THE ANAKIM CAN DIE by Peter M. Emmerson

Graphic by Paul and Carilla

Paul and Carilla

Paul lay on his back wrapped in his sleeping bag, the hood pulled tight until it all but covered his face. The tip of his nose was cold, but it troubled him not. His eyes were filled with the wonders of the heavens. The all encompassing ring of standing stones stood around them; comforting in their silent protection.
The stars; so close, so bright. The mesmerizing flickering layers of green which filled the sky to the North, so mysterious and enchanting. It had taken a great deal of cajoling from all three youngsters to obtain his mother’s permission for them to spend two weeks away from main camp on a hunting trip. He had promised to check in mentally each day.
Xjang had commented earlier, as they huddled around the tiny camp fire, that the shimmering green sheets were created by the souls of warriors who had died in battle. The diminutive Finn, in a counter argument, insisted that Bes himself had cast infinite handfuls of glow-worms into the sky to shine forever and defeat the darkness in those times when Khonsu, the god of the night hid his face.
Paul smiled at his friends, he knew the stars were suns like the one that shone down on them daily, but tonight he was happy to accept their more simple explanations. And watching the dazzling Aurora Borealis displays he was almost inclined to agree with the two young warriors. Continue reading

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Excerpt from Book 3 of the Tirnano – THE PURPLE QUEEN by Pete Emmerson

The Purple Queen (1)

 

ANAKIM

Croninn Country

 

An issue of a powerful scream came from overhead, M’ntar; the mighty Red Lord Dominie and his daughter, The Purple Queen, Alushamenta, along with their riders Winn and Mira appeared.

Two of the giants had vanished, already passed through a tear, one remained, about to follow, it hesitated as though it had a hint of the presence of other beings nearby.

Lusha flew directly into its face, a spout of searing flame spewing from her mouth covering the giant’s visage with blazing fire. Lord Dominie flew to the back of the giant’s head, his great talons tearing and clawing at the rock armour; chunks of granite were ripped off and fell to the ground. Winn stabbed at the exposed pink skin with a long spear.

In tune with Lusha, Dominie and Winn leapt away from the giant as The Purple Queen blasted the giant once more with a further jet of flames.

They returned as the conflagration subsided, tearing and stabbing once more. The giant began to spin slowly, its mouth opening wide in a horrendous screech, its arms flailing, blindly reaching for its tormentors.

Paul came to a halt, a mere hundred yards from the battle.

“GRANDFATHER, HOLD THE SWORD ALOFT, I HAVE NEED OF IT,” he shouted at the sky.

‘Ready” came the reply moments later.

Paul with the power of his mind willed the sword into his hands.

The blade appeared.

‘Make a cut and let it drink, then seal the wound with the side of the blade,’ sent Adalstan.

Paul remembering his mother’s first touch of the blade did as his ancestor bid. Wincing he cut his palm, then allowed Meinrad to absorb the crimson flow, then sealed the wound as instructed. All pain immediately left him as the wound closed. In moments he could feel his body fill with the sword’s power and lust for battle.

‘Attack, bring me close to its ankles,’ he sent to Carilla.

The Runner without a moment’s pause sped fearlessly towards the giant. Meinrad flamed, the sword spewed blue fire around the charging pair. Its humming song rose higher and higher, reaching an ear piercing scream as they closed on the colossal being. Paul struck at the giant’s heel severing its Achilles’ tendon. The giant bellowed and staggered.

Carilla spun on the spot and raced for its other leg. Paul filled with blood-rage swung Meinrad, the sword primed by the lad’s blood now able to slice through steel, bone and flesh cut deep. Paul thrust again and again.

Above him Lusha blasted the giant full in the face with a stream of flame once more, blinding it. Dominie then with tooth and claw tore the back of its neck open. Blood flowed from the wound; as the granite slabs fell, Winn sunk her spear deep into the monster’s head.

The Anakim sunk to its knees, Carilla, nudged mentally by Paul, leapt up the back of the dying giant, reaching the open wound left by Winn and Dominie; Paul thrust Meinrad deep into the bloody mess and left the sword to drink its fill.

The golem fell forward onto its face with a huge crash; its red bag fell to the ground and flew open. From within crawled men and women, over a hundred of them, terrified beyond imagination, others still within were either dead or seriously injured.

Finn and Xjang galloped up, having observed the entire episode. Paul dived from Carilla’s neck and gathered his little companions in his arms and burst into tears.

“Thank God you’re alright,” he sobbed. Continue reading

PWENE THE DWARF By Pete Emmerson

Goblin King Out of Print“He’s a try-er, and a liar,” I whispered in my brother’s ear. Scampering down the steps from beside the throne, I pulled a cartwheel in front of the petitioner. Spinning around and sticking out my long tongue, I wriggled it in the man’s face.
“What proof have you of this indiscretion?” The king asked.
“It was the time of the full moon my liege,” replied the man giving a deep bow, Randolph of the Marshes, then attempted to peer around me. “I was ensuring the safety of my hens, for they were creating a fine cackle. I feared that perhaps a fox were amongst them. But it was not to be, I came across Roger of the Fields there, dressed as a wolf, devouring one after the other of them whole and un-plucked. When I shook my blunderbuss at him, and queried his behaviour, he leapt a high surrounding fence, and ran on four limbs for the safety of the woods.

Continue reading

ROBERT THE MEEK by Peter M. Emmerson

ROBERT THE MEEK

by

Peter M. Emmerson ©2013 October
Out of print
MY MOTHER’S DEATH

The wind swooped out of the wooded hills to the north, driving a scud of fine snow before it. It rushed through the tall, dark trees of the forest, rattling the bare twigs and bending the tops of the tall evergreens. Here and there in the endless forest it crossed man-made clearings, with stubble in the frozen furrows and squat buildings leaking tendrils of smoke snatched away by the wind. Over an embankment it raced and down into an open-ended valley well cleared of trees. Here the wind pressed close to the ground, whistling around the squat sod buildings and tearing fragments of reeds from their roofs.

My name is Robert the Meek. Continue reading

Prince Charmin’

Prince Charmin“Are you sure you want to refuse that request?”
A charmin’ little story. Is that ending maybe just a tad too obvious?

“Are you sure you want to refuse that request?”
A charmin’ little story. Is that ending maybe just a tad too obvious?

A little ‘miss-spelt tale’
©2013 Peter M. Emmerson

Robert (I never get up before noon) Black opened one bloodshot eye, he glanced at his mobile phone lying in the middle of the floor, it was at least four feet away. His ring tone blasted out again. He loved that ring tone, recorded it himself he had. It was a seg-way of the two methods of expelling air from the human body.
Robert (I had to drink a whole pint of fizzy E’s to build those two) Black closed his eye; his recorded bodily functions rang again. The VM kicked in, “Wot you want? Leave a message or not, it’s your chuffin’ money”. Robert (not the winner of this year’s cutest VM) Black opened his other eye as a sweet young female voice began to record a message.
“This is a message for Mr Robert Black, we would please like to book your band, Dumponapunk for our final year graduation dance, please call back on Avon 798556 …. Thank you. ….. Oh by the way my name is Mercy.”
There was a short bleep from his mobile as the connection closed. Continue reading