The Horror ('One Shot' short story) [Archive]

niko_teen

02-03-2009, 02:51 PM

Per all of my stories Questions and Comments are always appreciated. The night was cold and her breath hung as a cloud in the air as the elder Kerran shaman awoke quickly from her slumber with the dream still fresh in her mind. She wanted to push the dream away as the fear and terror still clung to her mind. Dreams however were a gateway through which the spirits were able to contact the living. No matter the feelings of fear and dread; she knew that the information that was sent to her needed to be preserved before the dream faded away. Grabbing a piece of charcoal from the cool fire pit and a thin sheet of dried leather she tried to recall as much as she could sketching the Feir’Dal face with a crooked smile that had been laughing almost mockingly at her. It was about the same moment that she finished the sketch that the screaming started. Dropping the parchment and charcoal she slung a cloak of furs onto her shoulders then took up her cane and pushed open the hide that covered the single opening to her wood framed tent of leather and hides. Outside, the crisp air nipped at her nostrils and the softly cascading snow created a serene setting that seemed to exist in sharp contrast to the screams that continued to erupt from the tents belonging to the initiate shamans. The message must be one of great importance for it to affect so many of the Kerran Shamans and more specifically the initiates who were unable to separate themselves from the message. Changing the grip on her cane from one of wielding it as a war club to its’ actual use she called out to the other Shamans in the camp directing them to make their way down and care for the initiates. The snow crunching under her feet at least seemed to break up the relentless steam of terrified calls that continued to tear through the night. “Wake them not,” she spoke calmly to a human who had come to the camp seeking to learn from the Kerran Shamans. “Spirits be invading their dreams. We must let then be free before waking them,” The human shaman still seemed shaken by the night’s broken calm but the wild panicked look in his eyes seemed to fade with her explanation and soft tones. He nodded that he understood and would follow her guidance. After his nod she retook up her march down to the initiate’s camp. An owl leapt from its’ branch and glided away through the darkness leaving a shower of snow to fall to the ground from the shaken branch. Marking a mental note as to the presence of the owl as an omen to be deciphered at a later time she wondered why it had caught her attention. Often the carrier of ill news and always a bad omen she wondered if it had in fact been the spirit who had delivered the message coveted within the dream to the camp. “An owl,” shuttered a nearby shaman trainer. “Aye,” she replied. “Decipher its’ meaning, later we will.” “Do you think that.” “At a later time,” she interrupted. “First, care to the initiates, we will give. For the kits are too young to understand what has happened this night.” Arriving to the tents erected for the use of the shaman initiates she found herself pleased to find most of the instructors already tending to the kits. They all seemed to know better then to awake the children and most were starting to calm down and a few were starting to awaken. “Parchment and charcoal bring,” she instructed to a few of the senior students who had arrived to assist with the younger initiates. “Gather the information on their dreams while it is fresh in their minds we must.” Through the waning hours of the early morning several instructors and senior students sat with each kit reassuring them and recording the information from their dreams until just one kit remained tossing, turning and crying out in her sleep. With her resolve weakened by her own dream that she had suffered and her bones whittled with age she could not help but to allow herself a couple of moments to rest. She could hear just the one child but decided that there were more then enough young bodies to tend to the last of the kits. “Grandmother,” a young adult Kerran spoke softly as she touched her shoulder in an attempt to wake her softly. Ever though she had her own kits and those kits their own and even a pair of great granddaughters this was not one of her descendants. Instead this young shaman used the term as one of endearment and respect. “Yes child,” she spoke softly in return slightly ashamed with her self to have fallen asleep when merely meaning to rest for a few moments. Not quite ashamed she bemused, more then he body had grown old to the point that she could not longer will herself to do everything that she wanted. But the wisdom that she had gained through the years made up for the sacrifice of her body. She caught herself wondering how may more winters like this one she would have before leaving to join the spirits at Tunare’s side before realizing that the young kit in front of her was telling her that the last child had finally awoken. “Written down should be her dream so that we can decipher it along with the stars,” She spoke to the young Shaman. “But Grandmother the Spirit is still with her.” She raised her brows in surprised then took to her feet allowing the young shaman to assist her. “Bring me to her,” the elderly Shaman phrased as a soft command. After stepping into the small tent that the young kit shared with several others she was surprised to see the child sitting erect and sipping a cup of Tea. “Ye be bound to this world no longer,” the old Shaman spoke in a booming voice to the spirit that inhabited the child’s body. Revered, spirits must be, but for a one to inhabit the body of a child way a sin against nature both to the shamans and spirits alike. “Release her.” “I apologize,” came a spectral voice from the child. “But the news that I bring is grave and the body of a child is much easier to inhabit then any of the adults or you yourself.” “Sin it be none the less.” “I bring news of “the one’s” return,” the spirit spoke with its eerie voice disregarding the Shaman’s interjection. “The body of that child release, only then will we listen to your words of warning,” the elder shaman commanded as she took another step toward the kit and the spirit inhabiting her body. Then referring to herself she commanded the spirit again “a vessel this body you may use.” “You’re body is weak and fail. Entering you may be the last the moments that you have on this plane.” “Done it must be.” The kit’s expression changed again then the body collapsed and a ghostly visage hung in the air for the briefest of moments before entering the elder Shaman. Seconds later, to those in the tent with her, the elder Shaman wailed in agony before falling to the hide that made up the floor of the tent. “Grandmother,” the young shaman from before gasped as she quickly knelt down beside her elder. “Teaeran,” she gasp through yes wide with terror. “Teaeran Sayer has returned.” Their fright and horror was short lived as the Shaman expelled her last breath and her eyes slowly closed. A terrible scourge had returned. Niko Teen was back and all those assembled wondered if this time the Traveler’s Tales’ board could surive. Only time would tell but sure they all were that the boards would never again be the same.