For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale - Chapter IV: What a Bastard

For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale

Chapter IV: What a Bastard
By Eric Greer


Eric had fled north, and by nightfall he was deep inside the forest he had spotted earlier during his fall(s). He had been half running, half jaunting almost the entire time, imagining an angry crowd of ignorant yokels hot on his trail. This, however, was not the case. The villagers had, in fact, used the accident as a social event, and only with the coming of night were they spurred to return Tom's horses and wagon and drag Eric's corpse back to the village.
He was quite exhausted when he finally allowed himself a break, falling clumsily to the forest floor.
"You look awfully tired," said a lazy, airy voice, startling the dickens out of him.
Looking up, he saw a thin man in the moonlight, lazily sprawled out across a large tree root a few yards from him. He had dark brown hair, and was dressed in white robes, a belt tied around his waist, and a bag slung over his shoulder. His feet were unshod, and Eric thought he could spy a small knife tied to his right ankle.
"W-who the hell are you?" Eric stuttered, as he hastily heaved himself up from the forest floor.
"Nice duds you're wearing. You wouldn't happen to have nicked them from some poor, traumatized mortal, would you?" asked the stranger, his attention, not on Eric's clothes, but on his own fingernails.
"What? How did you-? Who are you?" Eric asked again, trying to imbue his voice with as much authority as he could muster, though his tone was still shaking with startlededness.
"My, my, you mortals; living a life of sin, you're given a chance at redemption and what do you do? Go right back to sinning," he said lazily.
"Who the hell are you?" He was starting to get angry.
"My name is Cyril. I am a messenger in Sol's service," he said, his focus now on a small pebble he had plucked from the forest floor.
"What message do you bring then?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't have a message."
"Then what do you want?" He made no effort to hide the annoyance in his voice.
Suddenly and quite painfully Eric found the pebble racing from Cyril's hand, bouncing with a thud from his forehead, taking him off of his feet.
"You bastard!" Eric yelled, his hands racing up to rub the lump that was quickly growing where the pebble had struck.
"It was just a small stone," laughed Cyril.
Anger boiling inside of him, Eric quickly snatched the pebble from the ground, and, standing up, with blind fury let it loose in the messenger's direction.
A moment later there was a deafening crack as the stone exploded in an immense fireball.
"Now, now, mortal, we mustn't throw stones," laughed Cyril.
"What do you want with me?" yelled Eric, who had been knocked down again by the explosion, his left hand on his forehead.
"Oh, you're no fun," he said grumpily. "I bring a gift to aid you on your mission."
"I thought you said you didn't have a message."
"A map," he said, pulling a scroll from his bag, "is not a message."
With that, he stood up and walked to the center of the clearing where the stone had exploded. Clenching his right hand, a faint light radiated from between his fingers. He knelt down and let a few small flames fall from his hand, stopping a few inches above the forest floor, where they accumulated into a small fire, bathing the clearing in a warm light. He then lazily tossed the scroll to Eric, before sitting down again.
Eric stepped closer to the fire and unrolled the piece of leather. It depicted the entire world (as far as he could tell at least; he had never actually seen the entire world, after all). There were six continents, each separated into many countries, which were dotted with finely printed names. His eyes moved to the northernmost reach of the continents.
"There's Lebin," he muttered to himself. It was a comparatively large country, the word "Waste" scrawled across much of it. North of the "waste" was a range of mountains with many arms, and beyond that the northern coast. A small sea separated the northern Lebin coast with what looked to be a large unnamed landmass.
His eyes roamed south, reading the names of the countries. "Where am I?" he asked, not looking up.
"On the island of Saros," said Cyril, his voice practically dripping with boredom.
The sea was littered with islands. It took him a few minutes to find the small island labeled Saros - and his heart sank.
"I'm in the southern sea," he said flatly.
"Yep," said the messenger.
"I'm in the southern sea," he said again. "Do you know how long it's going to take me to reach Lebin?"
"Ages, I'd imagine," said Cyril in a giddy voice. He then began to laugh. Apparently, he found Eric's predicament quite entertaining.
Eric ignored the laughter and began to pour over the map, looking at all of the countries he would probably have to pass through to reach Lebin.
Suddenly, the flame was extinguished.
Eric looked up, unable to see the map in the darkness. He could barely see by the dim moonlight. But the clearing was empty. Cyril was gone.
"Good luck, mortal," said a voice, seemingly from behind him.
He turned, but he found no one.
The forest around him was silent.
He was alone.
"Fool," he finally muttered to himself after a few moments.
Suddenly, he found himself pushed to the ground, followed by a round of gay laughter. He could hear Cyril's voice trailing off into the night, floating on the wind.
Eric quickly picked himself up, wiping the earth from his jacket. He listened to the laughter, but soon it was gone.
Unable to read the map, and unable to kindle a fire, he resigned himself to an uneasy sleep, curled up in Tom's jacket. At dawn he would take a closer look at the map and decide his first course of action.


Copyright 2011 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.