The Black Oak Sword, Part Two
Variana sat in her chair opposite her tutor. In the corner, her nanny rocked quietly. Her hands worked tirelessly as she stitched a quilt. Variana looked over at her nanny. She lowered her voice a bit. “I want you to tell me the story of the Black Oak Sword.”
Bradford stopped sorting through his books. “I told you, Princess, no fairy tales.” He looked at her meaningfully and jerked his head towards nanny.
“She can’t hear a thing, Bradford, and you know it. Now, tell me about the Black Oak Sword,” she insisted.
He sighed. A long wheezy thing that reminded her of an old tired gust of wind. “Well. If you insist.” His eyes twinkled. Variana knew he loved the story as much as she did. “But,” he raised his right forefinger and pointed it at her, “this time just a little bit different.”
Variana was surprised. He never told the story different. It had been her favorite since she first heard it six years ago. “What,” started the Princess. She got no further.
Bradford cut her off. “And no questions,” he cautioned her. “Not even one.” He looked over his glasses at her. “Agreed?” he asked.
“Agreed.”
“In the beginning, there was magic. The whole world was full of it,” said Bradford.
In the corner, Nanny harrumphed.
Bradford turned slightly. He raised his right eyebrow. It looked, for all the world, to Variana like a giant caterpillar trying to lift its middle. “Did you have a question, Mistress Nan?” he asked.
“No,” she answered. Her needles snick snacking together as she knit the scarf she worked on. “Just,” she added and then stopped.
“Just what?” snapped Bradford in a slightly severe tone.
“There is no such thing as magic,” finished Nanny.
“Ah,” Bradford smiled, “but there is.”
And with that, Variana’s whole world changed.
Bradford stood up. He pulled a short ash rod out of his tunic. About as thick as her father’s thumb, it tapered to a point as delicate as her smallest finger. Variana had never seen it before, but she instantly knew what it was. A magician’s rod. Her heart leapt in her breast. Bradford waved the rod and the door swung shut slowly. It closed with a click that lifted Nanny’s head up from her needlework. Before she could open her mouth, Bradford waved the rod at her as well. Her head sagged into her overlarge bosom and she snored peacefully.
“Wha…” started Variana.
Bradford looked sharply at her. He raised his finger in admonishment. “You promised, my dear,” he smiled gently. “No questions.”
Variana sat still. Her hands dropped to her lap. She nodded silently at Bradford.
“Well then, let me begin,” said Bradford. He sat back down. “Over five hundred years ago, the castle you now call home was just a small little house. It sat in the middle of an oak forest. In this house, there lived a solitary hermit. No one came to visit. In fact, no one ever came into the forest. It was surrounded by large open fields of wild grass and even more wild animals. The open fields were crisscrossed with small streams and great rivers. At the very northern edge of the great fields of open land, there sat the tallest mountains in the world. In the mountains, there lived Giants, and Trolls, and Goblins. On the other side of the mountains, ferocious warriors lived vicious, short, violent lives as they fought for ownership of the cold, flat lands that lay in the north. On the western edge of this great land, there was an endless sea. Dolphins leapt and sported in the sparkling sunlight as the sun set every night in the west. As it rose again in the east, it cast its bright rays on myriad swamps and lowlands full of every kind of slimy creature. The swamps were full of hate and anger. They seethed at the peace of the beautiful grasslands. And every creature that lived in the swamp seethed with it. On the south, there was a great river. The river Donn. It was believed to be uncross able. Until one day, a man crossed it.
He moved across the great open fields. After five days of walking, he reached the small black oak forest that lay in the middle of this great land. He walked into the cool darkness. Everything was exactly as he had been told it would be. For this man had been visited by one of the Seven. One night, as he lay in his bed dreaming of what was to become of his life, She came to him. She called him by name. “Varen,” she called into his dream. “Varen, can you hear me?” she asked.
“I hear you,” he replied.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked.
He nodded in his sleep. “You are Destiny, the Goddess of the Future.”
“That is right,” she nodded. And then she sent him on his quest. She showed him were to go. And she told him that if he did everything she asked, he would become a great King. And so, he left his small cottage and began a great adventure.
He crossed the great river. He walked for five days across the open fields. As he walked, he repeated what Destiny had told him he must say when he arrived. He didn’t want to forget even a word. She had warned him, if he didn’t say it just right, he would certainly die.
He never veered off course to the west or the east. He went straight to the small oak forest in the middle. In he walked. Into the cool, dappled sunlight that broke through the great oaks. He walked to the center of the trees. Along the path She had shown him that night in his dream. He reached a small, stone cottage. The thatched roof was coated in golden sunlight. For it sat in a small opening in the woods. Bees hummed quietly. Small, forest animals hopped and jumped around the cottage. He raised his right hand and knocked three times.
“Who is it?” asked a deep voice from within.
“It is I, Varen,” the soon to be king answered. “I have been sent by She of the Seven who is most often called Destiny.”
“And what do you seek?” the voice asked.
Varen stood up straight. He thought carefully to what Destiny had told him that night. He got it all straight in his mind. And then he repeated it, “I seek what is rightfully mine. By the command of She who holds all that my come in her palm, I am here for the Black Oak Sword.”
This is Part 2 of a 3 Part Short Story
Read Part 1 Here
© 2017, Stone Golem Publishing
**All pictures used are labeled for reuse. They come from Max Pixel
Follow @bigpanda for more flash fiction.
Can't wait for the final part. Loving this--reads just like a fairy tale
How do you write so quickly? You are the most prolific author I've ever seen!!! And I say this to preface my admission that I haven't read this yet... I will put it in my queue, but I can't keep up with you!
@geke, about a year ago I finally got fed up with my own slow pace and committed myself to outlining. Even for my really short stories. It sounds weird, because I've always been a pantser but I'm also incredibly indecisive in my writing because I see so many different directions the story could go and want to write them all. I would get so caught up in every variation I would never even get a few words written. I went eight years and only wrote a couple of short stories but I was always creating worlds in my head. 8 YEARS!
So I finally just told myself I had to outline and then stick to it (for the most part :) ) For some reason, planning has really helped my production speed. I think it is because it limits my direction. And then of course, I write every morning for at least a couple of hours. Never fail. It is one of the things I love most--writing.
When I read your writing, I can tell that about you as well--writing is something you love. You do it so well any reader can tell you care about your characters--even when you put them in the middle of impossibly hard situations.
But as with everything about the art of writing--as you certainly already know--every writer is different and for that I'm grateful. Otherwise we would all be the same--bleeehhh.
One of my all time favorite authors is Patrick Rothfuss and he is notoriously slow. I mean, come on for crying out loud Patrick--release the third book in the Name of the Wind series already. I'M TIRED OF WAITING FOR IT PATRICK. My other favorite author is Modesitt--and I think he pumps out 3 or 4 books a year--and I snap up every single one and read it several times because I love his ability to create worlds that come alive in my mind and then he throws all his lovely characters to the wolves. Scrumptious stuff!
When you do get a chance to read it, I really would love to hear your opinion. I think this story has a bit of legs and I'm might just try to make a novel out of it. I wrote a novel last year and it stunk so bad I had to set it aside in a small pool of tears. I guess that is the way of life. Perhaps this shortish story has the possibility of going somewhere.
I will be sure to give you my opinion and I want to be able to give it focused attention, so I'm hoping tomorrow... today is @jimitations' birthday and nothing much is getting done today. lol
very good story connecting friend
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