overlooked the greatness of the Great Maude Lake. The
witch had made it there an hour or so before. She knew the land well from
her journey south, towards Rocky Pass, and it seemed no different on her
journey north, away from Rocky Pass. The lake still shone with the hued
reflection of the sky; it still stretched as far west as she could see, and
as far east as east goes, spreading its despicable red water throughout the
Trollsturf.

The water glimmered under the empty black sky, sending small effervescent
waves onto the red grass of the shore. The water itself was disgusting, and
highly poisonous when ingested. That made it impossible to swim across, it
was true. And so many had tried. Yet the poison found its way inside its
victim and paralyzed the poor fuckers from head to toe. They would sink to
the bottom, where the alligators would tear open the live flesh. And that
only made the lake redder.

Varia tousled her deep red hair over her shoulders, running her fingers
through it simply. That morning's sleep had messed it horribly, she could
tell. She reached for the opening of her black leather bodysuit and
fervidly released her plump breasts from it. There, she rummaged into her
black leather undergarments, into her cleavage, and pulled out a
hairbrush. She heaved it through her hair with ferocity, until it bowed to
submission, as all her previous suitors had done. She pulled a handmirror
from the secret place, too, to make sure she was truly beautiful. As
always, she found her face flawless, and made note of that too.

"I will look this beautiful forever," she whispered. "Forever..."

She squeezed the oddities back into her secret place, before tightening
back up the bodysuit and hiding away her undergarments.

The witch sighed and screamed the name again. The idiot boy! she
thought. Making a woman as beautiful as her scour the red meadow for her!
How foolish, she thought.

"Darius! Oh, when I get my bloody hands on you, I swear to the gods above I
will rip out your throat and eat it!" she cursed, only to have the petulant
wind to reply to her.

She ambled sexily down the red hill she lay atop of, and edged onto the
side of the Great Maude Lake. She bent over and sniffed the foul water. It
smelled of poppies and roses, everything sweet and perfect. If the boy came
here, his blood would be spreading through the waters right this moment,
she thought to herself.

She ran her fingers through the water and rubbed it across her
palm. Bringing her hand towards her nose, she smelled in deeper. If he had
drowned, she would sense his blood, yet she didn't.

"He's a clever one," she remarked. "Well, cleverer than most of the idiots
that come to the Great Maude Lake."

She squatted down on the shoreline of the lake and sparked an admirable
blue fire. Perhaps he might see it, out there, wherever he is, she
thought. But she couldn't be sure. The idiot boy had gone north, that much
was certain. She caught his scent in the hills, but had lost it in the
marshlands, only to catch it again in the meadows. He was here, or at least
he had crossed here.

She lay down on the shore of the lake and drifted to sleep, uncertain of
Darius or Marcus. They were both stupid, she thought. Darius was too brave
to keep his mouth shut and Marcus was so gullible he'd step into the mouth
of a dragon if it asked him politely enough.

Varia dreamed of darkness, as witches always did. They were incapable of
dreams. The darkness did nothing but lay still. Yet eventually, it began to
grow lighter...

"Varia?" Marcus asked, poking her in the stomach. "Varia?" he asked again,
shaking her as she slept on the shores of the awfully red lake.

"What? What?"

"You didn't find him, then," he anounced sullenly.

"Nor did you, or so it seems," she replied, sitting up beside the smoky
remains of her pitiful fire. "But you found your way to lake."

"Where could he be, Varia?"

"What I have to tell you will not be enlightening, I assure you," Varia
warned, pulling the boy to sit beside her. "I could smell Darius the entire
time. We witches have higher senses than mankind. It is true, he went
north. I lost his scent in the marshlands, because of all of the mud and
nightwolves. I presumed him dead, until I smelled him again in the Maude
Meadows, after we had separated. I followed the scent here, where it
ended."

"You mean...," Marcus mumbled. "He drowned?"

"Oh, no, no, sweetling! By smelling the water, I could tell he hadn't
touched it. But it ends on the shores. Somehow, he crossed, and I do not
think he crossed alone. Look, on the other side, I see a rowboat. That is
probably how he crossed."

She hadn't seen it at night, but in the daylight it was quite visible at
the northern front of the Great Maude Lake. A small wooden rowboat, large
enough to fit three or four trolls, or at least six humans.

"How will we get it across?"

"Easily!" she stated, standing to the ground and closing her eyes. She
faced the lake. Raising her arms, Varia tainted her essence into the wind,
forced it to her command. She pulled her arms out in front of her, and
clenched her fists. To Marcus, it seemed like she was pulling a rope. Then
she drew her hands back in, and the boat shook on the farther side of the
lake.

A brown snake shot up out of the water and landed into Varia's welcome
hands. She tugged on the rope fiercely, dragging the boat closer, until it
washed ashore beside them.

"Climb in," she ordered, pushing the boat back into the water. Before it
drifted off, she hopped into it too, and it rowed of its own accord to the
other side of the lake.

Immediately, she could smell the boy on the boat. He had crossed. But he
was not alone. The scent had been masked by sorcery, yet she knew he was
not alone.

"Will he be in the village?" Marcus asked.

"Hopefully."

*Closes the Enchanter's Storybook*

That was The Enchanter's Storybook: Chapter Eight. Thank you for reading,
it means a lot to me. Donate to Nifty. *Places Storybook onto the coffee
table, and raises a mug of sugary British tea, sips, and sighs*

And remember: this very email address can be used to message me about our
ideas, plots, comments - anything you have to say on this story, just email
me. Even questions, if the need be.

Have an enchanting evening, my cauliflowers. Love, your dear distant
relative that sends you those hard toffees at Christmas, The Enchanter.