A Love Story Read online

A Love Story

  Damian Foyle

  Copyright 2011 Damian Foyle

  Chapter 01

  Darkness engulfed him as he raised his sword in defiance, I wrote. No, it wouldn't do. What a weak start. What would Master think about it? I tried again; the young man raised his sword in defiance against the oncoming darkness. Now, that was better. Though only slightly.

  I looked around the library to make sure nobody was paying attention to me and took out a small hand stitched book with deerskin cover. I had stolen it from Master's own personal library when I went to fetch his glasses from his room. The title was hand-written in long, curvy letters; 3 Steps for a Powerful Heroic Story. I opened it, careful not to damage it and read.

  Every epic story must start with a powerful beginning, it started. Beginnings also must be departures. Be cruel to your character, kill his mother, burn his house, shatter his knees if you have to, and then set him on a journey.

  I thought about the paragraph. What else could I do to make my character's life miserable?

  But there was a slight problem I needed to take care of before all that. First, I needed an interesting character. Then a thought hit me like a weak metaphor. It was so obvious. Hadn't Master always said one needed to sacrifice for the art, if one wanted to be an extraordinary storyteller? Inspiration came from inside the storyteller and from the world around him.

  I would be my own character. I would embark on an epic adventure guided by the book. Then I could write it the way it happened. It seemed such a bright idea.

  I got my cloak -for every hero needed a cloak, grabbed my bag and left the library.

  Chapter 02

  "Hey handsome! Do you need company?" She asked.

  She smelled of cheap booze, and wore a dress showing a lot more than I was comfortable looking at.

  "How much?" I asked.

  All the proper heroes I read about had companions after all. There was even a chapter about it in the book; How to Choose Companions for Your Heroes. There wasn't anything specific about working girls in there though, but one had to work with what one had I guess.

  "3 silvers for an hour, and you pay for the room," she said.

  "How about a whole day?"

  "Whole day?" She stopped for a moment. I could imagine gears working inside her head as she did the math. "40 silvers," she finally said. Apparently the gears were a bit rusty. As it happened, I could pay that amount and some, but I didn't expect my epic adventure to last more than a few days.

  "All right," I said. "Your name is Brae. You've ran away from home, hoping to be a dancer in the King's court."

  There was a moment where anger and then amusement showed on her face. "Role-playing huh? Okay, but I don't do kinky stuff. And who are you supposed to be then?"

  I gave her a look I thought was dramatic and somewhat heroic.

  "I'm the hero of course," I said turning my back to her and I started walking. She giggled, but followed.

  Chapter 03

  "Innkeeper! Bring me ale and food for the lady."

  Every good story had an inn moment. I had paid a few coins to the resident drunk for the table next to fire. Wet coats hung nearby stank like wet alley cats, but it was a good, dramatic spot.

  The innkeeper was a thin man with cool manners and a squeaky-clean apron hung around his waist. Not even close to the image in my mind. I made him a fat man with dirty apron and a nervous tick. He came with a glass full of something that tasted like dishwater cut with alcohol and some pork chops.

  "For the lady," he said and snickered. "Anything else, my lord?"

  "Yes, my good man. Are there any news of the war in the east?"

  "What war? There's no war going on in the east, nothing but sheep and shepherds there."

  "What would you - a simple innkeeper, know of such things anyway? What of this magnificent city?" I said leaning forward and handing him a silver piece.

  The coin was lost behind the apron. "Magnificent... right," he said stretching the last word. "Well the king is still crazier than a northern duck, and we got a bit of a riot the other day, but- Say, aren't you one of the pupils of that nut over at the old tower, calls himself the Master, I think."

  "Who is this Master you speak of? I know of no such man," I said acting like I was losing my patience. "I've come a long way, across the deserts of the south. They call me Ebn Al-Talik, the commander of the 5th battalion of Sheik's Army. You will show respect."

  "Right. You don't look like a southern at all though. You're white as cheese." The innkeeper kept pushing.

  "It's none of your business, but if you have to know; I was adopted. My father and mother lost their lives in the Great Warp of South. I swam day and night, and I survived shark infested waters at the age of five. I was then adopted by a nomad clan. Now, leave us innkeeper. We got business to discuss."

  "Whatever." He turned and left. I could hear him mutter under his breath. "Nuts! I always get the nuts."

  Overall, I felt rather good. In short time, I had developed a persona, gave him a background, and a companion. All done nicely with dialogues -Master would be proud.

  Perhaps, there was unrest in the south and this brave man, after losing his clan, was on a mission to unravel secrets of-

  "So, Ebn Al-Talik." She interrupted my thought process. "You're taking this role-playing thing very seriously, aren't you? I have a question. When, do you think, Al-Talik will invade Brae?" She said giving me a wink and laughed.

  "I- It's not role-playing," I blurted out.

  "You're blushing; so cute. Are you sure you're old enough to be out and wenching?"

  I ignored her. "I'm a writer...a storyteller. I'm doing research for my story."

  "A story, you say. What is it about then?"

  "Yes, a story. It's about a heroic journey, an adventure raging over many continents. It's about Ebn Al-Talik and his mysterious companion. Yes, you're supposed to be mysterious. So, if you could just stop giggling for a while. Thank you. And it's- you see. Oh hell! I don't know what happens after that."

  "You're not much of a storyteller, are you?"

  I gave her a hurt look. "No, not many people think I am. I need to prove them wrong and write a great story. You see, I stole this book. It's about three stages of a good story- here it is."

  "Let me see that." She grabbed the book off my hand.

  "Careful, it's old."

  "Hmm, beginnings, hurt your character, kill him, shatter his- What! You better not try that shit with me, kid!"

  "No, no. I wouldn't think," I said. This wasn’t going as it was supposed to.

  "That's not going to work, you know; the farm girl thing. I want something else," she finally said, closing the book.

  Maybe she was right.

  "Okay," I said. "Al-Talik saves you from your pimp- No? Okay. He saves you from desert djinns, and you become his companion. Your past is an enigma. You claim you lost your memory, but in truth you're Sultan Malak's spy."

  "Ok, I can do that. So, what's going to happen next?"

  "I don't know. Let me see. We're still at the first part of the story. Here, it says... The hero must leave his environment in order to stop a great evil, to save a damsel or at least kill a monster, and most importantly the hero must go through a trauma-"

  "What kind of trauma?"

  "I don't know. An inn fight, maybe?" I said standing up. Things we suffered for the art.

  "Wait, no-" she said behind me.

  "You!" I shouted in a voice I hoped sounding gruff and threatening. The drunken old man look genuinely surprised.

  "Yes, you! How dare you show your face here? You low-life! Sultan Malak's men aren't welcome here." I kicked his chair. He dropped to the floor like a sack of potato and gave a low moan. I felt bad for the
man.

  "You! Sit your ass down," someone said. "No more trouble from you."

  There was a man -almost a giant, standing behind me with a nasty looking club. A suitable adversary for the mighty Al-Talik, I thought. Then I noticed the dried blood on the club. There were things I wouldn't do even for the art and getting my head bashed in was high up in that list. I sat down at the table, trying not to sulk.

  "I believe the trauma part's done." I said, my hands trembling.

  She just laughed. "Buy me another drink?"

  I nodded. A drink would be nice.

 

  Chapter 04

  I left her at the corner we met. I paid her half of the money and told her I would be there the next day.

  I was rather happy with the results. Al-Talik had found unexpected trouble in the Great City. He had barely survived the ambush inside the inn, but at least he had the opportunity to learn something, another clue. The assassin had mentioned a book, a powerful book that would show him the way. He could finally end the tyranny of Sultan Malak.

  I sneaked inside the tower.

  "Welcome back, Mort," the guard said.

  I acted as if I couldn't hear him. I gave my back to the wall and moved from shadow to shadow like a tiger prowling his prey.

  "Idiot." I heard him say.

  I covertly moved to the library.

  Meanwhile, as his companion gathered valuable information, Al-Talik faced deathly traps, scaled walls and climbed over windows.

  The library door opened with a loud and long creak. I was the center of attention for short seconds then everything was normal again. I found Master at his table, reading a book.

  "I'll just get a book, sir." I informed him.

  "Ah, here you are Morty. Where have you been?" he asked.

  "Um- I was working on a story."

  "Yeah? What kind of story?"

  "A love story, sir," I lied.

  "Is that why you were with the whore, then?"

  I hated how he seemed to know everything, yet still he took those little bits of information out of you with patience.

  "Ye- yes, sir. I was -um researching."

  "Good. The research is the base of a proper story. You're starting to learn. Just be careful, right? You wouldn't want your story to be too fruitful now, would you?" He winked.

  "Yes, Master," I said and walked away, ignoring quite smirks that comment got from the students inside the library.

  "Oh, leave the book you borrowed from my room when you're done with it, will you?"

  "Yes, sir. I will sir."

  I hurried to a shelf, took one of the books, not even looking at the title and stormed out of the library.

  Treachery! They knew he was going to steal the book and laid a trap for him. There was a majestic battle fought between Al-Talik and the Master of the Tower of Death. Magic and might were pitted against each other. At the end, Al-Talik, injured and hurting from several burn marks, was victorious. He used hidden passages to escape the upper levels of the Tower and hid deep in the dungeons where he wouldn't be searched for.

  I walked down the stairs and reached my room on the dorm floor. Just a floor up from the cellar, it was damp and cold. My hero Al-Talik would face a night of suffering. I imagined there would be things hiding, crawling in the dark but he would eventually survive.

  Chapter 05

  It was almost the first bell of the night when I finally had free time to leave. There were a lot of chores to be done around the tower. I had thought about getting Al-Talik tortured, but it seemed a bit too much. I decided it was enough to keep him waiting until the next night. Then Al-Talik sneaked out of the tower.

  "Good bye, Mort," the guard said. That damn guard!

  I found her waiting around the same corner. I approached discreetly.

  "We need to leave fast. There was trouble at the Tower. They've been waiting for me," I said with a hushed voice.

  "Damn those fools!" she said in character. I felt proud for some reason. "Where are we going?"

  "To the west. Sultan Malak is only a small part of the puzzle. There is evil lurking in the west. Something's afoot. I can fee-"

  "What the hell is going on here?" Someone interrupted.

  It was a really short man, almost a dwarf. He was dressed in bright colored pants and shirt, and a hat decorated with a single feather. He had a rapier hanging on his belt.

  "It doesn't concern you, sir," I said.

  "Hell, it doesn't. You're chatting up my girl."

  "It’s all right Brant. Take it easy. This is the guy I mentioned last night. He pays nice, and he's a gentleman. I'll be with him for the rest of the night."

  "Oh, you're that nut-job. Okay then. Have fun kids," he said and turned around.

  "He's a sharp dresser for a pimp," I said.

  She laughed and I found myself liking the feeling.

  "It's too dangerous. I can't take you with me. They'll use you against me. We need to go our separate ways," I said.

  It was too dangerous for Brae to follow Al-Talik into the unknown lands of the west. There was no way to know what waited for him and in truth Al-Talik had always been a lone wolf.

  We were sitting at the same table. She watched me carefully.

  "You're broke, aren't you?"

  "Yes." I admitted. "I thought I could afford more than one full day but I –um miscalculated. This is our last day together."

  "What about your story?" she asked. She seemed genuinely interested. "I'm curious what's going to happen to Al-Talik and Brae."

  "So am I." I took out the book. "I suspect Brae won't be around for a while. Let's see. I think the first step and some of the second one are almost done. Here, about the second part it says; Now that you truly tortured your hero. It's time to hit him repeatedly to the wall learned men call Conflict. Every story needs at least one. Find a conflict for your character and move the plot."

  "That part sounds difficult."

  "I agree, I think it wont be-"

  The innkeeper interrupted me with a rude cough.

  "Ale fo-" I started.

  "Yeah, yeah. Ale for you and food for the lady... got it. Try not to kick any guests this time eh?"

  The food came. I slowly sipped from my drink and watched her eat.

  "What was it like?" I finally found the courage to ask. "I mean your life before here, before this."

  She didn't look up. I guess she was considering how much to tell.

  "You were right about Brae- me at first. I grew up on a farm. Life was hard but simple. When I was six, my father died in an accident... kicked to death by a cow. Can you believe it? My mom married soon after that. He was a gentle man. He didn't beat us, he never even raised his voice against us but when I was fifteen, he started paying attention to me... you don't have to know what happened next. Running away was all I could do and look where it got me." She stopped for a moment and looked at me. There was a hard look on her face. "Was that tragic enough for your stories?"

  "I- I just wanted to learn more about you." I admitted. Was I really probing into her past for a selfish reason? "I mean, I don't even know your name."

  "Matilda." The look was gone. "Look, you're a nice kid. Write your story and get on with your life."

  "You could do something else," I said, regretting the words as soon as they came out of my mouth.

  "No-"

  "Maybe Master could find a job you can do in the Tower."

  What the hell was I doing?

  "No, don't go there. Things are the way they are. Leave it be. Let's talk about your story."

  We spent the night talking about stories, Al-Talik and life in the Tower. I didn't learn more about her past except those early years but I got to know her a little better.

  It was almost midnight when I left her at the same corner. She gave me a kiss before I left.

  "Mortimer," I said when I finally broke the contact to take a breath.

  "Good night, Mortimer," she said. "I hope Brae and Al-T
alik meets again."

  Chapter 06

  I walked back to the Tower with my head high in the clouds as Al-Talik walked a similar path on the pavements of my imagination. He walked with a fast pace, breathing fast and shallowly. His fingers hurt from clenching his fists. He was furious; Brae had left him a parting gift, a letter. It started with an apology and ended with treachery. How could she be a spy? Al-Talik didn't dare going back to the safe house for the fear of finding her there. If that happened he would surely kill her. Instead, he walked the empty streets of the city, looking for trouble.

  Now, standing in front of the door slightly ajar door, he wasn't so sure anymore. Maybe Brae's still here, he thought. He could tell her he forgave her. He stepped into the room as something deeper inside him said, "Maybe, this is another trap."

  It was empty. Her bags were gone. The only furniture in the room, two chairs and an old table, were broken. There was blood on the floor, not enough to be fatal, but it still unnerved him. There had been a fight.

  I opened the door and walked into my room to find Master riffling through my notes.

  "You're back," he said calmly. "I was worried about you."

  "I've been thinking about the story Master, trying to find a way to move the plot and improve the characters' relation."

  "Don't worry. You'll find a way. It happens to most of us. Do you want to talk about it?"

  "Okay. It's a love story, right? The problem is the woman in this story seems to be resisting against the plot. She's in a bad situation but doesn't want m- the man to help her. And the man finds out he has strong feelings for her, developed over a really short amount of time. It seems unnatural and I can't seem to find a way to explain that in the story."

  "Stop right there, Morty. Enough with that. I know you're working on a different kind of story. Tell me. What do you really think about the girl?"

  Was I that obvious?

  "I really don't know, sir and that's the problem. It's been only a day since we met. How is it possible, only after a day all I can think about is her and I can't even focus on my story? And those feelings; are they real or just a reaction to seeing someone in trouble?"

  "I can't answer those questions for you. All I can say is, nobody goes into that profession by choice, but humans can adapt to almost any situation. If you can't follow through, don't give her false hopes, son."