A Drift of Quills for November 2019

11/1/2019

I cannot believe it is November already (even though I woke to a dusting of snow this morning), but there you have it. Cold notwithstanding, from my perspective there are two great things about this month. First, it will soon be Thanksgiving, which is my favorite holiday. Second, we Quills are coming to you this month with new flash fiction tales!

This time, I got to choose the pic. Here it is:

I first found these boots/moccasins on Pinterest, then tracked them down to a site for Turtle Island Moccasins. It seems you can actually order yourself a pair of these! What do you think of that?

When I chose our inspirational pic, I asked my fellow Quills if they wanted an added challenge (as if writing a flash fiction tale isn't challenge enough). I suggested the following for their consideration:

Include in your story, something about The Forest of Infatuation, or the Temple of the Unknown Slave, or The Drum of Unbearable Silence ...
Or … maybe your main character has an odd personality or behavioral quirk, like he or she is notoriously rude, or expresses emotion inappropriately, or is homesick, or is always looking for a fight …
Or ... maybe your main character has a pet. Perhaps it’s a dog that steals keys and other small objects, or that never comes when called, or that commonly gets stuck in silly places ...

In the end, we decided we would each choose for ourselves whether to take on an added challenge, and if so, what that challenge would be. For my part, I chose a couple of items from the above list. First, I included the Forest of Infatuation. Second, I combined features from the second and third options. Namely, I added a pet with an odd behavioral quirk.

Are you ready? Coming in at 815 words, title and all ... here goes!

Calico Dew and
the Boots of Ominous Delight
by Patricia Reding
Copyright Patricia Reding 2019

The ramshackle hut sat in a damp tree-shaded hollow, deep in the Forest of Infatuation. An occasional bright green patch of mold stood out on its thatched roof and spotted its weathered, paint-crackled, windows.Their half-open shades looked like eyes peering down at the bed of poison ivy just outside the hut’s door, which hung slightly askew on its rusty hinges.

Nearby, Calico Dew hid. She patted Sneaker, her faithful canine companion, whose shaggy mottled coat helped him to meld into his surroundings. This well-served Calico’s purposes in carrying out her duties as an official retriever of stolen magic artifacts. However, Sneaker also came with a downside. That is, while his physical traits allowed him to rummage about stealthily, he also possessed a particularly annoying personality quirk. Specifically, he ofttimes absconded with small, shiny, objects. Calico’s mind wandered as she recalled how she’d one day discovered—quite by accident—what he did with them, but then she cautioned herself to return her focus to the present.

Just a day earlier, the nearby Wolfwater town denizens had informed Calico that the witch, Rosita Brack, who resided at the hut, was out of town. So Calico rushed there, hoping to find that which she sought—that which was rumored to be there, namely, the Boots of Ominous Delight. Ages old, they had proven most dangerous over the years, as anyone donning the footwear would find themselves delighted to remain lost in the forest. Too many good people under their evil magic had wandered their way off cliffs hidden in those woods, or into waters rushing through them, or down the jaws of the dangerous wildlife that inhabited them.

Calico was grateful she had the means to break the spell of the boots. She felt outside her pocket to confirm she still carried the tool necessary to do so: the Brooch of Nonexistent Misery. Made of gold, with a dozen inset light-reflecting precious stones of various colors, Calico could almost see the brooch shimmering through her pocket. She knew if she wore the item, its powers would allow her to wear the boots without danger (which would be most beneficial, as then she would not have to carry them back home or find room for them in her already over-filled backpack).

Having witnessed no movement around the hut, Calico approached. At the door, she hesitated, listening closely. Hearing nothing, she pressed on it, then winced when its hinges squeaked before directing Sneaker inside to scout.

After sniffing about to confirm that no one hid there, Sneaker whined his master’s way, inviting her to enter.

There!

Almost immediately, Calico spotted the boots she sought standing in the corner opposite where she stood. Struggling to repress a grin, she retrieved the broach from her pocket so as to pin it on her tunic and thus, make short work of her venture.

At precisely that moment, the door squeaked once more. Shocked, Calico’s arms went flying, causing the trinket to pass from her fingertips and through the air. In a flash, her eyes followed its arc before turning back to find Rosita Brack, leaning against the doorsill. The woman's witchiness was most evident in the manner in which she had shadowed her now-narrowed eyes (likely with coal) and in which she had artfully painted her thin, scowling lips (in a color so deep and dark a red as to border on pitch).

“Caught you!” Rosita cackled.

Calico knew Rosita’s history. The witch would put a spell on her, force her to don the magic boots, and then send her on her way. After all, she derived her greatest joy from the suffering of others.

Shaking, but with no hope of convincing the witch to spare her, Calico addressed her with a quivering voice. “Well,” she said, “it seems I’m trapped.”

“Indeed, you are,” Rosita responded. Within seconds, she spun her dark magic, rendering Calico compliant. Then she directed her to put the magic boots on. Once done, with a laugh bordering on the maniacal, Rosita sent Calico on her way, Sneaker at her side.

Trudging through the forest, Calico found herself delighted with her surroundings. Even so, somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew two things: first, that danger lurked; and second, that she possessed the means to overcome it. She had, after all, witnessed that precise moment when, in a flash, Sneaker had snapped the Brooch of Nonexistent Misery—after it flew from Calico’s fingers—out of the air and into his jaws. He had then—as Calico might well have expected—swallowed. And, thus, the means to escape the evil witch’s intentions walked at Calico’s side. In the end, while those means might not prove exactly … convenient ... or clean ... or odorless (eewww!), Calico was confident she would know freedom once more.

Well? What do you think? Please do, share your thoughts!

Lucky for you, there is more. Next up is Robin Lythgoe.

I can hardly wait, so take it away, Robin!

Starry-Eyed
by Robin Lythgoe
Copyright Robin Lythgoe 2019

The autumn sun slid toward the horizon, gilding the moors and pulling twilight ever closer. Little streamers of fog drifted this way and that, half-formed fairy ribbons. Archibald Cumming laughed to himself. The old man was getting to him. Had already got to him, years ago, truth be told. And where was the old fool now? Shifting his backpack, he trudged up the sparse hill. Hands on hips, he stopped at the top to catch his breath before he had a look around. When he had his breathing under control again, he straightened and stood still and quiet, listening. Listening as he'd done dozens of times already just today. This wasn’t the first time the old codger had taken off on his own.

He was about to move on when he heard it …

Excellent! Thank you so much.

And now, for Parker.

What have you for us, Parker? Did you take on any of the added challenges?

"I'll be requested by kings," said the shiny face of ambition, caught somewhere between a boy and a man. But the glint in his eye was ageless.

"You'll be an outcast."

"Princes will offer me untold wealth and honor," he continued, unhearing.

"You'll reject it all."

He rubbed his hands together unconsciously, unaware of how silly he looked, how small and unworthy. "My name will be known from the border of Darjil to the Jabob River and beyond."

"Where you will be unwelcome and hunted until the last of your days." The old man sighed. Ambition turned his head, the sigh finally catching his attention. Was the old one dying? Would he pass on the boots now?

"Master Eli...are you well?"

The grizzled beard, streaked white and grey and sandy-desert brown, twitched. Eli looked full at his apprentice. Looked in his soul through the undisguised eyes.

The boots would instruct him.

"I must go." Eli struggled to his feet. He could not rest. Not yet.

The apprentice's long eager fingers grasped an elbow, half helping, half clinging. "I'm going with you."

Eli shrugged. "Do what you must."

Great stuff, Parker! Thank you.

We would love to know what our readers think, so we invite you to share your comments. Also, please feel free to share your flash fiction stories with us.

Thank you for stopping by. Until next time!

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