Clouds of Tyranny Read online

  After twenty minutes of fast-paced walking through the high grass, they reached the small coalmining town of Sangrohl: Sangrohl has a long and desperately disappointing history behind it, including death, destruction, and invasion. The town itself lies in the large canyonesque crevice separating the Sangrohl Mountains on either side of the town. Some of the neighboring kingdoms call it the “town of climate separation” due to the fact that the mountain range to the east of Sangrohl is wrought with deathly steam filled cavernous mazes throughout its interior, which is filled with Grohlrats; a large fanged rat the size of a Saint Bernard, among other dangerous “things.” To the west lie the other mountain; covering in a blistering cold that would slay any man that venture inward unprepared and is rumored to house a dragon, though, no one has ever actually seen it. The town itself is made up of poorly constructed shacks and plywood homes, Sangrohl is “unofficially” Empire territory, nobody dares leave their indoor premises after dark because that is punishable by death at the hands of the Empire.

  Locke grabbed Terra by her arm before she could get into the front corridor leading to the town, “Hold up a minute,” whispered Locke. “What’s up?” she replied, looking at his hand that was wrapped tightly around her forearm. He released her once he realized how tight he was gripping the young girl and he saw his white grip marks fade into her pick flesh. He looked into eyes and explained himself, “This place is dangerous, stay close and behind…quietly.” She nodded with cautious and blank eyes and wondered if he could be trusted or if he was leading her into something she had no interest of being a part of. He crept into the town slowly with Terra on his heels and looked in every section before continuing forward. As they walked through the dirt covered floor of the town to his safe house they only saw one living thing: a mangy cat that once was a beautiful orange tabby, but now was a dirty grapefruit-like color with patches of hair missing from it’s once beautiful coat. It trotted in front of them and gazed at them as it ran by with a squirming field mouse in it’s drooling maw. As it ran in front of Terra, it made eye contact with the single eye it still had intact. She sighed a consolable breath; was this cat the one that had run away over a year ago? I hope not, she thought.

  At the far north corner of the town atop a series of wooden stairs were a series a small shacks made up of sheet metal and large debris hanging loosely against the wall of the mountain. After ascending the steps, Locke stopped at one of the thick steel doors and slid it open as he looked at Terra to enter, which she did after great hesitation. Inside she noticed that the interior of this specific domicile seemed to match the town, which wasn’t flattering by any means. Locke entered himself and slid the door shut and quickly tightened it with a series of locks; five of them, and walked past Terra into the living area which housed an old chair that could barely contain it’s stuffing and had several springs popping out, a brown cloth couch with a green pillow and a gray pillow, a glass coffee table with wooden trim, and a book case with nonspecific books such as: a bible, “History of Brahm”, “World Encyclopedia 2500 – 2600”, and lots of recipe books for medicine and tonics. On the top shelf there were cabinets with glass windows revealing the vials of colored liquid and cloth pouches about the size of a fist. Terra seemed to get the impression that this is where Locke came to lick his wounds; during their walk to Sangrohl she noticed old forgotten scars on his body; a large one on his neck was painfully obvious. “Have a seat,” ordered Locke as he entered that back of the shack and went behind a curtain. She looked around…Where? She thought. She wiped crumbs and a dead bug from the couch and sat down over her skirt and crossed her ankles in front of her. She sighed as she looked around that room. Locke returned with a chunk of bread and a glass (a dirty one) filled with a dark green liquid, “Here,” he said while handing her the items. She took the bread and hesitantly took the glass as well; she took a bite of the bread which was surprisingly good and questioned Locke with her eyes about the drink with a bizarre look, “It’s a vitamin mixture, it’ll give you nourishment and help you sleep,” he answered. “Hmm,” she said after taking a drink, “It’s better than it looks.” “Many things are,” he retorted, “You’ll be safe here and I will be back soon, get some rest, we leave at dawn.” She was chewing and drinking like it was her last meal as she nodded her head, “Where you goin’?” “Got an errand to run,” he said as he crawled out the window, “There’s a snub-nosed under the couch, lock the window.” He shut the window and crept back down the stairs the way they had come. She got up and tightened the latches on the bar-covered window then walked into the curtain barring room Locke came from as she finished her bread. Once inside, she looked upon the dishes lain across the counter and within the sink, which looked as if they hadn’t been cleaned in her lifetime. She took a quick look around for observers and stared into the mirror resting on the wall adjacent to the sink at the gash below her left eye, at which she cringed at the sight of. She took the middle finger of her right hand and slowly glided it across the wound, as it passed the wound vanished: no cut and no scar. Just the dry blood on her cheek remained. She smiled at herself in the mirror and turned away to grab a rag from the shelf overlooking the dirty sink. On the floor lies a bucket of clear water. She balled up the rag and dipped it in the water. After wringing out the cloth, she proceeded to wash her face and clean her dirty, bruised leg. She felt better now and was feeling a bit tired; Locke’s drink certainly did the trick. She walked into the room with the couch and laid down with her face toward the back cushions and balled herself up to create more warmth, using her skirt as a blanket on her ankles and feet. She drifted way and the sandman brought happier times.

  CHAPTER 2: RINA BORDAGUE

  Terra emerged from a small and homey cottage on a pond abundant with carp and toads; toads larger than most fish, but cuddly as if they were descendant of slimy teddy bears. The green grass was plush and pillow-like; she never had the need for footwear in this place. Her favorite rabbit was nibbling on the cabbage she grew in her vegetable garden on the side of her sparkling tope painted cottage. Very Peter Cottontail looking with his light brown furry body and white fluffy nub of a tail that flickered as it moved. She did not mind when he did this; her veggies seemed to grow faster than she could pick them almost to the point of over population. Seeing the rabbit nibble on the green leaves tempted her to go over and see how her garden was faring. The rabbit, being a sketchy creature by nature, fled into the forest and into his log descending into his subterranean lair deep within the dark wood. She watched as he scampered home and couldn’t help but giggle when the rabbit’s pointy ears and bright eyes were still visible from inside the darkness of the log. Guess he forget about his ears, she thought happily. She admired his innocence for a moment, then turned her focus on her vegetable patch; it seemed to grow every time she gandered at it. Cabbage bigger than her own dainty head, scallions exploding out of the ground, carrots overlapping its brethren, and gigantic clusters of potatoes practically screaming to be pulled immediately. Next to her cornucopia of vegetables was her fresh herb garden, which she never picked, it always amazed her that something could be so plain yet so beautiful. For her, a fresh, dew soaked bush of rosemary appeared and smelled more sublime than the finest long-stem roses.

  After admiring the life she had created and maintained over the past years, she went toward the top soil lain beneath her rain runoff pipe from the cottage to fetch some Stickyworms; large worms no longer than her pinky but as thick as her thumb. Stickyworms resembled ‘caterpillars’; an insect she saw in a book left over from the old world. She thought back to her book, ‘Creatures of the Pre-Calamity’, hard to believe that worms were once not much thicker than yarn and frogs were as tiny as her frail little nose. How did anything survive being so small? She thought. She dipped her fingers into the sludgy black mud and picked six nice fat Stickyworms and held them in her cupped palm, in which they were overflowing, and ran back to the front of the cottage to grab her handmade fishing rod; thick wooden shaft,
glossy line thread, and a reel fashioned out of a large copper spool that her mother taught her could be used for many things like a pen-mate or a toy for their pet weasels or even to thin bread for bread sticks before baking; she had been told by her mother that doctors us the wooden spools to hold open the mouth’s of their patients. She sat at the edge of the pond with her pole and began to tie a fresh hook to the end of the line. After a brilliantly small knot she attached the gargantuan worm to the end, Should catch a fatty, she thought as she cast her line and sat waiting for a nibble. As she sat, she looked at the reel that so much reminded her of her mother seeing as how her mother was its creator. Oh Mom, she thought as she closed her eyes and pictured her mother’s sweet face those many years ago…

  Since Terra’s father passed in her first year of life she, never really knew him, therefore didn’t think of him much. But her Mother, what an amazing person, Rina Bordague was a sculptor, a painter, an alchemist, and a blacksmith. Which of these things she was depended on what was needed in the town she was in at that time. Rina traveled all her life since she was of the working age of twelve. She ran away from her parents and escaped the hostile continent to the west once called ‘America’ and hopped a cargo ship to the eastern continent to start a new life without the mutated demons of ‘America’. She would spend many years exploring many things; men, towns, and herself. But that changed when Terra was brought into this world when she was twenty years of age. Rina knew it was time to slow it down, especially without a husband and no father for little Terra. From what Rina had told Terra, she knew that as a baby Rina dragged her daughter through many areas of the continent working jobs she excelled in and doing what she had to earn money for her ‘plan’. When Terra was ten years of age they acquired the deed to a moderately sized chunk of land and after about a year of hard work, her and her talented mother built a beautiful cottage next to a pond. She taught Terra everything she needed to survive as to assure that Terra wouldn’t have to earn money the ‘dreadful way,’ as she would often put it. Terra later learned of what her mother called the ‘dreadful way’, which meant selling her body for money to degenerates. Terra would spend the next couple years learning to fish, maintaining plant life, preserving clean water, and setting traps for small animals such as boars, wild fowl, and rabbits (the ones that weren’t cute). Terra would often ask Rina, “Mama? Why am I doing this? Is it because you will be old someday?” When Terra would ask this, her mother would not answer, she would just get watery-eyed and turn her head or simply change the subject. When Terra turned fourteen she finally found out why her mother was teaching her such things; Rina was dieing very slowly.

  Rina felt it was time to spill the beans when her body finally refused to work any longer. On her death bed in her final days, Rina explained this to Terra and wished her luck, “Don’t be sad,” she said, “The one thing that kept my spirits high all through my existence was something that my mother told me, ‘Always remember the good times and not the evil or the disparaging’ and those simple words have held me calm all this time. Even in the times of sickness and pain” Terra sat there in a chair next to her bed during her final moments, the bed was built by Terra at her mother’s request, now she knew why her mother poked and pushed her to make it perfect: the smoothness of the support beams, the articulate heart shaped posts, and the extra-soft stuffing of the mattress made of pure cotton from the cotton fields in the east. Terra now understood that was because it held significance to both her mother’s last minutes and Terra’s memory of who her mother was. As for the chair; Rina spent what seemed like forever working on it: the chopping of the tree, the peeling of the bark, the carving of the oak, the sanding, the waxing, and the painting of little angels on the legs, which were practically invisible unless you were really looking for them. Yet, when she went to sit in the chair she heard a sound rarely heard in her house, “No!!! That chair is not for sitting and I damn well mean it! Do you understand me?!” she yelled as she gripped Terra’s arms so tight her bones could feel it, but Terra could not respond, just quivered an affirming nod. This moment at the end of her mother’s life was the reason for the creation of that chair and Terra finally understood.

  Her mother had always been the strongest person she knew, but lying there insipid, frail and shivering fiercely made her appear weak and it broke Terra’s heart. Her mother was slowly drifting away as she told Terra things she had been saving for this very moment. Terra learned that her mother had had a death sentence for over ten years that was only supposed to last five, but God had graced her with twice that for Terra’s sake was her belief. Rina spoke to Terra very sternly, “I want you to just listen,” she said, “don’t interrupt. I knew my time would expire before I would get to see you become a woman and fall in love one day, that is the hardest part; I’ll never see you get married like I had wished I had done. But, I feel I have taught all I can and I regret only that I can’t teach you more. You are strong on the inside, like me, yet you appear to be a meek person that no one would look twice at…you blend in well my daughter. And this will help you with what may come, you are special my darling in ways I can never explain. As my fuse begins to diminish, I recall something that you must know. Your father is not dead, at least not as far as I know; he made a choice to not accompany us in the arduous trial of our lives. You might see it as abandonment, but I never blamed him, I loved him very much and I regret not giving him a son but I don’t regret you. I know you must have many questions, but I will not allow you to ask because I have no intention of dwelling on such things. This is our time together and nothing will taint our last minutes together; knowing my disease will just associate it with death for you and knowing your father’s name will just fill your heart with despair. If you choose to seek him out, he has a scar on his right arm from a knife fight.” Rina didn’t speak another word and Terra honored her wishes; Rina laid and Terra just looked at her for the last two hours of her life as she held her hand tight. Terra would wait twenty-four hours then bury her mother behind the cottage topped with a headstone, blank except the emblem Terra carved for her: an angel in tears bringing a halo down to her grave. She would visit the site every morning as she drank her herbal tea and talked while her mom listened.

  Terra opened her eyes after her memories stopped running her thoughts to see a ripple rapidly fleeting from where she was sitting and her fish line unraveling. She leaned forward onto her knees and gripped the reel lever stopping the dissipation of line, but it yanked her violently into the chilly water causing the insects and frogs to scatter.

  The cold, wet water awakened her. She looked around; Locke’s place, almost dawn as she could see the sun’s flare slowly crept up from behind the mountain. She let out a deep exhale and looked about the room and saw Locke leaning back against the steel door they entered through last night. He was asleep with his arms crossed atop his sword and his head laid sideways on his intertwined biceps atop his arched knees. She then realized a change; a thick cotton blanket covered her. She looked at the blanket atop her and looked back at Locke and smiled, not as cold as he seems, she thought.

  CHAPTER 3: DEATH, MY OLD NEMESIS

  Terra sat there staring at Locke from her couch-bed with a spring stabbing her in the leg for what seemed like hours, He’s kind of cute…in a damaged sort of way. She hated to wake people up; it seemed rude to her. Finally, she shifted her weight on a loose piece of wood within the couch causing a squeak within its soul; it echoing throughout the aluminum encased housing. Before his eyes shuddered open, he inadvertently did a front shoulder roll, unsheathing his sword while doing so, and the blade was positioned for a death blow not more than seven feet from Terra. Terra didn’t so much as flinch at this for she knew that Locke was not the hasty type and although he was a tough and scary type, she felt safe and protected. He kneeled there looking at her with his blade revealed: Terra scanned it analytically; a double-edged Damascus sword spackled with black and white grain along the flat surface of the three-foot blade. She
strained her eyes…there is a foreign writing along the bottom portion of the blade, she couldn’t make it out. Time will tell all, she thought as she smiled at Locke as he kneeled there with sword in hand.

  “Are you okay? Seem a bit jumpy over there,” said Terra as she sat on the couch comfortably. “Fine, just fine,” said Locke as he sheathed his damascus blade and continued to kneel, looking at her. Terra had a curved smiled as she thanked him for his hospitality,” Locke, I really appreciate the bread, medicine, and… you know… saving my life,” she giggled. Locke, after hearing this got more comfortable and slid from a kneel to being on both knees just looking at her. “Slept well?” he asked as she snickered at him: she noticed him glancing at her womanly body. “Yes. Thanks to you,” Terra retorted as she flung the blanket over him covering his body and at the same time insulting him with a call of weakness. He was annoyed now; he whipped it away from his body and rose to his feet, which prompted her to swing from a lay/lean state to an upright sit. During this transition her skirt rode up her leg at which Locke was able to see her upper left thigh: silken, soft, and unabridged with flaws despite her chubby torso. For a slight second his mind generated thoughts he hadn’t created in years. He locked his eyelids and got back to the real world.

  “What are you?” asked Locke as he looked down at her sitting on the couch, handing her a glass of tepid water from the table in the center of the room. “I…” she muttered, not knowing what he was referring to. “You charred a deathly killer plant with your mind. And…I wanna know how!!!” Terra stared unsurely at him, “What the hell are you talking about? You’re obviously confused. I was attacked; luckily the ivy combusted internally. Must have been watered by the Fringock River or something.” Locke looked down at Terra; he finally realized what no one ever bothered to think about. My god! She doesn’t know! I have to protect this girl!, he thought as he stood there and no longer feared her gift. He backed off slightly and looked out the window, “Dawn, we should probably-“ CRASH!!! The window shattered as a large arm reached in, breaking the glass and barely fitting through the barred grating, and had a tight hold on Locke’s throat as it pulled him towards the broken glass; Locke felt the glass scrape against his back.