The Grim: A Novella
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About this ebook
Reeling from terrible tragedy, young Rion Evonrule is thrust out of his familiar world and sets out on a desperate quest to deliver crucial news about a terrible blight that is spreading across the land--dark, living plague that steals the souls of mankind and enslaves them to its inhuman will. The Grim. A powerful mage may hold the answers. Rion is the messenger.
Shaun Kilgore
Shaun Kilgore is the author of various works of fantasy, science fiction, and a number of nonfiction works. His books appear in both print and ebook editions. He has also published numerous short stories and collections. Shaun is the editor of MYTHIC: A Quarterly Science Fiction & Fantasy Magazine. He lives in eastern Illinois.
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The Grim - Shaun Kilgore
THE GRIM
A Novella
SHAUN KILGORE
Contents
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Copyright Information
About the Author
ONE
NO ONE ELSE WAS left alive.
The house of Rion’s childhood was little more than a heap of smoldering wood and stone. The remaining thatch crackled in the yellow flames, sending its black smoke soaring into the winter sky. Rion saw the bodies. Their skin, hair, and clothes were burned away, exposing patches of pale white bone and nothing else. He couldn’t tell which one was his mother, his father, his sisters. The smell of them mingled with the smoke to burn his eyes. Rion huddled on the tile floor; the spiraling and colorful mosaics made a stark contrast to the devastation.
My family is gone, Rion thought numbly. What will I do now?
There were no answers forthcoming from the heavenlies. No mystical powers that could undo what had been done. His faith in the god of his fathers had withered in his youth so that Rion was left with little in the way of comfort. Death had taken all who had loved him and known him.
Rion rose. He drew his arms about him but stood steadily. Looking down he saw his arms, his tunic, and legs were covered with soot. No doubt he was as black as the charred wood before him. He picked his way through the rubble carefully. The archways that led towards the inner court were sagging precariously. The slightest pressure could send them tumbling down. The fire had seeped into the thick stone so that it radiated blistering heat. He turned his face away from the nearest wall and moved inward, trying to keep towards the center to avoid the hot surfaces. The winter air was left behind. Rion ducked under the collapsed portions of the walls. Here and there he spotted the bodies of servants. They had been crushed trying to flee. The great house was like a maze. In a short time, Rion was sweating with his efforts.
What am I doing? Looking for survivors? I am the head of the household now. It is the right thing to do.
Such thoughts flittered about Rion’s mind while he roamed the halls. After he traversed the ruins, he came out on the opposite side. His mother’s gardens were unscathed. The empty flowerbeds would bloom again come spring, filling the space with a riotous display of color and the air would be thick with the natural perfumes of the blossoms. Thick evergreens, partially covered with fresh snow, and leafless, sleeping oaks watched him. They waited in their stately circle. In the midst of them a marble woman looked to the sky. The guardian had failed to warn the people inside the house of the terrors that overwhelmed them beneath the winter moon. Unseen figures crashed through the great doors to the house and struck down the people. Rion wasn’t there when it happened. He had been visiting Mattias. The glow of the fires illuminating the forests and the skies sent him racing back home.
His mind roamed over the events but he saw no way he could have done anything. Still he wanted to lash out at something, anything. Rion wandered into the circle and approached the statue. His mouth twisted up in sneer. He clenched his fist and made to strike the lifeless marble.
Rion jerked back when a low moan sounded in the cold garden. He had no weapons. He swept his gaze around but could not see a source for the noise. Once more someone moaned. Rion twisted to where he thought it was coming from. He moved away from the statue and wandered into the shadows of the giant evergreens, the leathery boughs scraping his bare arms when he came closer.
The moan became a cry—a weak whimper. There, half-hidden in the snow and undergrowth, Rion saw a small bird-like creature with white feathers covering its body though it wore a dark blue tunic. To Rion, it resembled a human child too. The creature was one of the Modabi, the winged servants of the noble houses.
Rion stooped down and reached for the Modabi. The creature struggled to move away. It was terrified.
It’s all right. I won’t hurt you. You’re safe.
The Modabi looked at him uncertainly. Its brilliant lavender eyes shimmered with tears.
Not...not safe...at all. Nowhere safe.
Rion frowned. What do you mean by that?
"They were hunting me...trying to...to kill me. Trying to take this from me."
The Modabi drew out a thin cylinder from its strap around its waist. Rion saw it was one of the sealed messages the creatures carried on official business.
What is it?
The Modabi winced and tried to sit up. It shivered when a cold breeze whipped through the gardens. When it tried to move one of its wings, the Modabi cried out. It...it...is a message that I must deliver to...to Gallian of House...Orlander.
Rion reached out. Let me look at that wing.
The Modabi hesitated a moment before scooting closer. The feathers were cold but soft. He checked the length of the appendage until he found it. A break.
I’m sorry, but your wing will have to be mended. It is broken.
Oh no. Now what shall I do? This message...is urgent.
The Modabi’s eyes fluttered and the creature slumped over.
Rion checked to see if it still lived. Only unconscious. We need to get you in out of the cold.
The Modabi was very light. Rion could easily carry it. Turning away from the tree he once more stared at the burnt remains of his home. His family’s burial would need to be attended. Rion knew he would need to send for help from the settlements nearby. They may not have noticed the smoke yet. Dawn had only broken a short time ago.
Rion! Rion, are you here?
A group of men appeared from the side of the house. A gray-headed man dressed in dark blue robes led the contingent of Rion’s neighbors. Mattias struck the snowy ground with his staff. By the lights of the heavenlies, you still live.
His face was lined with grief. Dear boy, I’m so sorry for your losses. Andras was a good friend. And your mother and sisters, I shall miss them all. May they all find peace.
Rion’s legs grew weak but he stayed upright for the Modabi stirred in his arms. Tears flowed down his cheeks. Rion shook his head. I didn’t get here in time, Mattias. I couldn’t save them.
The older man reached him. His hard, callused hands closed over Rion’s shoulders. His pale blue eyes darted to the Modabi.
A Modabi? What brings it this far north.
Mattias shook his head slightly. No matter. We shall see. Olas, you and the rest of the boys should start preparing the graves. We must attend to the needs of Rion’s people.
Yes, Mattias,
answered Olas. His voice was soft and laced with pain. He was just a year older than Rion. They were not close friends but he had shown interest in his sister Dalia during the summer fair. Oh, Dalia. Sweet Dalia.
Mattias took the Modabi from him. Rion, freed from the burden, dropped to his knees. The two men remained there together in the snow for a few moments before Mattias coaxed him back to the remains of the house where the heat still exuded from the stone walls. Rion’s neighbors prepared the earth to receive his family. Mattias identified each one and they were put to rest. Traditional prayers were said and Rion was brought close to the place where his father lay wrapped in a hastily-prepared shroud.
Rion approached while the others retreated. He drew the cloak Mattias had given him closer.
"I’m sorry, father. Sorry I couldn’t