Thread: A story from Lagertha

Be gentle. Going to share a story I worked on long ago. All thoughts and ideas are original and mine, so please don't take them or use them without my permission Thanks! Chapter One The river flowed red, like it had so many times before. Bodies lined the top of it, some floating, some sinking, but the deed had been done. The once beautiful sapphire color of the waves had been tarnished, turned into a deep dark red from the amount of blood that had been spilled, and people stood on the edges of the river watching the red spread. It moved, swirling, eating all the blue in sight as it cast it's deep darkness onto the lake that so many relied on to sake their thirst. Women and children were sparred it seemed, watching the bodies of their loved ones sons, fathers, husbands, protectors float with no end above the waves. The on lookers looked at the bodies for hours, some days, some weeks, as they began to decay. Slowly, they noticed with much ease, creatures from below the waves that had survived surfaced with their small hands, pulling the bodies below. In replace of the bodies they took, a flower was left. The flower looked like glass, sparkling in the mid day sun, pink petals that curled at the end with long shafts that hung out, little orange dots in the center that danced in the breeze as if waving to those who remained, those who watched. By the time all the bodies had been removed, not many women were on the edges of the water over looking the red sea. Instead, the red sea had been covered with so many flowers, that not much of the sea could be seen anymore. What was more curious was the places the flowers danced over, absorbed the red color, changing the color of their petals to a deeper darker pink, almost purple. And the water itself that was once red? The red had gone from it, returning the sapphire coloring of the waves as if the event had never happened. I don't understand. A little boy had looked at his mother, holding tightly to her hand as they had walked on the edge of the river, watching the flowers float into the lake to clean it. The boy's blue eyes fixated on the flowers, pondering how something below the sea could look so pretty. His mother stopped, turning her back to the boy in front of a fruit stale. The boy, eager to get a better look at one of the dancing flowers, pulled his small hand from her and stumbled to the edge of the waters. He knelt down, reaching out his toddler arm to try to grab a flower in his palm, and his blue eyes met with the waves. His blue eyes widened, at the sight of eyes staring back at him through his reflection. Startled, the creature disappeared, scales and all to the depths. Wait! The boy cried, wanting the creature to come back. What is is Arrion? The mother returned from the stale, new fruits in basket as she snatched the boy away from the water. Leave the flowers to do their job. Blessing of the sea monster to us. The mother spoke caution, and the boy looked at her puzzled. Something in the creatures eyes had told him she had seen something in his eyes, and he was curious what the creature below the waves had seen. What are the sea monsters like? The boy asked, his mother holding tight to his arm as she dragged him back to the market. Arrion was a boy of seven, his mother a women of thirty. They had both watched their family slaughtered, thrown into the waves of the lake that the 'sea monsters' had cleaned. Why are they monsters? Arrion wondered, kicking his heels and turning up dirt as they went. They used to be peaceful beasts before the river turned red. The mother commented, telling her son a story she had told many times before. We would play out flutes, sing to the sea and they would surface to dance for us. Great human like beats with tails like fish. His mother smiled, remembering a better time before madness had struck. Did you know any mommy? Arrion wondered, curious as a cat, if his mother had ever talked to one. He looked up at her, wild and curious. Are they mean now? His mother sighed, looking at a stale filled to the brim with rugs an elder woman had crafted by hand. I used to know one. The mother replied to the boy after a pause. So purple were her eyes and hair and skin, so beautiful, and her voice was like the sweetest flute. The boy was quiet, tugging on the rags his mother called a dress. Stitched together thing it was, from discarded clothing from corpses long ago. Merail was her name. She was young and stunning, and her laughter made me feel at ease. The mother paused, not sure how to word such a story to such a small boy. Her gift was great.. The mother continued thin hands raking against the ware of the elder woman. The boy's gaze had returned to the lake, now many feet away. Gift? The boy mumbled, watching the waves in the distance twist the flowers around. Merail could see things yet to come. The mother commented twisting around and scooping up the child. He rested against her should, under the scar that peeled down from her left eye to her collarbone. I asked her to tell me something that would come sooner or later in my path. The mother sighed, her insides twisting much like her brows as she replayed what the creature had told her, though her son was much quiet as she carried him. I would birth a boy, Merail claimed.. The mother paused in speech as she walked. ..One that will massacre innocents by the thousands..a true monster he will be. The sweet voice played in her head, replying the words the mermaid had spoken to her of warning. One who will save everyone! He'll save the world! Arrion giggled, and the mother looked down at him lips parted in awe. For she had lied to the boy, told him Merail had seen something good, a future worth raising. The mother had lost all her other sons in the war, and some of her daughters. Still, she couldn't see how Arrion could become a monster, as sweet as he was, and she had no other sons breathing. Right? Arrion commented and the mother smiled nodding. Correct Arrion. The mother lied through skin in teeth. Merail's face still twisted in the mother's head, her words as clear as day. ..The last of many sons to survive, the boy will grow to man, the man will slaughter everything for fun. The mother felt shamed. She tried her best to raise him, Arrion in hopes Merail's words might never come true, but in all her despair she still remembered the little bits, the good bits of her prophesy. Your son will do much harm..he will have many children, many will die but one will survive..a girl, one you will never see, but know she will be strong... At least the mother could hold onto that, that she would have a granddaughter one day. Though pain hit her, at the icy words of Merail, who spoke she would never meet the girl yet to come. Her fingers thrummed the book, so old it had sat on the shelf for ages, but here she sat in the small desk space of her mother's study reading the book. Hand written, scribbling and some words she could barely make good use of, but the girl sat there reading it to the best of her ability. She snickered at the writing, it's funny word placements and how the person who had written it had written it like a book instead of a diary. What are you reading Liol? Her mother stood in the doorway, wrapping her silk sash around her waist, fanning herself with her linen shirt. Her grey hair was pulled back, a mop of a mess, and her forearms were lined with scars from hard working in the field. Her mother was a tall woman, standing nearly six feet tall, yet the girl herself was short without her boots. Her tanned skin twisted, wrinkling and cracking as she saw the book in her daughter's hands. Give me that Liol! That isn't yours to read yet. The mother stomped forward snacking the snack bound book from her daughter's fingers. Liol turned, arm resting around the back of the wooden chair her mother had crafted from hand as she stared at her mother. Why? Grandmother wanted me to read her diary when she died. Liol commented, as her mother thumped through the book. It's interesting, she talks about the red sea, you know before it turned red, then back to sapphire..then red again. Liol was standing, bending over to tighten up her work boots. Her boots had seen better days. She wanted you to read it to protect your sister. The mother commented, huffing and shaking her salt and pepper head. She pulled Liol's arm, putting the book in her pants as she moved to twist her daughter's sash in many knots. Why is it always about Mai and not me? Liol cried, annoyed and rolling her eyes. Her mother smiled, Ginger had once been her name, now she went by Ox. Ox laughed a bit, cupping Liol's face. Liol looked much like her grandmother, raven black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a similar scar on her face. I wish you never did that to yourself. Ox commented about the scar. Liol had looked up to her grandmother too much, and she had wanted to make her grandmother feel better about the scaring she had gotten from the war. So Liol had scarred herself, despite Ox trying to save her from scarring. I thought grandmother would feel better if we both had the same scar. Liol commented, remembering the way her grandmother had cried when she had done it. Instead you made her remember a time she wanted to forget. Ox huffed, pulling her daughter's short thick hair back into a braid. Liol's hair never grew past her shoulders, and her thin body made most of the girl's think she was a boy. Besides her childish face. Liol looked at the floor, looking at the cracks in the flooring as Ox pulled and tugged on her hair. She loved you the way you were. Ox finally said, placing her hands on her daughter's shoulders. If she loved me the way I was, she wouldn't want me to waste my life watching out for Mai! Liol turned on her mother, glaring hateful. Ox put her hands on her hips, staring down at her daughter. Liol was short, but Mai was shorter. Ox knew all too well why Liol had been asked to watch over Mai, who had not been before their grandmother had passed. Did your grandmother ever tell you the truth story about how she got that scar on her face? Ox finally started, pushing Liol out the door of her study. She got in the war when she was trying to save one of her sons from the ax of the slaughter...that's how she put it. Liol watched her mother, who moved to put the book back on the shelf high above where Liol would be able to get it. That was a lie. Ox sighed, turning to leave her study with her daughter. She pushed Liol out of the door, and followed after. Ox took a key ring from her sash, twisting a key into the lock with her back to Liol. She tugged on the door, making sure it was sealed this time before hiding the key ring back in her sash. Your grandmother was very good at lying to you, but she could never fool me. Ox pushed her daughter, moving past the ratty kitchen to the front door. She pushed Liol out, closing the front door of the shabby home behind her, and twisting another key to lock it. They were late for the working field, had Liol not been busy going through Ox's study they wouldn't be. Then what is the truth of it, mother dearest? Liol rolled her eyes, marching forward down the dirt road to the fields of green in the distance. She could see the other women in the field, planting, pulling weeds, and taking out the stock from the ground as they spoke. Liol hated to work, but she couldn't stand school. Merail. Ox sighed. Liol turned on her heels, surprised by the allegation. Merail the mermaid gave grandmother the scar? Liol squeaked. It was the price for grandmother knowing her future. A good future gives a blessing, a special shell. Ox explained. One that allows you to see the merfolk dance, one that brings you great joy..a terrible future.. Brings you a hideous scar on your face. Liol wrapped her arms over her chest stomping away, but Ox was close on her daughter's feet. Not exactly Liol. Then what mother? You said Merail gave her the scar. Liol shook her head, thinking her mother was treating her like an idiot. Merail didn't give your grandmother that scar. Her son Arrion did. Liol turned at her mother's words, confused. But I thought father was just a baby in the womb when she got the prophecy? Ox laughed at her daughter's words. Arrion was born of horn and skin, the god of hate brought him here. When Merail told your grandmother the truth, Arrion sucked some of her life force into the womb in anger. Liol still couldn't understand. All these years she had thought her mother had just been hateful to their father Arrion, as well as their grandmother. She knew crazy things happened in their world, but most of the magical beings had long sense gone extinct, or cast away to the forgotten lands. That isn't possible, beings like that. You said all of them were forgotten, or dead, and I don't believe you about the Forgotten lands. I asked my teacher and she laughed at me like I was stupid. Told me it was just some dumb story you had told me to keep me interested in work. Liol had only agreed to work to hear more stories from her mother, and now she regretted. Not entirely though, since she didn't have the attention spam to sit in a class and try to learn things on paper. Liol. Ox gripped her daughter's arm, who tried to jerk away. Ox was strong, stronger than normal females were, and her muscles were quite big for a woman Liol looked at her mother, questioning why she gripped her so tightly. I know you saw it, didn't you? Liol wanted to shake her head, but she knew what Ox was talking about..the blackness that surrounded her father, the hate that spilled out from him wherever he went. I will never lie to you like your grandmother. So trust me, for your sake and your sister's sake..I won't always be here to protect you. Liol nodded, shaking in her mother's grasp. Good. Ox let go of her watching Liol scurry off ahead. Don't listen to that moron of a teacher..they have all become blind to the truth.