Chapter 3 #2
He was a slight man, more wisps of clouds and wheat stalks than an actual human, always donning large, circular goggles, obscuring his eyes from townsfolk and giving the sense that he could very well be part bug. Despite his tiny frame, his reedy voice filled up the bustling streets.
“Folk of Moss”—a slight whistle sang through his teeth with every s—“shadows creep along the Irk, through the Shadow Woods, into our very lands! They tell of monsters emerging out of deep chasms created by a dark shadow. The black magic like gnarled roots, ripping open this very earth bit by bit!”
“Not this again,” I whispered to Rosie.
“What? You don’t enjoy a spooky story told the same way every other week?” Rosie playfully nudged me in the ribs.
“At this point, I think Moss has his entire monologue memorized.” I began to mouth But I tell you, these shadows… just as Ludwig said the same.
“But I tell you, these shadows are not just bred of the Witherings. Nay… the Prince… he lives on.” Rosie and I chuckled under our breath, and Ludwig wagged his finger into the sky, his voice rising above the ongoing chatter.
“His wrath is unending; his withering magic will find us here. Our green forests will turn black with decay! Our town will fall into ruin! Our very people will turn against us, warping into creatures of the night as the magic poisons our minds! You know it is true.”
“He does love to drone on about the Prince.” Rosie sighed.
“Yes, and he is dead—the most deceased. Hells, Eldrene has said herself every Celebration, ‘The Prince will never be seen again.’ So he’s forever smote.”
Rosie heaved a laugh, clapping me on the back so hard, I almost fell headfirst into the dress fabrics.
She caught me before I could set off a chain of racks falling onto each other and gently swiped a few stray curls out of my face as she did so.
Though she was a seven-foot-tall orc, Rosie had always been the softest being I’d ever known; she just didn’t know her own strength.
“You’ve heard of the towns taken by his magic, what happened to the people there… the people still there.”
“Goddess, I hate hearing stories about that place,” Rosie said, squeezing my hand so tightly, my fingers started going numb.
“Then let’s not listen,” I said, trying to wiggle free.
“It is only a matter of time, mere moments perhaps, before we ourselves fall victim to the gray, tortured fate of…” Ludwig paused, his arms outstretched.
The crowd’s chatter had quieted, their lively conversations turning to hushed whispers. Despite themselves, everyone was waiting with bated breath for the name we all knew too well, one that ought not be uttered in the sun-warmed streets of Moss.
“Dwindle.” Ludwig relished every syllable of the name. Rosie gasped along with the rest of the crowd. I shook my head. This was ridiculous.
“You know that of which I speak.” Ludwig said this as if it were a revelation.
It was only the most spoken-of village in Nestryia.
At the northernmost part of our realm lies dragon country—a vast continent that few have ever traveled. If they have, they certainly haven’t returned. Directly to the south of dragon country is the Witherings, the largest continent in Nestryia.
Before the Prince’s demise, the Witherings was rumored to be an ancient kingdom that the gods themselves envied. When he died, though, his magic seeped into the land, causing it to fall in on itself. The magic began to spread into dragon country, until the great rending took place.
Where the two lands had once shared a border, there was now a chasm that ran straight through like a crack in the earth.
Some say that dragons tore through the original border, burning so deep that none dared cross.
Others believe that the Prince’s withering magic sought to extricate itself from all other continents.
If that legend is true, then he was successful in his endeavor.
The Witherings lies alone, bordered by nothing but the Shadow Woods.
And Dwindle.
A town on the outskirts of the Witherings, it fell prey to its magic when the Prince died a millennium ago.
His dark powers sucked the village of life and turned any survivors into horror-filled versions of themselves, so the stories say.
When Fennings Forest burned down one hundred years ago, any remaining trade routes in and out of the town were shut off entirely. No one knows its fate now.
The story served as a warning of the dangers of withering magic—nothing more. Besides, Moss was on the opposite end of the realm. Impossible for anyone here to get there, and vice versa. Especially with Irk Road and Shadow Woods surrounding the place.
Now, those places were terrifying. No one who traveled those routes ever came back.
A few tradesmen from Moss reported seeing murky figures lingering in the shadows along the coastline of Irk, and the sounds of gnawing bones could be heard over the waves for miles.
Sailers stayed tucked away in their ships, hoping whatever hid away in the gloom could not swim.
Those stories snuck into my dreams more than I cared to admit.
“We must be vigilant, Moss! Our time is ticking,” Ludwig cried out, making tick-tock noises with his tongue.
A moment of silence filled the streets, then the bustle began once more.
Folk resumed their shopping, laughter rang out, conversations abounded.
Ludwig’s time in the sun finished unceremoniously.
“Come on, I’m starving!” I tugged at Rosie’s hand still grasping mine.
“Me too, let’s go get—”
“But I have another story for you,” Ludwig bellowed.
The crowd kept chittering. “One you might not know!” His voice rose louder.
“Of the Prince and his beloved!” Folk kept talking, and I yanked Rosie to make an escape before he started on another one of his rants.
“Eldrene, Goddess of the Forest, Protector of the Realm.”
Everyone stopped what they were doing, folk froze midconversation—their mouths still hanging wide in some cases. The only sounds in the street were the clanks of glasses dropped on the cobblestones.
“You know of the Prince. Of Eldrene’s sacrifice. But do you know of the love?”
All stayed deathly quiet. Ludwig went on.
“The Prince and Eldrene became mortal enemies. But they were not always so. For they shared a love that knew no bounds. Together, they ruled this realm through many ages. Together, they forged a sacred vow—betrothed they were, by the Fates themselves.”
“Is this true?” Rosie whispered.
“I don’t know. But he shouldn’t tell this story. Not on the Goddess Celebration day, it’s an insult to Eldrene,” I muttered, but I could not keep curiosity at bay.
“Theirs was a story for fairy tales, a happily ever after, the love of a forever time. But even the best of things can crumble to dust. Darkness crept in bit by bit, souring their promise.”
A cold, sinking sensation filled the pit of my stomach. Ludwig’s stories usually were just that—stories. This? This had that weighty feeling of the sickening truth. I held on to Rosie, her presence tethering me.
“Where there once lived boundless love now lived a boundless hatred. Fetid and festering with the hunger to be feared. The light of his existence became the very obstacle in his way to greatness. Thus, he chose to pluck her out—like a weed she was to him now. They say that withering magic broke Eldrene. I say it was her heart that truly broke her. They say the Prince is dead. But how can he be? Withering magic lives on, grows stronger. So what does that tell you, folk of Moss? Love is patient. But hatred is everlasting. He is not dead. He only waits to strike.”
“Now! I must see to my needs,” Ludwig said abruptly, clapping his hands together and breaking us out of the trance. He ambled off the stage and into the nearest public privy. The crowd slowly resumed their afternoon tittering, albeit slightly less boisterously than before.
“Why does he always do that at the end of every story?” Rosie asked, looking at the empty stage with disbelief and amusement.
“It’s the Ludwig way I suppose. Maybe he’s scaring himself shitless,” I whispered. We both dissolved into tentative laughter, breaking up the tension.
I’d long believed that love was the quickest way to ruin everything.
My heart’s purpose was to beat in my chest, not to be given away and then shattered into a million pieces.
If any part of Ludwig’s story held true, then my endless pursuit to keep my heart locked away behind a garden gate proved to be the proper choice.
If even a Goddess can be broken, then I had no business dallying in such things.
I’d lived enough of my life with a broken heart.
I didn’t plan to rebreak it anytime soon.
“So why get one now?” Rosie asked, resuming our dress shopping once more.
“For the Goddess Celebration, of course,” I replied.
“But you’ve never bought a dress for the other Celebrations.” She crossed her muscled arms and raised an eyebrow. Her suspicion wasn’t entirely unfounded.
Five celebrations had come and gone, and I’d never done anything special for myself.
This Celebration seemed different, though.
Perhaps because it was the last one I’d celebrate before I turned thirty.
Or perchance it was because the nine hundred gold coins I’d been paid for this year’s Celebration were burning a hole in my satchel.
Far more coin than I was used to, but there were far more tulips requested this year, which wasn’t an easy task.