Tales from the Carving Bard #1: Brimstone and Brine

Brimstone and Brine

“You already know the tale. Childhood friends, grown into men, fall in love with the same maiden. You know it cannot end well. One wins the girl, and what is left to the other? A heroic death. That is his fate,” the Carving Bard paused the beginning of her tale as she returned the perfectly straight white ash stick to her bundle. She sat near the fire in the tavern’s common room and sorted through the other sticks carefully before selecting a twisted length of hickory with a knot at one end. As she inspected it, she muttered low enough that only the listeners nearest to her could hear, “But fate is fickle, and she understands the problem. There aren’t enough women in the story.”

Apparently satisfied, she drew a knife, and starting as far from the knotted end as she could, she began to carve her tale…

These two men in particular were sailors, returned to their island home after a long voyage. Their friendship had grown strained after Meilyr led a mutiny to take the ship from a corrupt captain who wanted to turn pirate. Aldwyn would have followed his friend to the ends of the earth, but he resented Meilyr’s decision to return home after the mutiny because it meant they weren’t able to sell the rest of their goods. Meilyr, whose father was rich, could afford to lose money on the voyage—it would not prevent him from courting the fair Eirys. Aldwyn, on the other hand, had staked his small fortune on his share of the cargo. All would be lost if they failed to sell the goods at a distant port.

But return they did, and to a changed town. Eirys cried prettily, telling them that shortly after they sailed away, a stranger had arrived, a beautiful stranger with glowing blue eyes. In a voice that crackled with power, she had told them that her name was Keprahseanne and she served a dragon, a dragon that demanded a sacrifice—one member of the town to be selected by her and brought to the bluffs overlooking the sea.

When she next appeared, the elders refused to comply—they would not sacrifice one of their own. The dragon took to the skies in retribution, burning most of the crops to the ground and leaving several fishing boats nothing more than smoking husks on the waves. And so, the elders offered up one of their townspeople. They continued to do so whenever the woman, smelling of brimstone and brine, appeared on the path winding down the bluffs.

The sailors could feel the change, a sadness in the greetings and friendly faces missing. But their sweet Eirys remained, listening attentively as they recounted their exploits and adventures. When they reached the point in the telling where their disagreements over the cargo and the money had brought them to blows, they insisted she must choose between them before they ruined their friendship in an effort to win her hand.

She agreed, but asked for time to consider. Before she could decide, the stranger swept down the mountain like a stormfront over the sea, eyes glowing that unnatural blue. She wore a pale blue robe without adornment that billowed in the wind and only served to highlight the brilliance of her eyes. The town gathered in the square as had become custom. Most were more resigned than angry now. Eirys stood trembling between Meilyr and Aldwyn, holding both their hands tightly as the dragon’s servant scanned the crowd from her place among the elders.

Eventually, Keprahseanne’s eyes fixed on a spot. She stretched out a finger, “You,” and a blue spark arced over the heads of the townspeople. It hovered in the air for a handful of heartbeats before drifting down to land on Eirys’s head. She shrieked and dropped Aldwyn’s hand. Turning to Meilyr, she collapsed into his arms, leaving Aldwyn grasping empty air. Over her golden curls, Meilyr looked at his friend. Aldwyn nodded, silently agreeing that they had their answer.

Meilyr handed Eirys to her father and bowed to the dragon’s servant. “I wish to be sacrificed in my betrothed’s place,” his voice was firm, his gaze steady.

A murmur ran through the crowd. No one else had offered to take another’s place—cried over them, yes, but take their place? Never. All eyes turned to Keprahseanne. She regarded Meilyr without blinking her intense blue eyes for several long moments before nodding once, “I will allow it. Prepare yourself. I will return for you before sundown.”

The elders took Meilyr into a nearby house for a preparation routine that had become all too familiar. When he reemerged some time later wearing a plain white garment and simple sandals, he took a tearful leave of Eirys and his family. Then, he straightened his back and turned to walk the winding path with Aldwyn, the elders, and the dragon’s servant. He didn’t look back. Aldwyn’s footsteps were heavy as he kept pace with his friend, carrying the rope that would secure Meilyr to the sacrificial stake. When they reached the spot, Meilyr shook his friend’s hand. Frowning, he asked, “Promise me you’ll take care of her?”

Aldwyn dropped the rope and pulled him into an embrace, “Always, Meilyr, you needn’t ask.”

Meilyr stepped back, apparently satisfied, and announced, “I’m ready.”

Aldwyn bent to retrieve the rope. As he stood, he drew back his fist and punched his friend in the face. Aldwyn turned to Keprahseanne as Meilyr fell heavily to the ground at his feet. “Let him live his life. Take me instead.”

The glowing blue eyes narrowed to slits, adding to the woman’s otherworldly appearance. She nodded once, telling him with considerable reservation in her voice, “Very well.”

Aldwyn turned to the elders. “Take him home. Tell him,” he hesitated, “Tell him to be happy.”

Between them, the elders managed to lift Meilyr, carrying him down the winding path back to his beloved.

Only Keprahseanne remained. She reached for the rope, but Aldwyn stopped her with a shake of his head, explaining, “I made my choice.”

She frowned, her eyes flashing as she informed him coolly, “If you run, another life will be forfeit.”

“I know. I won’t run.” He sat in front of the stake, leaning back against its rough surface. “I’ve lost my fortune and my love. I’ve no reason to run.”

She studied him for a moment before walking away with her robe snapping in the wind.

Aldwyn didn’t look to see where she went. Instead, he watched the sunset burn across the waves in a spectacular array of oranges and pinks. He fixed the smell of the sea in his memory as he listened to the rhythm of the waves crashing against the rocks below. But twilight had almost deepened to night before he heard wings beating against the air. He remained seated as a large creature blotted out the stars, landing with enough force to cause the ground to shake beneath him. Stepping forward, the dragon roared brimstone and brine inches from his face. Aldwyn set his jaw, closed his eyes, and accepted his fate.

A melodious chuckle caused them to fly back open. Before him, where a moment ago the great dragon had been, stood a woman he couldn’t identify in the darkness. But her garment was light against the night sky and he wondered.

She reached out and the stake crackled with blue flame. Aldwyn jumped away, but it wasn’t hot. She laughed again. He looked back, and in that light, he recognized her, although her eyes no longer glowed with anything other than the reflection of the magefire.

“The dragon?” he sputtered as the last of the pieces fell into place.

“Was looking for someone brave enough to win her heart. Not some sap trying to spare a weeping woman, but a truly brave soul who would sacrifice his life to make someone else’s happy ending come true.”

“Then you’re…?”

She smiled mischievously, and this time when she changed, his eyes were open and he recognized the ghostly blue glow of hers in the dragon’s face.

…The Carving Bard lowered her knife and blew the shavings from the walking stick. She surveyed the crowd, which had increased since she started the telling, before continuing, “As with the other sacrifices, she gave him the choice of passage anywhere in the world. He chose to go everywhere—with her. The town never saw the blue-eyed woman again. To them—and to Meilyr and Eirys—Aldwyn had died a hero’s death and rid them of the dragon’s curse. But Aldwyn learned that there can be more than one ending, even if you think you already know the tale.”

The Bard handed the finished walking stick to a morose-looking young man on the edge of the crowd. Ignoring the questions and pleas for another tale, she packed up her things and left the tavern, turning her feet in the direction of the next town.

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