Val Muller

Welcome to the Spot Writers weekly flash fiction! This month’s prompt is to use the moon as a major theme.

The Amberwood Wyvern

by Kathy L. Price

“Oh, most Gracious Goddess,” Kandyll prayed as he sprinted down the forest track. “Guide my steps along the path. May your silvered light show the way and help me fulfill my task.” The trees were not thick in this section of wood and enough light from the full moon filtered through the canopy for Kandyll to see well enough to run. In twenty minutes he had almost reached the clearing. Now, the question was, should he risk taking the main path straight through the field or spend an extra ten minutes circling around? Time was of the essence but it wouldn’t do if he were caught or killed.

Kandyll decided to duck off the main trail and take the smaller, secondary path to the right. He slowed to a walk and found a break in the undergrowth where he could observe the field beyond. The moon flooded it with light, making it nearly as bright as day, and he could see shadows cast by the small herd of cows. They seemed to be nervous, glancing up from time to time to look around. He heard nothing but normal night sounds but continued to make his way through the brush as quietly as he could. When he neared the crest of a small hill, he ducked low and kept away from the top of the ridge. If there was someone down in the clearing, he didn’t want to be silhouetted against the sky if they happened to look up.

When he reached Observation Rock, he had an excellent view of the entire field below and the road which ran through the countryside beyond the wood. Kandyll paused to catch his breath and survey the area. He glanced up at the silver disk of moon in the sky and prayed again for help. As if in answer, the moonlight glinted off numerous spear points and the armor of half a dozen knights on their chargers.

“Oh, most merciful Goddess, thank you, thank you, thank you,” Kandyll whispered. He could just discern a couple of advanced scouts making their way up the swale half-way across the field. If he had run straight along the main path to save time, as he had originally intended, he would have run right into them. The Goddess was truly smiling on him with favor.

From his vantage point, Kandyll could see the remaining army strung out along the road to the north. Without wasting any more time, he turned and dashed down the hill to the south, driven faster by his new knowledge and the urgency of the situation. He shuddered to think what would happen if he did not reach Cimerthyl Tyne Castle with the warning and appeal for help.

Half an hour later he emerged from the back trail in the woods and stepped onto the main road. It had seemed quiet and another prayer to the Goddess reassured him it’d be safe. He broke into a run, knowing he had another two miles to go. It had taken him far longer than he had wanted to make it this far but he was glad he’d been careful. He hoped the other messengers, mounted on horseback, had gotten through faster and the alert had already been sounded.

At the village, all was quiet as he made his way through the warren of alleyways and when he reached the castle, there was little activity. It was as if no alarm had been raised. Had the mounted messengers been captured? Had Cimerthyl Castle already been taken?

Kandyll slipped into the shadows and took a moment to watch the guards patrolling along the tops of the walls. Everything looked normal. Maybe he was being too cautious. Besides, he couldn’t hide forever. Gathering his courage, he stepped out into the road and approached the guard at the gate.

Half-dozing in the pre-dawn stillness, the solitary guard startled at Kandyll’s seemingly sudden appearance. After listening to Kandyll’s hurried explanation, and glancing at the “Send help now” token in his hand, the guard quickly passed the information along and Kandyll was admitted through the outer wall. The change happened faster than anything Kandyll could have imagined. From a sleepy, the-day-hasn’t-started-yet quiet to a full-on call to arms took less than five minutes. The previously placid courtyard vibrated with men rushing in all directions. What had appeared to Kandyll as total chaos soon became organized into orderly groups of knights being lifted onto their chargers. Squires rapidly fastened the last of the armor while the enthusiastic squires-in-training continued to gather gear and race to do their masters’ biddings.

The biggest shock of all came when the king himself strode across the courtyard and addressed Kandyll. “What’s the report? Who are they and what are their numbers?”

Speechless, Kandyll stood there with his mouth open. “Ah,” was all he was able to utter.

The king put a kindly hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, boy. I won’t bite, but I do need to know what’s out there. The Amberwood Wyvern is never sent without good cause. What did you see?”

Kandyll closed his eyes and asked the Goddess again for help. He then recounted everything he saw by her light – the number of knights; more importantly, their banners and coat of arms; an estimate of the archers and foot soldiers; how many wagons to the rear. His recall was nearly perfect and when he finished, the king clapped him on the back and said, “Well, done, boy. Now, go to the kitchens for a bite to eat then get some rest. You’ve done well.”

Kandyll watched as the assembled army rode out the gates. He would go to the kitchens for some food, but fully intended to follow the king into battle.

The Spot Writers–Our Members:

RC Bonitz: http://www.rcbonitz.com

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: http://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Kathy Price: http://www.kathylprice.com

Welcome to the Spot Writers. The prompt for this month is to write a scene involving the moon. Today’s contribution comes from Val Muller, author of The Scarred Letter, a YA reboot of Hawthorne’s original. Val’s distaste for winter sits somewhere along the spectrum between Seasonal Affective Disorder and Jack Torrance (the writer from The Shining).

Almost

Val Muller

The winter was long, and that stupid groundhog had seen his shadow. Or was it a her, now? Melody couldn’t remember. The groundhog wasn’t the original one—she knew that much. The old one had died. Or maybe someone had killed it.

Someone wishing for spring.

Last weekend had been so close—the hot sun took inches off of the snow, compacting it and drying the pavement. But still it lingered, that blindingly white frozen hell. At night, it gave off a chill the way a fireplace gives off heat, robbing the earth of its warmth. It was like The Blob—if it touched you, it took away all your heat, leaving you cold and lifeless, shrouded under a blanket on the couch.

It would never let you pack up your sweaters or your wool socks. It threatened to return if you were brazen enough to put out the lawn decorations, or set up the chairs around the table on the deck.

After a tauntingly warm weekend, winter returned on the wind. The snow re-froze. It was now so hard and cold, one could walk on it without falling through—or rather, one could slip on it. Last week’s melt had left it covered in a frozen sheen, compounded by the freezing rain on Tuesday night. Everything was glazed, preserved, in ice. And it hadn’t melted in days.

But Melody didn’t want to go skating. She wanted to garden. To cut the lawn. To go running without sliding on an ice patch or stepping through a puddle of melted chemicals. She wanted the beach.

“That’s it,” she wrote on Facebook one night. “I’m not going out again until spring returns.”

“What about your job?” asked her friends.

“You need groceries,” they said.

“I need the ocean.” And that was her last comment.

“Mel, you there?” they asked.

“Mel, text me.”

“We’re worried.”

But she was already signed off, hidden beneath a blanket, reading a cheap romance novel about a girl and two guys somewhere tropical. She stared at the eye candy on the cover for hours, coveting the way the palm trees bent in the sun, the way the tropical drinks melted in the hands of the supermodels. She coveted the sweat that glistened on their bodies, the way the sun bronzed their skin. She wanted that weather—now.

That night, there was a knock on her door. She awoke from under the covers and checked the clock, perplexed. Though the house was dark, the glow coming from the window gave off the luster of midday to the objects in her room.

“What time is it?” she asked herself.

A glimpse at her watch told her it was approaching midnight. Late for a work night, but this was Friday. A livelier, happier, spring-summer-fall version of her probably wouldn’t even be home yet. Pathetic. Winter had turned her into an anti-social sleeper.

But then, the knocking again. That’s right—someone had woken her up. Who in the world would be knocking at midnight? A glance out the window showed several cars and—was that a tent in the driveway?

Concern jolted adrenaline, and she grabbed a baseball bat and a phone.

“Who’s there?” she called at the front door, glancing through the peephole.

There, standing on her porch, were several of her friends—Rob, Christine, Dani, and Pete.

She tossed the baseball bat and opened the door. “What the hell, guys?”

“We brought you the ocean,” Pete said.

“What?”

She looked at her coworker. He’d always been overly kind to her. He definitely had a crush but was always too dignified to say anything—probably afraid of the company policy about dating coworkers. But his smile now was undeniable. Pete grabbed her hand and pulled her down the concrete steps to the front yard. There was a beach tent set up on the driveway, and behind it, a small campfire roared in a brand-new portable metal firepit (Mel’s was still buried under inches of icy snow).

“We brought you the ocean,” Pete said again. He pointed to the full moon rising over the field in front of Mel’s house. Against the icy snow, the reflecting moon did look like it was rising over the ocean—almost.

It was hard to dismiss the fact that the rippled ice was frozen in place—unlike the fluid motion of the waves.

Still, it was a beautiful sight, and Mel stared at it for a moment. Then she realized she wasn’t wearing a jacket.

“Here,” Pete said, slinging a blanket over her shoulders. No, it wasn’t a blanket—it was a beach towel.

“We’ve got a cooler and everything.”

Mel turned to see that Alex was there, too. He’d pulled open a package of hot dogs and was skewering them over the fire. Christine opened the cooler and cracked open a beer. Mel smirked to think that the cooler was probably actually warmer than the air right then.

The beach tent they’d erected was stuffed with sleeping bags and comforters, and Dani, dressed in her warmest winter gear, was stretched out with her hands behind her head. If it weren’t for the layers of warmth, she’d almost look like she was sunbathing. Moonbathing, rather.

“We thought we’d miss you too much if you didn’t come out until spring. So we thought we’d bring the ocean to you.”

Pete stood behind her, putting his arms around her waist. His breath felt warm against her cheek, coming from his mouth in warm puffs.

“What do you say? Feel like partying a little?”

She turned to take in the scene: the magical, frozen “oceanscape” of the glistening snow on the field, the beach tent, the towel, the cooking hotdogs already spitting on the fire. It was magical, alright, and she had great friends.

But it was still winter out, and it was damn cold.

“Sorry, guys,” she said. “This is nice, but I need the real deal. You’re all welcome to stay, but as for me—I’m going inside to hide under a blanket. And I’m not coming out until spring!”

The Spot Writers- our members:

RC Bonitz: http://www.rcbonitz.com

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: http://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Kathy Price: http://www.kathylprice.com