LOST (part ONE)

Have recently been so busy with new job that it has kinda sucked away my creative juices. Thank goodness for the weekends, where I can sneak in some writing. How I’m going to balance next month and Nanowrimo at the same time, I have no idea.

This month’s freewriting is slightly inspired by The Wizard of Oz, and Journey to the West.

THE CITY OF LOST THINGS (part ONE)

Chapter One: Jacob and Finella

Once, in a land far far away, in a time not so long ago, there lived a miller who lost the love of his life.

He had not meant to do so. Why, he loved her with all his being, with every breath of his soul. His beloved was the very core of his being, the sun of his mornings, and the stars of his dusk.

She was a sweet young maiden, with hair the color of gold, and a heart to match. Jacob had thought their love would last forever. That it would persist, through the centuries, even when all the stars had been extinguished. Kingdoms would fall, and men would be one day be nothing more but fairytales, but Jacob and Finella would last forever. For love, after all, was the very essence of God, and God was eternal.

Alas, however, this was not meant to be. For there came a day when a group of brigands from the south decided to come upon Jacob’s mill when he had gone to the city. Harsh, heartless men they were; as hairy as wolves, with teeth as yellow as sunflowers, bearing scimitars as curved and wicked as serpents. They rode upon savage horses, eager to plunder; hungry to raze and destroy.

Jacob had been stunned when he had returned from the city to find his mill on fire, and his harvest stolen. He had been outraged to see how they had slaughtered his hounds, and butchered his prize cattle. And he had fallen to his knees and wept when he saw what they did to his beloved. Oh how his poor wife had suffered! She was dead, a victim of the cruelty of the foul brigands,

And Jacob the miller cursed the brigands with every breath he had. He cursed the village militia, who had been drunk at the tavern when these atrocities had happened. He cursed the lands of the South, with their barbarian ways and their codes of slaughter. But mostly he cursed himself, for not being there to protect his beloved from such hideous anguish.

Jacob fell into a deep funk. He refused to eat, or to bathe, and spent his days in his chamber, wailing and lamenting his fate. Oh, how he missed his beloved! His longing for her was like a dark cancer that ate away at his soul, and his guilt like a plague that wasted him to nothingness. Finella! Her memory was like a jagged sword impaled into his heart.

But one night, Jacob the miller had a dream.

An old man came to him. He was ancient as the mountains, with a long beard as white as the feathers of doves. There was a kindliness to him, but also an air of regality, an aura of awe that would have caused even the kings of old to fall prostate before him, had they been in his presence.

The old man told him to stop his weeping. Jacob’s lamentations had gone on for too long, he said. And Jacob replied that he could not help it. He missed his wife far too much.

And the old man told him that if that were so, it was best he venture out and find her. In a valley far, far from here, past the gates of the Twin Cities, through the meadows of Eastdrake, and beyond the caverns of the Wood Demons, stood an entrance to the City of Lost Things. It was an enchanted city, built by a race of mystic beings whose names had been forgotten to man, which contained every single thing that had been lost, over the ages.

And Jacob’s lost love would certainly be in there as well.

The dream ended after that. Jacob woke with a great disturbance in his heart. For the dream had seen so vivid, so real, that it was no mere trick of the mind. It had been a vision..no! More than that, a divine message, which he would be cursed forever if he did follow.

So Jacob sold whatever was left of his possessions. His land was bought over by a corrupt tinker, whose greedy ways and sly tongue would one day cause him to fall under a curse of the Fairy Queen. But that is another story, for another day.

And Jacob the miller bought a sturdy horse, bid goodbye to his village, and set out to find the City of Lost Things.

Chapter 2: The Baron’s Wand

And Jacob rode for miles and miles, till he reached the Twin Cities. It was a busy time to be there, for the Festival of the Snake Maiden had just begun. Thousands and thousands of merchants, from every corner and city of the world, had come to the famed Twin City souks, eager to peddle their wares. Many were also looking forward to seeing the Cities’s fabled obsidian spires, as well as visit the great Ossuary of Veshtal.

Jacob came across many of these merchants, but of all the dozens of people he asked, none of them knew of the City of Lost Things. Yet Jacob did not give up, and kept on his quest. He was eager to get to the Southern Gate of the Cities, which would lead to the realm of Eastdrake.

One night, Jacob decided to seek his rest in the Baron’s Wand, one of the inns of the city. This inn had been established after the Great War by Baron Darkwind, a cunning and wicked aristocrat.

And in the evening, while he was resting, he was visited by a Harlot, who walked into his room without even knocking his door.

The Harlot was a young girl, barely seventeen years old. She was lovely, her face painted with the finest cosmetic, and she wore a tiny dress that was sewn together from colorful rags.

And she came upon the miller, showering him with kisses. He was lonely, she said: she could sense it. Come now, there was no need to be mournful. She could make him feel so much better. She knew how to give him pleasure beyond his imagination, and an expert in exotic arts and techniques that men would pay fortunes to experience.

But Jacob rebuffed her advances. No, he told her. For though she was lovely, there was another he was keeping his love for. And he told her of his beloved Finella, and his quest for the City of Lost Things.

And the Harlot found herself touched by his tale. None of the men who had stayed in this room had ever been so faithful, even when their wives had still been alive. Rather, those with wives were often glad to see her, seeing her as a welcome relief from the nagging tongues and wrinkled faces of their spouses.

She found herself opening up to him: she revealed how she was actually planning to slit his throat while he was sleeping, when his guard was down, and take his goods. It was a scheme that she and the Baron had been doing for months. But now, after hearing his tale, she had no more desire to do so.

The Harlot told Jacob her story. How once, she had been living in a village in Sylef with her parents and her family, until the Baron’s men had raided it during the Great Wars. They had killed all she knew, and then sold her as a Harlot, where she was made to do terrible and wretched things to men everyday, in the name of love. She had even given birth to a daughter once, through one of the guests here, but the Baron had made her cast it down a well, not willing to feed another mouth. She wanted nothing more than to be free of this dreadful life, and live like others her age, carefree and happy, but alas, she could not.

“I have lost my Innocence,” the Harlot said. “And there is no hope for me.”

And Jacob said: “Come with me to the City of Lost Things, and perhaps you shall find it there.”

The Harlot accepted. And Jacob went to the Baron, and paid him a third of his goods that he would set her free. The Baron accepted: for after all, he was a great lover of money. Little did he know that money would be his downfall, for he would later triple it in a game of baccarat with some eunuchs, who would send assassins after him. But that is another story for another day.

And Jacob and the Harlot set off for the City of Lost Things.

Chapter 3: The Carnival

The road to Eastdrake was long, and complicated. It snaked through a dark wood, filled with wolves and bandits, and it was fortunate that Jacob and the Harlot did not encounter any of them.

After three nights of travel, the pair finally left the wood, and reached a small village, where a local carnival had set up camp. And Jacob remembered that the Harlot, who had been deprived of a childhood, would perhaps enjoy a visit.

And he was right. The Harlot laughed at the antics of the clowns and jugglers, and marveled at the agility of the acrobats. She won a stuffed bear at a knife-throwing booth, and clapped at the exploits of the performing griffins, who had their wings painted gold, and had ribbons tied to their horns.

Now, at this carnival, there was also a freak house, which the pair also visited.

It was the marvelous freak show. A bearded woman. A man with three eyes, who blew crimson smoke from his mouth and his ears. A man covered with tattoos, depictions of angels smiting the black demons of the seventeen hells. A woman who danced with snakes. And a feral wolf-boy, with jagged teeth and hair all over his back, naked save a loincloth.

Locked up in a great cage by the exit was a Cavalier, holding a rusty rifle attached with a bayonet. He was an old man, his hair and beard a dirty brown, and was dressed in full military regalia, that was now faded and torn.

The Cavalier shrieked and he gibbered as the pair came up close, and flailed his rifle at them angrily. So infused with rage was he that the bars of his cage shuddered at his shrieks. The pair backed away from him nervously, and this caused the Cavalier to laugh. And oh, what a fit of laughter he had! He fell to his knees, laughing so hard that tears fell all the way down his bushy beard. So gripped was he in mirth that his eyes rolled back until only their whites showed: it was almost as if he were having a fit, or had been possessed by a demon.

A sign next to his cage read: ‘BEWARE! The Mad General of Gazoo!’ A small hound was tied nearby.

Jacob expressed pity for the Cavalier. For his father had been a soldier, and he knew the sacrifices they made in times of war. Soldiers should be honoured, he felt, gifted with medals, or estates; and not made the object of scorn. He wondered what had happened to the Cavalier to reach such an unhappy fate.

The hound next to him heard him, and spoke up. For animals in those days could still speak, for they had not yet lost their Gift of Tongues through the treachery of the Wild Hunters. And indeed, this hound was the descendant of one of the original Wild Hunters, and how he ended up being cast down to earth was a sad and gloomy tale. But that is another story for another day.

You see, said the hound, the Cavalier had once been a great war hero. He loved his men, and enjoyed nothing more than the heat of battle, riding into war to defeat the enemies of the state. But alas! The atrocities he had seen and witnessed had broken his mind. His entire regiment had been one day captured by a horde of hideous barbarians from the south, who wished to know the secrets of the kingdom.

But the Cavalier had refused to talk, and had been tortured beyond imagination. For eleven days, the barbarians inflicted all manner of agonies upon him, but he refused to speak, and the strain had driven him mad. He had been rescued after that, but no one wanted anything to do with him due to his insanity. Penniless and friendless, the Cavalier had wandered the woods for months, screaming at squirrels and making friends with trees, until the hound found him, and brought him to the Carnival. They had no desire to be freaks like this. But what else could they do?

“He had lost his Sanity,” said the hound. “And he is beyond hope.”

And Jacob said: “Come with me to the City of Lost Things, and perhaps you shall find it there.”

So the miller went to the carnival owner, and paid him a third of the money he had, and thus did the Cavalier and his hound join Jacob and the Harlot on their quest.

Chapter 4: The Golden Manor

So for a month, the travelers journeyed through the land of Eastlake, looking for the Mountains of Middorak, in which the caverns of the Wood Demons were. It was not easy, travelling with a mad Cavalier, who screamed and laughed hysterically at odd turns, but Jacob was patient, and did not allow his temper to get the better of him.

It was after many days of riding that the travelers came to the Great Marshes of Eastlake, which were muddy and difficult to traverse. The mud of the marshes reached up to their ankles, and gave out a sickening smell, which repulsed the horses. The horses did not dare cross, and so with a heavy heart, Jacob had to let them go.

So on foot, the travelers crossed the marshes, and it was truly a hellish time. The mud stuck to their clothes, and weighed them down. And lurking in the mud were monstrous leeches, which clung to their flesh and grew fat on their blood. And to make things worse, were the presence of poisonous plants, which it was easy to brush against here, which caused a terrible rash when in contact with skin.

But the travelers persevered, and made their way through the marsh, even the Cavalier, who had to be restrained and carried to ensure he did not wander off to bad parts.

And very soon, the travelers came across an oddity: a great mansion, made completely out of gold, that stood in the middle of the marsh.

So, leaving his friends for a short while, Jacob went to the door of the mansion, and knocked. The door was answered by a old Miser, who wore a jacket of velvet, and breeches of silk.

Jacob asked for refuge and shelter for him and his friends, but the Miser refused. No, he said. They could not stay here, unless they paid the price.

What was the price, Jacob asked. And the Miser replied that it was the hearts of his fellow travelers. They all would be allowed to stay, but in the night, while they all were sleeping, the Miser would come into their rooms with a candle and a knife. He would cut out the hearts of his companions, and eat them, but he would leave Jacob’s heart alone.

It was simple, the Miser replied. What need had he of them? Why was he travelling with a mad old coot and a frail girl? All they would do was slow him down, and delay him from finding his love. It was only reasonable to abandon them. Rid yourself of such parasites, and thus reach the City of Lost Things faster.

But Jacob refused. No, he said. He would not abandon his friends like that. They would find another place to lodge.

The Miser replied that there was no other place to lodge for miles, and if they did not lodge here tonight, would surely perish the night. For that was when the Vampire-Ghasts, lurkers of the marsh, came out, drawn out by the light of the full moon, and woe betide anyone who crossed their paths.

Jacob then said that instead of taking his friends lives, could he not give his own heart instead. For they still had a chance, a hope of finding what they sought, and as for him, even if he died, at least he would be reunited with sweet Finella in heaven.

And the Miser was astounded at this. Fine then, he said, perhaps he would not need to eat their hearts after all. Jacob could still stay if he surrendered all his goods, and all the money he had on him.

Jacob agreed, and the Miser said that was not all: he had to surrender all his future wealth as well. He would have to swear upon the name of God, and take an unbreakable blood oath, that all his future wealth and possessions would go to the Miser. “Do not be a fool,” the Miser said. “Give up your friends hearts instead. For what is life without wealth? Even if you find your love, you will doom her to the life of a pauper. She will hate you, when she is forced to feast on crumbs, and drink rainwater from the gutters. She will curse your name, and wish you had never set forth to find her.”

But Jacob refused. “Love is the greatest treasure on earth,” he said. “More than rubies, more than all the gold of all the kings of history.”

And Jacob the miller cast the remainders of his money of him at the Miser, and drew his knife to recite the Blood Oath. But just before he cut his hand, at the very moment he spoke the name of God, the Miser fell downwards, letting out a piercing scream, and a horde of hideous imps burst out from his mouth.

Around them, the marshes quaked, and the Manor of Gold crumbled; its gold disappearing until all that was left was a simple thatched cottage. And the Miser stood up, and with tears in his eyes, thanked Jacob.

He had been under a curse, he said. In his youth, he loved gold, and thought of nothing else but how to amass it and keep it for himself. So desperate for it was he that he made a pact with a horde of demons: in exchange for his soul, they would give him all the gold he wanted. And so he had lived alone in the marshes for years, amassing all the gold he could, alienating himself from all he loved, and killing passers-by to take their wealth.

And the only one who could break the curse was a man pure of heart, of whom greed was not his master. A man who could shrug off the sweet whispers of avarice, and close his eyes to the beautiful shine of gold. Such a man was difficult to find, and the Miser had spent a decade here in these marshes without coming across such a person.

But Jacob had found him, and now all was well. Although perhaps all was in vain, for after the contract, the Miser was still a hollow shell of a man, unable to laugh, unable to cry or feel any emotion.

“I have lost my Soul,” said the Miser. “And I am beyond hope.”

And Jacob said: “Come with me to the City of Lost Things, and perhaps you shall find it there.”

Thus did the Miser join the travelers, and after a night’s rest in the cottage, set off on their quest.

Chapter 5: The Caverns of the Wood Demons

And thus did the travelers make their way through the marshes, and soon they came upon the Caverns of the Wood Demons.

It was dark upon their arrival. There was little light, for the silver Eye of the Moon never shone down upon this place, as there was little beauty here to see. The travelers snapped off branches from the trees to use as torches, and walked silently through the wood. Even the mad Cavalier was silent: for nothing humbles madness but greater madness, and from the design of the woods, with the twisted forms of the trees, clearly there was some insanity in the mind of the architect of this place.

And indeed, there had been. But that is another story for another time.

Along the way of their travels, they came across the hut of a poor carpenter, who was working by candlelight. He carried huge logs on his back, which he would hollow out and craft into beautiful beds and chairs, and was having difficulty with them.

And the travelers stopped to help him, and the carpenter was pleased for the effort. He offered them his hut for the night, and warned them of the terrible Wood Demons, who would strike at them when they were in bed.

He gave them warnings: “Strike at them at their eyes, or their tails, for those are their weak spots, and they will feel great agony if stabbed there, or beaten with a club. And strike at them not with your weapons: you might as well assault a mighty fortress with broomsticks. Wood demons are beings of the trees, and like trees, they will fall to fire. Your torches shall do more than enlighten, this dark night.”

So the travelers took heed of these words, and did not extinguish their torches to sleep that night, but stayed awake and vigilant, eager to withstand an attack by wood demons.

And how lucky it was that they were prepared, the wood demons came in full force. Oh, what a great multitude they were! There were hairy wood demons, shaggier than mammoths! Feathered wood demons, with iron beaks and piercing eyes! Scaly wood demons, some that crawled on their bellies, others with flickering tongues, some with long tentacles that snapped like whips! Fanged wood demons, yellow-eyed wood demons, wood demons with four or five heads, and crests of purple and silver. All of these, and a thousand kinds more, all of them laughing, snarling, grinning, burping, hissing, eager for sweet human-flesh that night.

But alas for them, as they picked the wrong house to attack. For though Jacob was a pacifist, and spent most of his night in slumber and contemplation, his friends were not to be trifled with.

Such a hard lesson the wood demons learnt as they advanced upon the Harlot. Oh woe to them, for grossly underestimating their foe! Young-girl flesh was the tastiest, thought they, and they expected little of a fight from this slip of a maiden. Alas for them, however, that within the delicate form of the Harlot beat the heart of a tiger. She had just been given her freedom from a life of drudgery, and she would never submit to anyone again, no, not even a horde of demons!

So many a wood demon had been blinded, or had their heart pierced by her torch, which she had sharpened into a great lance. Those that escaped her had to face the wrath of the Cavalier, whose terrible war cries scared even the bravest of the demons. For courage and madness are brethren: they are often mistaken for each other. He ran into battle without fear for his life, attacking with the fury of a drunken berserker. So wild was he with his torch, that many feared he would set himself alight by error. And many a wood demon trembled at the sight of him, charging at them like a tempest, and though they tried to flee, they could not, as his hound seized upon their ankles with his sharp teeth, crippling them in place for the Cavalier to strike.

And those who remained faced the wrath of the Miser, who after years of suffering, hated demon-kind, and lashed at them in vengeance. And the wood-demons found themselves uneasy in his presence. For a man with no soul feels nothing, and this is true for fear as well. Who was this creature, they wondered, who looked at their hideous visages and did not tremble, did not even turn a hair at their gruesome faces which had terrified the bravest of warriors? And why was there a strange taint on his soul, as if he had dealt with greater demons in the past, and had lived to tell the tale?

The poor wood demons were little threat to these three travelers, and their ranks were decimated in great speed. They fought on until sunrise, before deciding to flee, clearing to them the path to the shimmering gate of the City of Lost Things.

TO BE CONTINUED.