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Creative Projects / The Bull Sermons [flash fiction]
« on: January 02, 2012, 02:16:54 am »
I wrote this little fantasy flash and I thought I would share. Criticism welcome.
Hope you enjoy it!
Casmus stepped into the antiquarian's qisan and was surprised at how much more spacious it seemed from inside. The antiquarian was a wealthy woman to maintain such a stall, thrice the size of any other merchant's in the square. And in truth it was no mere stall, but an exotic merchant-tent of Imayyo, thousands of miles from its home and serving as a proud display in the northern taiga of Neymsall. And if her tent's purpose was to pique interest then her wares existed to astound. It was a wondrous array laid out by a discerning eye; the antiquarian knew how to play to the desires of the people and offered only what they would find irresistible. Casmus immediately recognized a sapphire pendant, chained to silver, lying on a piece of black felt. The gem was a deep blue and he could feel himself drowning in it. It was the Sinking Stone of Sein Ascanta, last he knew in the possession of Baron Los of Jorndr. But that was the least of the treasures laid before him, some legendary some mundane, but all treasures. The antiquarian had taken special care that the mundane objects, pots, idols, weapons and jewelry of all kinds, were either ancient or foreign, but the items of legends were by far items of local legend, well-known to all but the most ignorant. Yet in spite of the multitude of objects displayed Casmus knew that what brought him here was well-hidden.
The antiquarian was sitting behind a table in the back, inspecting a bronze helm with a fine pick in one hand and a lens in the other. She looked up at him with dark eyes as he approached. "Yes?"
"Hello, my lady, I am Casmus, son of Calrend and—"
She interrupted him, "Spare me the pleasantries, son of Calrend, my time is at a premium."
He narrowed his eyes at her but quickly recovered. "Very well. I understand you deal in rare codices and it has come to my attention you may be in possession of one I most desire."
They stared at one another. He could not read her face but he guessed she could read his. Their eyes were locked but he could feel her somehow looking him over, finding his measure, finding the contours of the desire reflected in his eyes. It was unnerving, but he daren't break the gaze. "Sermons on the Bull of the Mountain," she said at length.
"Yes."
"You are not the first to ask for this book, son of Calrend. What makes you think I have it? And more importantly, am willing to part with it?"
"A true merchant will part with anything for the right price. I am willing to pay whatever the cost for this codex."
"Did you think I had never heard those words before? The truth is I don't trust you with it. There isn't anyone I would. And the very fact you desire it tells me I am right not to trust you."
This time Casmus felt his eyebrows jerk downwards reflexively. The antiquarian set her pick down on the table and her lens onto a rose silk cloth and stood up. "I'm sure you weren't here for anything else," she said, "so you may leave now."
"Now just a moment—"
"Words won't change my mind, son of Calrend. When even actions won't suffice, words are powerless."
She stepped over to him, paused, then started for the entance to the qisan. Casmus' cheeks felt hot. He was humiliated.
"You do not understand, my lady. I must have the bull sermons. I cannot leave here empty-handed!" He stepped backwards as she turned around to face him.
"You think it's here? You are a fool. If I never intended to part with the book why would I keep it in ma'qisan? We're not all as foolish as you."
His face pinched in rage and the cords of his neck tensed, lifting his shoulders. The presumptuous whore. "How dare you speak to me like that. I am Casmus, son of Calrend, Lord of Amrell, and I shall have your wicked tongue," he spat. Then he drew his sword and lurched over to the antiquarian, nearly a foot her greater.
But just as soon as he took another step he felt a great blow to his chest, though the antiquarian did not move. He felt his ribs depress then crack, and a burning, the smoke of flesh. His own flesh? He could not tell, the fire was hot beyond his capacity to sense, like the embrace of a star.
And as he fell to the ground, as flesh and ash, the antiquarian said, "And what did you hope to learn from the book? Had you even gotten that far or was it simply the idea of possessing that it consumed you?"
Hope you enjoy it!
Casmus stepped into the antiquarian's qisan and was surprised at how much more spacious it seemed from inside. The antiquarian was a wealthy woman to maintain such a stall, thrice the size of any other merchant's in the square. And in truth it was no mere stall, but an exotic merchant-tent of Imayyo, thousands of miles from its home and serving as a proud display in the northern taiga of Neymsall. And if her tent's purpose was to pique interest then her wares existed to astound. It was a wondrous array laid out by a discerning eye; the antiquarian knew how to play to the desires of the people and offered only what they would find irresistible. Casmus immediately recognized a sapphire pendant, chained to silver, lying on a piece of black felt. The gem was a deep blue and he could feel himself drowning in it. It was the Sinking Stone of Sein Ascanta, last he knew in the possession of Baron Los of Jorndr. But that was the least of the treasures laid before him, some legendary some mundane, but all treasures. The antiquarian had taken special care that the mundane objects, pots, idols, weapons and jewelry of all kinds, were either ancient or foreign, but the items of legends were by far items of local legend, well-known to all but the most ignorant. Yet in spite of the multitude of objects displayed Casmus knew that what brought him here was well-hidden.
The antiquarian was sitting behind a table in the back, inspecting a bronze helm with a fine pick in one hand and a lens in the other. She looked up at him with dark eyes as he approached. "Yes?"
"Hello, my lady, I am Casmus, son of Calrend and—"
She interrupted him, "Spare me the pleasantries, son of Calrend, my time is at a premium."
He narrowed his eyes at her but quickly recovered. "Very well. I understand you deal in rare codices and it has come to my attention you may be in possession of one I most desire."
They stared at one another. He could not read her face but he guessed she could read his. Their eyes were locked but he could feel her somehow looking him over, finding his measure, finding the contours of the desire reflected in his eyes. It was unnerving, but he daren't break the gaze. "Sermons on the Bull of the Mountain," she said at length.
"Yes."
"You are not the first to ask for this book, son of Calrend. What makes you think I have it? And more importantly, am willing to part with it?"
"A true merchant will part with anything for the right price. I am willing to pay whatever the cost for this codex."
"Did you think I had never heard those words before? The truth is I don't trust you with it. There isn't anyone I would. And the very fact you desire it tells me I am right not to trust you."
This time Casmus felt his eyebrows jerk downwards reflexively. The antiquarian set her pick down on the table and her lens onto a rose silk cloth and stood up. "I'm sure you weren't here for anything else," she said, "so you may leave now."
"Now just a moment—"
"Words won't change my mind, son of Calrend. When even actions won't suffice, words are powerless."
She stepped over to him, paused, then started for the entance to the qisan. Casmus' cheeks felt hot. He was humiliated.
"You do not understand, my lady. I must have the bull sermons. I cannot leave here empty-handed!" He stepped backwards as she turned around to face him.
"You think it's here? You are a fool. If I never intended to part with the book why would I keep it in ma'qisan? We're not all as foolish as you."
His face pinched in rage and the cords of his neck tensed, lifting his shoulders. The presumptuous whore. "How dare you speak to me like that. I am Casmus, son of Calrend, Lord of Amrell, and I shall have your wicked tongue," he spat. Then he drew his sword and lurched over to the antiquarian, nearly a foot her greater.
But just as soon as he took another step he felt a great blow to his chest, though the antiquarian did not move. He felt his ribs depress then crack, and a burning, the smoke of flesh. His own flesh? He could not tell, the fire was hot beyond his capacity to sense, like the embrace of a star.
And as he fell to the ground, as flesh and ash, the antiquarian said, "And what did you hope to learn from the book? Had you even gotten that far or was it simply the idea of possessing that it consumed you?"
