A Starless Earth

Storytime

Frightened, Claire takes a step back.

    "Oh don't be scared darling," Foscor laughs.

    His mouth widens as a thin forked tongue glazes over his rows of pointed teeth.

    Claire's eyes quickly glance towards the ignited trees behind the dragon.

    "Oh that?" Foscor turns to look behind him, "That was just some ... spring cleaning ... as you mortals call it."

    Claire's eyes swell to the size of dinner plates. The largest being she had ever encountered were the cattle raised on her farm. But by the time she was 10 she could saddle them on her own, so the brooding creature in front of her struck fear deep into her core.

    "A-Are you here to rescue me?"

    The dragon releases a throaty laugh.

    "Rescue you? Dear, I am simply here to keep you company, but I am afraid getting out of this," Foscor pauses, his slitted eyes panning the tower, "wretched tower is going to be up to you."

    "Fantastic ..."

    The girl and her new companion sat in silence for a few moments while rust-colored embers drifted around them.

    "So what now?" Claire questioned.

    "Well, I'd suggest some light reading for the time being," Foscor jokes, nodding toward the tattered books.

    "Well I can't read without any light," Claire banters back, gesturing at the smoke-filled sky.

    "I'm afraid it comes with the territory, sweetheart," Foscor said, "If my eyes aren't failing me, I believe there are some candles on the far wall."

    Claire's hands plunge into the pocket of her dress, but come up empty.

    "I don't have any matches"

    Puzzled, Claire anxiously taps her foot.

    "I have an idea," she says.

    Claire walks over to the candles Foscor was referring to. Their blackened wicks slump over the cream colored wax as if they had been put to rest by the cobwebs blanketing the bunch. Claire gingerly plucks one of the sticks from the metal holder and brings it back over to the waiting dragon.

    "What is this 'plan' you speak of?"

    Hands shaking, Claire holds the candle up to Foscor's mouth.

    "I am Foscor. Executioner of men. Inferno of Animo. With the mention of my name, I can make even the greatest warrior cower in fear."

    "And?"

    "I will not use my great power to light a mere candle."

    "Sounds like someone's afraid," Claire laughs.

    "I am not"

    "Are too," Claire mocks.

    Foscor's eyes narrow as he reluctantly allows a small spark to dance upon the candle. The wick comes to life, illuminating a growing grin upon the young girl's face.

    "Are you satisfied?"

    "Very."

    Claire carefully walks to the candle holder, persuading the flame to kiss the other wicks. After a few moments of careful teetering, the room fills with a warm flickering glow.

    The new found light reflects off of a silver pendant hanging from a leather-bound book in the corner. Her fragile hands flip through pages and pages of handwritten entries.

    "Hey dragon?"

    "Foscor."

    "Yeah yeah, do you know who lived here before?

    The dragon's head rest against the windowsill, a puff of smoke rising from his flared nostrils.

    "Though I have traveled far in this land," he said, "I quite enjoy seeing the odd creatures that find themselves trapped in this tower."

    "You didn't answer my question," Claire said.

    "Ah but I did, darling. You see, this tower is at the very center of Animo. The Whimborne region is just to the north, Venzor to the east, Ritentia a little while west, and finally the barren desert of Anyor is south. The door you entered will only reveal itself when someone in need approaches. Therefore, residents of Animo do not simply live in this tower—they're imprisoned."

    Claire gives the speaker a puzzled look.

    "I'm almost certain the answers you are looking for are within those journals, young one. They should provide insight on what is to come."

    Claire's gaze falls upon the scratched entries on the page in front of her. Though many creatures in Animo know her language, whoever wrote upon these yellowed-pages knew of a dialect unknown to Claire.

    "Could translate these for me?"

    "I suppose," Foscor agreed reluctantly.   

    With the journal placed within his line of vision, Foscor begins to read to the young girl.

    "Day one: I have made a grave mistake arriving here. The whispers coming from the forest warn that I may never escape. With only my journals to keep me company, I fear that I might go insane. I must keep my mind awake and aware if I ever wish to get ou—"

    "So did he get out?"

    "If you would just let me finis—"

    "Fine ... continue"

    "Day two: The sky was blue, such a brilliant color to ever befal—"

    "Can't you just like skim it?"

    Foscor glanced over the edge of the book, eyes narrowed.

    "I suppose I can 'skim' it, but only if you vow to stop interrupting me with your infernal nagging"

    Claire flipped through a few pages before returning back to the impromptu story time.

    "Day thirteen: Since the events of last week, I haven't slept a wink. Every time I close my eyes— I see them. Their pale faces ... the horror ... as they crawled up the side of the tower. They said they were there to help, but after their arrival ... the walls ... oh God the walls felt like they were closing in. I'm suffocating. I can't remember what they called themselves. Felix Bar? No ... that can't be right ... Ph—"

    "Phoenix star," Claire interrupts.

    "Precisely."