Memory charged at the boat, shifting between the forms of a river dolphin for speed and an armored turtle for defense. She ripped out the engines with the jaws of a lost shark. Poachers used this cove as a base, making forays into the island’s jungle for specimens to sell on the black market. She vaulted onto the deck as an imperial gibbon and knocked out the crew. She checked the cages and relaxed back into human form. The animals were unharmed. Memory could borrow the shape of any extinct animal, and she never wanted to expand her repertoire again.
He stared out at the desert, watching the landscape haze under the midday sun. It must have been a mirage. Cacti didn’t walk. He should be resting. His pursuers would be as hampered by the harsh heat as he was, but every second counted. If they caught up to him, he was as good as dead. And a lot of good people were counting on him. He didn’t have time to stare out at the sand looking for ghosts. But he sat anyway, watching, unable to bring himself to rest. The cactus held perfectly still and tried not to giggle.
The vines appeared on the castle gate overnight. At first, the king considered them little more than an annoyance that could be burned or hacked away. But each morning, there were more of them, their roots digging through mortar and spreading across the castle walls. They grew skull-like white flowers with a noxious odor. Still, the king would not be forced. He refused to cede the Royal Forest back to the Druids. They were only plants. What harm could they do? Finally, the Druids gathered at the castle gates. Their leader snapped his fingers, and the walls came tumbling down.
The Hero sat on a rock, resting his weary feet. The Innkeeper sat beside him. “The king didn’t have to banish you just because you wouldn’t marry his daughter,” he said. “You fulfilled your oath!” The knight put gripped his hand.. “You didn’t have to come with me.” The Innkeeper looked behind them. Wagons lined the road. Scattered among them were the survivors of the Dark Lord’s army, who pledged themselves to peace after defeat. “After what you did for us, we couldn’t stay.” The knight looked to the horizon. “We’ll build a better kingdom. I know just the place.”
The Hero fought his way to the inner sanctum of the Dark Lord, defeating his minions and avoiding the traps hidden throughout his castle. At last he arrived, weary but unbowed. His quest was at an end. “Welcome, Hero,” the Dark Lord laughed from his throne. “I have brought a guest to our meeting!” The sorcerer gestured theatrically, and a pair of monsters approached, holding a struggling figure. “Th-the Innkeeper?” The Hero said, unable to contain his shock. “Why have you kidnapped him?” “Oh, come on.” The Dark Lord replied. “Everybody can see how you two look at each other.”
I returned to the castle after another long journey to the wilderness escorting the Princess. I finally rescued her from her kidnappers, the minions of the Dark Lord. The whole castle rejoiced at her safe return, but my duty is only half finished. The Dark Lord still lives. The Princess is a fair and wise, and she looked at me with feelings any sane knight would return. But all I can give her is my duty. Someday, when it is discharged, I will be free. Then I will leave the Castle, and tell the Innkeeper how I feel about him.
That wandering knight came to town again today. I know I’m just a humble innkeeper and he’s the heir of the Great Hero, but sometimes, I think that if I confessed my love, he would return it. He approached, and my heart started pounding in my chest. All I could manage to stammer out was, “Welcome, Traveler! Six gold per night!” Tomorrow, he will be off on his quest to slay the Dark Lord and rescue the princess. For now, all I can do his offer him a place to rest and recover. But someday, I will tell him everything.
“1858 former Currency Creek Inn South Australia near Goolwa.” by denisbin is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.
The witch looked down at the body on her good kitchen table and wondered what was wrong with it. She’d fed it the herbs, drew the sigils, chanted the spells, and even spent five minutes cursing it out, but the boy still remained resolutely dead, which she considered very rude. The heath fire collapsed into a pile of ashes behind her. She threw on a couple more logs and unhooked the bellows, then stopped. She’d be forgetting her head next. The witch leaned over the boy and kissed him, giving him back the breath of live. He sat up gasping.
His hobby was collecting ephemera, and was proud of his expansive collection. But where lesser connoisseurs could boast of their obsolete video game cartridges, racks of vinyl records, or binders full of ticket stubs, he preserved moments. He kept them organized on shelves in glass bottles arranged in neat little rows, each with a handwritten label stating when and where it was collected. First kisses, beautiful sunsets, painful goodbyes: They represented a lifetime of memories. Each one was brief, perfect, and irreplaceable. He treasured them. He just hoped their owners never realized they were missing and came looking for them.
The Royal Astrologer looked into the night sky and saw that the heavens were aflame. This was a great portent, and he struggled to divine its meaning. Considering the king’s temperament when receiving bad news, he chose to interpret the strange lights in the sky as a positive omen. They were fireworks showing the gods’ approval and good things to come. Far above the palace, the space battle was going badly. The fleet had been wiped out, and the flagship was disabled. The captain gave the order to brace for entry and impact as they fell into the planet’s atmosphere.
Hugh J. O'Donnell 