The Aresan Clan is published four times a week (Tue, Wed, Fri, Sun). You can see what's been written so far collected here. All posts will be posted under the Aresan Clan label. For summaries of the events so far, visit here. See my previous serial Vampire Wares collected here.

Friday, September 21, 2012

Aresan Clan pt 35

Maya was back with the sour milk and stock and she encouraged Lipmon to drink the milk first “You drink that now. You aren’t getting better any other way. But not too quickly. You’re stomach’ll be all upset and we’ll be having you getting sicker if you aren’t careful.” Lipmon took some small sips as he sat up a little. “You’re a good boy,” Maya continued, “and you’ll be taking some of that stock too. It’s some good stuff, you know. Make you strong as a bear in no time.”

“Stop pressuring him!” Merek said to her, “He’ll get better at his own pace if you don’t try to make him well too soon.” Merek turned back to Lipmon, “You take you’re time and you’ll be all better faster than you think.”

Maya snapped back and the two started arguing back and forth. They’re accents were very odd to Lipmon. To him they sounded like exotic foreigners with their staccato syllables, rolling letters and rapid speech. Merek turned to Lipmon and said, “Don’t mind us. You just drink your soup and we’ll leave you to it. I’ll be back to check in on you. Holler or something if you need help, or make some noise somehow. Anyways, I’ve got some things to haul indoors and some repairs to make and Maya’s got to tend to some of the animals and the cooking. But we’ll be within earshot if you need anything.”

The two departed and Lipmon continued drinking. He felt the food entering him and his starving body opening up for it. He drank the milk and stock slowly as she advised and then set down the empty cup and bowl besides the bed and relaxed again. His sight was weak so that when he turned he thought he saw a person standing in the window. The person was balanced on the windowsill, squatting inside the window frame, motionless and staring. All Lipmon could see was a silhouette and he tried to smile and greeted the shadow very weakly, with a horse voice, “Hello. Why don’t you com in?”

The man in the window was known as Mill in Lamosa, but the town of Orinda knew him as Aleck. He stared at Lipmon with narrow eyes that were better at concealing emotion than evoking it. He was approaching middle age, but his face had none of those lines drawn on the face through the habitual expression of emotions. His face instead looked smooth, flat and inaccessible.

He’d already deduced that Lipmon was from the nearby village of Still Creek (the accent gave it away, even if his voice was week and hoarse). Word had gotten around that Lipmon had arrived here barely alive, and had survived an attack from the creature. Mill could smell from where he stood that Lipmon reeked with illness.

“My name is Lipmon. And who are you?” Mill got another chance to hear the accent and was certain that Lipmon was from Still Creek. In his last communiqué from Strya, Mill had been warned that Alles was going to be leading an expedition to Still Creek for reasons that were unclear.

“My name is Aleck,” Mill said, “What news do you bring us from whatever parts you come from?”

Lipmon looked at him lazily, “Bad news. Such bad news. I saw my whole village destroyed with all the people slaughtered a few a days ago, except for me and a little boy, and they kidnapped the little boy with them. His name was Tann,” Lipmon said, his eyes full of tears, “That boy Tann was my whole world and I want my revenge upon the lot of them. I’ve got to spread the message to the whole Fourth Order and bring them to Tann’s salvation. I’m the only one that can. What’ll they do to Tann? Why him?” Lipmon was in tears and he sank into his bed and wouldn’t say any more. Lipmon’s emotions, exaggerated in his vulnerable state, overtook him with sobbing.

These were the first words that Lipmon had spoken coherently to anyone in Orinda. Mill knew since he’d been watching the house closely. The opportunity was too perfect. He suspected Lipmon was right about him being the only one. All memory of Still Creek could be erased for good with Lipmon gone. If Alles had, as Mill suspected, destroyed the town no one would know for a long, long time that the small town of Still Creek was no longer in its appointed place in an isolated valley if Lipmon were killed. The people of Orinda actively avoided the place out of fear.

Mill pulled a knife out of his sheath and he stepped down from the window into the room. “You’ll save us all much trouble if you’re simply disappeared,” Mill whispered to himself.

<-- Go to Part 34         Go to Part 36 -->

You can see what's been written so far collected here.

No comments:

Post a Comment