A Short Story Collection

Ancient Bones, Hidden Truths

Warning: This story is dark and gory. 

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 It was on the sylvan grounds of Anglenor that, amidst the trees, the bracelet of the Ramhorn was hallowed and made sacred. The story of how this came to be has always been my favorite and I jump at any chance to tell it; although, it is not a story felicitous or appropriate for those weak-stomached or weak-minded–this tale is despairing and holds no happy end. The lesson to be learned from it is not to allow oneself to be deceived, for it will end tragically. That, and bad men will do anything for power. How is this true? Well, read on and see for yourself.

The story begins with a young boy, only ten, who was willing to do anything to bring in a little money for his poor and indigent family. Because of his age, he was a mere neophyte just learning to navigate the world of men. This fact was arrant for those looking for beggared and naive people to do their dirty work and poor Agie Ramhorn fit into both categories perfectly. Early one morning on a mild winter day Agie was approached as he made his rounds in the slums of Hatter by a cloaked man promising to make his father a lord and raise his family out of poverty, if only he do one thing: act as a orphaned child and get the king to pity him so much that he would take Agie as his own. Then, after gaining his trust, Agie would kill him in his sleep. The contractor was actually a greedy lord eager to raise himself to the highest possible echelon: the throne. So he told Agie how the king was the reason for why food was so scarce on the street–how the king ate it all–and if he died, things would get better. But the man failed to mention how, if he did succeed, he would be jailed, or even executed. And who would be able to track the child's contractor, if all the child knew of him was a black cloak? And so, with the man's clever sophistry, Agie believed in the fallacy and accepted, hoping for the best. After all, it was widely known that the king delighted in the paucity of food in his kingdom because it made it easier to steal children from parents–parents wishing for their kids a better future. What they didn't know is that their children were essential turned into slaves for his dirty work.

Full of determination to save his family, young Agie, with a new sense of hatred for the king (how could he eat everyone's food?!), created several rag dolls from potatoes and scraps of cloth to serve as crude effigies of the king and placed them strategically around the wooden building that was widely known to be the royals' favorite clothing shop. Then, after "acquiring" some lamp oil from the clothing store's own storage rooms, he saturated each doll, soaking them, before spilling a trail of the stuff between each one. Finally, he lit the first doll and hurried inside. The fire was raging in just a few seconds, feasting on the wooden walls and racks upon racks of clothing and amidst it all, curled up in the brick fireplace (he'd cleared out all the firewood) Agie lay, hoping to escape the brunt of the force that the flaming juggernaut, growing uncontrollably and uncaringly, was bringing. But it still hurt and it hurt like hell–that fact was indubitable and it could not be determined otherwise.

At times he thought that it wasn't worth it, that he should just give up and die, or even go home. But his family needed the food, the money, so the pertinacious Agie demurred death's call and persevered through the pain, the boiling and popping flesh, the billowing smoke and waited. And waited. And waited for someone to come and rescue him, to find him by locating his ear-piercing screams.

Slowly, agnostic thoughts began to creep through his head. Maybe no one was coming, maybe this approach wouldn't work. Maybe he'd die. But just then, suddenly, he heard that hiss of steam, followed by a spray of water. A droplet landed on his face. And then a few more, until it was nearly a torrent. He screamed as the water assaulted his fried flesh. Coughed, as as the water tried to shove its way down his throat, but succeeding in keeping it out. Help was coming. He'd be okay. Finally, the flames were extinguished. Finally, someone found him and just before Agie blacked out he heard a man say with scorn "poor thing, must have been seeking shelter from the cold last night–never knew what was coming. Send him to the infirmary. Perhaps the King will take pity on him and add him to his growing family." The last thing Agie knew was a sense of relief amid the flaring pain.

Agie woke to a red-skinned nurse applying ointment to his arms, soothing them. He lifted his head to look around, ignoring the the sticky, stretchy, burning, sensation as he did so. He was lying in a bed, the white sheets stained slightly pink. His arms were no smooth or scarred in the places they should be. Instead the the flesh was rippled and charred, his arms mottled with nuances and slight variations of the colors pink, red, brown, and black. In places the skin was thin enough to clearly delineate the muscle and bone beneath. His head dropped back to the pillow and he passed out again.

Three days later Agie woke up again to a man speaking with the nurse.

"Will he survive?"

"Not likely."

"Then there is no use in adding him to my workforce?"

"No, your highness. He will be crippled."

It was the King–the King! He opened his eyes to see a portly, but muscled man in gold and green robes standing before the nurse at the foot of his bed.

"Sir, the boy wakes."

"I see," the King said as he drew a vial from the cloak's folds, "I'll see him to a painless end then. The Anaconda should do."

"But highness, that formula is not yet finished and has yet to be tested and–"

"And he will be the first test subject. If he dies painfully, so be it. That, and there will be plenty more fruit to harvest to continue experiments if need be; that Poison tree is of a fecund species–every branch and twig holds a berry," the King stated with finality as he uncorked the vial and approached the bedside.

Anger flared in Agie and he clamped his mouth shut, determined to allow a drop into his mouth.

"He fights!" the King said with the bestial and brutish glee of a monster, "no matter, I hear one only needs to come in contact with it to die."

The King poured half of it on Agie's skin, causing him to scream as the poison soaked in. Then suddenly, Agie began to feel a tremendous agony, like a hot knife was twisting in his heart. Knowing the end was near, Agie made his attempt at the King's life and surged upward through the pain, shoving the vial, causing its contents to slosh. A few drops landed on the King's hand and the sadistic grin turned to shock and finally one full of agony. It was to his screams that Agie died, but have no worries–the nurse survived.

It was because of this that the lord that sent Agie on his mission rose to the throne–for he was the King's own brother and the King had no children. And so, with the brother's despicable treachery Agie bones were fashioned into a ring, of which the new ruler wore as a trophy, a necklace, that went with the deceased king to his grave, and a bracelet. The bracelet was placed on a pedestal in the holy grove of the Anglenor forest. There the bones of poor Agie Ramhorn would rest, the only place that the so-called darkness in the child could be suppressed, a reminder that good "always" triumphed. The food situation never improved and the new King grew even fatter than his deceased brother.