Nightingale

~ I've wanted to write a fantasy story, as you rarely see any on this sub. However this is only my second story here so I'd love some feedback! ~

"Old sage, please tell us another story!", the children squeaked in excitement as they ran around inside the small hut the village elder called his home.

"As you wish, children. But this is not a fairy tale. Rainbows and particularly sunshine are scarce in this story. This is a tale about those who lurk in the dark, who bare their fangs in the light of the moon, those who stalk your every step and delight as your breath grows ever quicker, too afraid to look back, too panicked to see what's in front." The old elf dimmed the oil lamp, a prized possession in this remote village, and dramatically looked at the children before him. "This is a tale of Èna Sire, the Nightingale"

"You see, even though you'll see some of your parents sneer at the 'barbaric human butchers', we elves are no strangers to killing ourselves. It is a constant of nature, a key part in the circle of Kélt'a Sumu, the eternal Renewal. Once with fang and claw, now with fury and steel, the old is cut from this life to be formed into the next. And so it is no surprise that some of the more ambitious elven covenants employ assassins, shadow-shrouded paladins of their covenants. Because of our longevity, we have long studied and eventually almost perfected the trade. We have elevated murder to an artform, a silent arrow in the night, a needle to the neck, a drop of poison in the wine and all for the covenant and the cycle of renewal. We were unparalleled among the races, until The Flock came along."

The sage drew a ragged breath and reached for his pipe, slowly and calmly lighting it. He blew the smoke into the evening air, where it quickly rose to the huts ceiling and lazily floated around amongst the shadows painted by the lamp below. With great awe, the children pointed at the show above them and guffawed at the spectacle, before the sage quieted them with a wave of his arm. He started speaking again, gazing into the past, his voice growing grim and solemn.

"The Flock was, long ago, a group of killers, glorified murderers and brigands who carved themselves a bloody niche as the best order of assassins in the known lands. They knew not of mercy, cruelty and violence was their trade. And at their front was their leader, a man we call "Saoghail", the Vulture."

Fear spread amongst the children, as the rumours of this demon and his savagery had spread even to this remote village. They shifted around uncomfortably, wary of the shadows dancing all around them.

"He was a cold man, devoid of mercy and full of endless cruelty. He lead his band of killers with an iron fist and together they would spread fear through the land, vultures preceding his path, awaiting their next meal, which he would readily offer. He took what he wanted, sometimes even killing his own employers. He knew he was the best, so who could deny him if they couldn't match his blade? Lords and peasants alike cowered before him, fearful of being his next target. He was, as far as anyone was concerned, the sole embodiment of death and destruction. Until, one day, he came across a young girl. He had just razed her village, his savages murdered her parents, and yet there she stood, amongst the flames, holding a tiny knife. With a cruel laugh, he beat her down mercilessly. Then he took her with him."

"She was no more than 8 winters old when he took her. Over the course of many years, he broke the girl, and rebuilt her to his liking. He taught her everything he knew, delighted in every drop of blood her blade drew from innocent and guilty alike. She grew strong, and when she grew into adulthood, the Vultures work was done. She was the daughter of death, his successor, and his blade he would wield even after his death. She was his Nightingale"

When the old elf paused this time, the children didn't dare interrupt, looking at him, entranced in horror. Light rain began to fall outside, heavy and yet hesitantly, like teardrops.

"But, in truth, the Vulture had failed. That little girl wasn't broken, she hid and bided her time, while he foolishly tore down her shell and sharpened her fangs with every horrific act he had her commit. And one day, when yet another person fell to her blade, when he yet again laughed and watched as she slew men, women and children alike, that little girl broke free. She stabbed him and fled the scene. She ran as far away from the Vulture and his Flock as she could, but nowhere was far enough."

The shadows in the hut were dancing wildly against the walls, the rain outside picked up in pace, pattering on the roof like war drums.

"Whereever she went, The Flock followed her, the wings of death haunting her every step. She managed to shake them off many times, but they always came back, a revenant of her past. For two years, the known lands held their breath as she made her way through many kingdoms, leaving only fire, death and sorrow in her wake. Two years that scarred her as much as her years in The Flock, two years where she began to live a normal life, only to have it ripped away from her grasp every time. Every loss ate at her very soul, and eventually, she stopped running and fell to her knees, burning flesh and the wails of the dying around her."

"It wasn't too long before the first of her pursuers caught up to her. The first who tried to put her in chains lost his life rather quickly. When the Vulture arrived with his most capable warriors, the girl had killed almost half of the Flock. The Vultures guards soon followed."

The sage stared intensely at the children through the smoke that now filled the whole hut. They could almost smell the fire and the field of corpses that surrounded the two assassins on that day. They held their breath as the sage continued.

"The Vulture did not care. He was almost proud of the skills of his protegé. He told her she had had her fun and demanded she join him again. She told him she should have finished the job two years ago. And so they crossed blades. Two masters of their field, employing everything in their arsenal, displaying every skill at their disposal. Only the dead around them bore witness, hollow eyes demanding justice. Nobody knows what exactly happened then, but the Vulture was struck down. Rumours say, she left him barely alive, to see the consequences of his sins, to live amongst his former victims."

By now, the rain had subsided and a grave silence lay over the hut, which not even the forests inhabitants dared disturb.

"But how was she able to kill the Vulture? Wasn't he the best assassin in the world?", one particularly brave child asked.

"He was, but he forgot two important things. First: Humans forge their own destiny. It might seem as if they chain themselves down or give up easily, but everything they do, they choose. Try to put them in chains of your own making and they will fight tooth and nail to break free. Even when their bones break, their muscles tire and their blades grow dull, a human will fight as long as they can, as long as they must. And second: Nothing is stronger than a human fighting for someone else. The Vulture wouldn't know, he only ever served himself, but the Nightingale, she grew to love the world and its people. She couldn't bear to see it wither under the deadly wing of The Flock."

"What happened to the nightingale?"

"People say she still roams the lands. Keeping watch over the innocent. Wielding her dark arts against evildoers. But nobody can say for sure where she is now."

The old man stood up and walked outside, turning his gaze towards the night sky.

"They say, when you hear a nightingales song, she is on the hunt again, protecting the innocent."

The sage rubbed the stump that was once his sword-arm and said with a thin smile:

"How I'd love to hear it again"

Submitted December 29, 2018 at 06:19PM by TaspiWunder http://bit.ly/2Al4wlI