This is the first of a collection of side-stories meant to accompany my main title "Going Feet First" and help explore the lore of the world of Raska. As always, enjoy.
Welcome to Raska.
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Raska Tales:
The Fallen General
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She grinned with a soul chilling chortle echoing though the dark void, "I want to hear it again, your offer. What would you give me? How much would you sacrifice if I told you I could bring your daughter back?"
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Thunder rattled the walls following the blinding flash of forked lightning across the sky. Rain came down from the black clouds above in waves; the downpour indistinguishable from a being trapped beneath a waterfall. The well in the center of the house, near empty the previous eve from drought, was now nearly two thirds full after only a day of this relentless torrent.
"When will papa be back?" A small voice asked, struggling to speak up above the storm.
"When, mom?" Followed a second.
A thin woman, sitting on a wicker chair with her hands clasped nervously together on the lap of her simple grey dress, watched through a hazy pane of glass into the front yard of their cabin home. Careful to search for any movement beyond what descended from above. Filling her ears were the rapid
thok
sounds of the drops hitting the tarred, wood shake roof.
This feature of her home proving itself worth the money and labor invested into it as it held without a single leak. Just as well did the brick walls hold in the warmth of the hearth from the cold outside. Even with the inclement weather of her area, a home as sound as hers would give her naught to worry about. If only her husband would return.
Breaking her focused trance, she pat the brunette and blonde heads in front of her as they peered over the bottom of the window frame. With all the confidence she could muster she answered, "He'll be back soon, girls. Soon."
Two eager pair of eyes both turned to their mother at once, both bearing hopeful looks from their adorable faces. The younger of the two was clutching a green medallion and suckling its edge with a visible nervousness. Cracking a proud smile, she leaned forward and kissed each of their foreheads before returning her gaze to the storm outside.
Lightning flashed again. Thundered rattled the windows.
Two silhouettes appeared out in the trees. One being carried by the other. In an instant she came to her feet with a start, nearly knocking her seat over.
"Oh no."
She ran to the fireplace, grabbing two more logs to toss into the flames.
"What is it, mom?" her older daughter asked, squinting as she tried to get a better look at the approaching figures.
"Mama?"
"Girls, get the blankets ready, my box of potions too. Your father's not alone."
Both the younglings moved at once just as they were told to. The little girl with chocolate brown hair and vibrant, lively green eyes went for the closet across the room from the fireplace. At little more than six years of age she had to reach high for the thickest of their wool blankets though the strength was there within her small frame to carry the heavy covers.
Her sister, a girl two years younger with hair as golden as the morning sun and eyes matching the color of polished steel, took to the kitchen with haste while tucking her medallion into her shirt. There, from a cupboard beside the wood-burning stove in the corner, she retrieved a wooden box barely bigger than one of her father's boots. She opened it for a moment to check that the contents inside were undamaged before quickly turning on her heel and taking off running.
Both girls quickly returned to the living room and laid what they brought down among the four chairs gathered around the fireplace. Their mother hadn't the chance to thank them as she desperately stoked the coals to encourage a flame from the new additions to the fire. As the fresh wood started to crackle and catch, the front door swung open.
"Leliat!" A deep, powerful voice called as he stumbled in the door, water pouring off of his cloak and the man hanging over his shoulders.
"Here! Fire is hot and medicine's ready," replied the girls' mother. "Who is he?"
"Poor bugger who got caught in the storm," he answered, hauling his guest toward the fire. "Come on, let's get him warm."
Grunting with the stranger's weight, the man laid his burden down on the wood floor before the fire. With his wife's help, he had the stranger stripped down to just his pants while their oldest daughter strung the rest of his clothes onto a line over the hearth.
The small blonde girl brought up the box of potions, and her mother was quick to take two thumb-sized vials from the small wood container. A pungent aroma of both earthy magic and herbs filled the room as she pulled the stoppers off the glass vials. Her husband got the stranger on his back and she was careful to only drip three drops of one potion into the stranger's mouth before pouring in half the bottle of the other.
The stranger coughed and tried to spit the invading fluid back up, but she quickly covered his mouth and massaged his throat until he swallowed it all down.
"Thank you, Ruya," Leliat said to her blonde daughter before turning to her older child. "Chaylee, can you pass the blanket, please?"
The brunette nodded and handed it over. With careful hands she wrapped their guest in the heavy wool and moved him closer to the fire. Relieved the danger had passed her husband stood and moved to shed his heavy outer layers, pulling off the wool cloak and leather coat beneath it to get down to the white tunic and black pants still dry against his densely muscled body. After hanging the soaked clothes on the line, he trudged over and planted himself on a small couch. Running his scarred, callused hands through his dark-blond hair, he let out a long sigh of relief. One that turned to a giddy "hmmm" as his wife swiftly moved in to seat herself in his lap and wrap her arms around him.
Eyes heavy with exhaustion she rested her head on his shoulder and took in the comfort of his presence. It was no surprise how he was still shivering and how cold he was to the touch but it didn't deter her from snuggling up against him to fix that. Then both their girls moved in to join them, climbing onto the couch cozying up to their father as he wrapped his broad, battle-worn arms around their small bodies.
"Well, welcome home, Zerry," Leliat chuckled.
"Welcome home, Papa," Chaylee echoed.
"Missed you," Ruya murmured.
"Thank you, I missed all three of you very much," he said while drawing his girls more tightly against him. "Any excitement while I was gone?"
His wife shook her head. "No, woods have been quiet, thankfully, until this rainstorm hit. What of your trip back to town? Is there word if you'll be leaving?"
Hearing that question, Zerry pursed his lips and looked to the fire. A his brow drawing downward before he rested his head on top of Leliat's.
"The messenger was there. One week, then I have to head to the capital. The uprising in the east is more troublesome than they expected. Our King wants me to take the army's command again for him."
The four sat silent as they took the news in, Both Leliat and Chaylee lowering their heads in acceptance whereas Ruya hugged onto him more tightly than before.
"We'll be safe, right?" Leliat wondered aloud.
Zerry nodded. "We're on the opposite end of the country from the fighting and nobody discovered who we were out here, even after this long. We're safe. If something arises, I'll send you a letter through the same private courier the King uses to contact me."
"You'll come back?" Ruya asked, tears forming in her grey eyes.
"I will," he answered, stroking a hand over her golden hair. "I'll come back as fast as I can."
A hacking cough brought the family's attention to the man lying before the fire. Groaning in a way akin to a dying dog, he rolled onto his back and started to prop himself up with a dazed look. Zerry shifted to the edge of the couch and his children scooted away to climb back down to the floor. When Leliat moved off of his lap, he got to his feet and went to tend to his guest.
"Easy there friend," he said, kneeling at the man's side and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Don't get too lively or you could hurt yourself."
Grabbing the edge of his blanket to pull it tighter around his shivering body, the man coughed and asked, "where am I?"
"My home. I'm Mr. Edson."
A deep frown crossed his guest's face as he looked to his savior. His eyes narrowed and blinked for the a few moments, then drew wide in recognition. "General? General Edson?"
Zerry's mouth tightened as he scowled, his right hand tightening into a fist. "Have we met?"
The man nodded. "Five years back, in Issico Valley. I was a troop in the division under your command."
That heavy fist relaxed, though Zerry continued to frown as he thought back. "I'm sorry, I can't seem to recall our meeting."
"It's alright. We never introduced. I merely saw you as you rode by before the battle."
"Ahh, that explains. Well it's good to see another of the King's Own Cavaliers. What were you doing in this neck of the woods, friend? With the weather being as it is?"
Looking to the fire, the man answered, "looking for you, actually. I meant to catch you before you left town... got lost trying to follow you when the storm rolled in."
"Town is a day's walk from here. For what purpose were you following me that long?" Zerry questioned. "I already spoke with the King's messenger. I'm leaving in a half fortnight."
"I'm not here because of that, sir. I carry a message for you, in regards to 'Richard's' daughter," the former soldier responded, lowering the blanket to reach into one of the pockets of his pants.
The General's narrow glare opened up, his brow rising to crease his forehead before coming down again over a glare of pure murder. "Soldier, how do you-"
He didn't even have a moment to react before that shiv thrust forth from under the blanket and sank into his gut. His heart caught in his throat. All the wind rushed out from his lungs. Deep within he could feel the steel puncturing several vitals before his body was went numb. A scream echoed through his ear drums while that weapon was drawn back and thrust into him again.
