The Lori Saga: Escape Read online

  The Lori Saga: Escape

  by J. R. Kruze and S. H. Marpel

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  THE LORI SAGA: ESCAPE

  First edition. September 23, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 J. R. Kruze and S. H. Marpel.

  Written by J. R. Kruze and S. H. Marpel.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  The Lori Saga: Escape (Short Fiction Young Adult Science Fiction Fantasy)

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  XIII

  Looking For More?

  Further Reading: The Ghost Who Loved

  Also By J. R. Kruze

  Also By S. H. Marpel

  Hunted by evil, her only escape was to find the light, but her broken wings couldn't carry her to safety.

  Why this tiny, suffering pixie was hunted by a monster troll seemed to be a simple urge - he needed to feed off her energy to keep living.

  Only a few hours to daylight, when the troll had to sleep to avoid the burning rays of sunlight, or being found by Truth-Seekers and forever imprisoned in stone. After the sun rose, she could heal herself by bathing in sunlight and escape forever.

  But why was this troll out of his territory and why was he hunting her? Not just his hunger, that much was certain.

  The hungry troll could smell her, was close. And both were frantic to survive. The troll needed food, but she had a secret message to deliver.

  And that one message could prevent humans as well as fairies from being enslaved to troll masters after losing the coming war...

  I

  I RAN THROUGH THE FOREST, because my wings wouldn't carry me anymore. They were broken, useless until they healed.

  Broken by Glum-Dun the troll, who continued to hunt my trail. It wasn't my size that mattered, it was how good I tasted, the power within me. That's what he fed on. Sheer power. Trolls wanted power, control. And they were bullies in their own world. If he could make a fast snack of me, he'd get my power in one gulp.

  Here, away from other High forces, I was in his element. He knew these dark forests and woods. All my folk were in the glades, the clearings, what humans called pastures. Where the sun shone through.

  Humans seemed somehow immune to most of the effects of trolls, other than being physically attacked. Except the sadness all trolls brought with them, and left all around them as they passed through the forests. Those leftover feelings have infected humans and ruined their lives, bringing them to an eventual early death. Sadness, upset, apathy, death.

  We pixies were a kind of fairy, the light people. The one's that brought their inspiration to humans just before they woke, and when they least expected it. Without the light, humans were doomed to the worst form of mental and physical slavery. With it, they could escape to freedom.

  Pixies and fairy-folk had to avoid trolls, and mostly did. If a fairy was separated from her kind long enough, they could become infected as well. Like if they were trapped under a tree bole in the darkness, somewhere no troll could reach or smash to get at them. Eventually, without sunlight, pixies simply fade away to nothing. Forever.

  Already I was starting to fade. Too long away from my kind. Too long running and hiding. At least now it was becoming light. Trolls hated light and would themselves hide among tree trunks or dead trees, fallen to the ground or maybe still standing. Deep ditches in deep shade. Light burned their skin and blinded them.

  Any pixie like me could travel during the night, but running made me tired. So very tired. All last night's running had taken its toll on me. I could hardly keep my eyes open. Even with this coming daylight.

  Luckily, I found a hollow tree that was still very alive on the outside. Within it, I climbed up to where a hollow limb had fallen away. There, I could see out and secret myself away from the world of trolls and dangers. If I made no sound, gave no sign, the troll could not smell her as well. Especially in this walnut tree. The reek of walnut made a troll's nose sneeze. Allergies. And so this tree covered my smell that way.

  Sure, one sweep of his blade could bring this hollow tree down, shattering it worse than a high wind. And often these storms were only cover for trolls and their destruction. But all that energy trolls used to dance and smash through the trees during the storm took its own toll. They would be tired, need to eat.

  Trolls ate spirits. And had to find a lot of spirits to feed on. Big spirits usually meant big bodies. But as gigantic as trolls were, they couldn't eat their own kind, since trolls only manifested bad energy. To live, they had to turn good energy into bad.

  That's why trolls wanted pixies. I was reminded of the old stories. How Darkness was separated from Light. How the fairy-folk shared the worlds of humans and animals, living plants and sleeping rock.

  I just felt faint, so faint. And the thumping whumps of Glum-Dun's massive feet and his dull ax striking trees to scare me into running again, all just keeping me awake, keeping me hidden away from him. But it also meant I was staying deep in this hollow tree, out of the sunlight, out of the one source of healing power she needed.

  Just a little while. Until daybreak.

  If I still had enough energy to move by then, I might survive.

  . . . .

  A sound woke me. Some human clumping through the woods. A farmer checking his cattle, no doubt.

  I struggled to my peep hole to look out. And the weak light filtering through the tree shade was encouraging.

  I only had to get him close enough, then I could maybe use him to get me to sunlight...

  II

  WHEN I WALKED IN THE woods, checking cows or their fences, I called the single branches or leaves that moved without any apparent breeze, "God's whim". You know the one's I mean. You don't feel a breeze, but there is it, a single leaf or set of leaves moving and waving at you. Like they are trying to tell you something.

  Like that old hollow walnut I found for some reason. And was surprised to find it, like all things in the woods. What's that word? Oh: 'serendipity'. Doesn't sound like it should. Like 'peaceful' and 'quietude'. Those words sound like they mean.

  Anyway, I came over to that walnut tree and took my glove off to put my hand on its bark. You can feel something from these trees, even from the rocks, if you just quiet your mind and listen. People will give you funny looks and try to tell you different, but you don't listen. Better, just keep it to yourself.

  The trees, the plants, they are alive and they have voices to use. But you have to be willing to hear them. You have to quiet your own mind, because their voices are real quiet.

  And that day, the wind wasn't moving, and that helped. The birds are always calling, and sometimes the cattle, but if you just focus your mind on the feeling in your hand, then you might be able to feel the voice of that tree.

  I remember the old Doctor Doolittle stories, where they say the trees communicated by moving their branches. Usually that meant wind. That wind had a sound of its own. But that's not the voice I wanted to hear, or expected to hear.

  And today, I got a different voice, one that was asking for help somehow.

  I looked up at that tree. It didn't have any limbs that were hanging broken, any that I could reach from here and prune straight. Sure, this tree was hollow, but that's a different scene than a broken branch that invited infection. Since the sap mostly just flows just under the bark, they could live a long time as a hollow tree.

  I didn't understand, so I needed to li
sten more. So I took my other glove off and stuffed them in one of my pockets. Then I had both hands free. And tried to make the I turn into "we" for this conversation.

  That was startling.

  It sounded like the tree needed a hug? Well, that's what came across.

  So I hugged the tree.

  And felt a cool spot on my neck, which felt good. It wasn't too hot that day, but walking usually worked up a sweat.

  I took that coolness as a sign that the tree told me what it wanted. At any rate, it seemed like all the talking was over. The tree seemed at peace again, like usual.

  Not that I spend a lot of time tree-talking, but when the moment comes and the idea is loud enough, then the right thing to do is to stop and listen. That's how you find things out.

  OK. Well, I had to check the rest of the cows. That's what I was out doing today, this early morning. So I walked away from that hollow walnut, out into the open where they'd be feeding this morning...

  III

  I MADE THE JUMP TO the human, just barely. More of a hopeful fall. So tired. So very tired. And I was able to grab onto the human's bandanna around his neck, then use the last of my strength to pull myself into the collar of his chore coat. There I could ride and rest. My wings still hurt, and I pulled them close to me so they wouldn't rub on any fabric and tear worse.

  The ride wasn't as smooth as flying. More like the swaying back of an elephant. Cats were much easier to ride, especially when they were stalking. Human walking was not as smooth. And this one would bend down as he followed the cow paths under low branches, that the cows made that way in order to scrape the flies off their back. So he'd bend almost half over to get below these. Those were sudden lurches for me.

  I was just happy he wore a bandanna I could hold onto. It was sweaty from his walking, but smelled, well, human. Very male. His warmth was giving me energy, helping me heal. And that way I could stay in the collar of his chore coat. And ride to wherever he was going. And in between, close my eyes and rest.

  He walked out into the pastures and I rested. Daylight. I could feel the healing, but it would take a while. Now I had some time, at least a little. But this wasn't escape, this was just a little safer than that tree.

  The troll wasn't going to follow us into the sunlight. He'd wait until night to track me – and this human I was riding on.

  Wherever we were going, I didn't have to run or fly to get there. And I was just too tired to do much of anything except hang onto that bandanna and snuggle up to this human's neck inside the collar of his big coat. And rest as much as I could, absorbing his warmth for just a little bit, for a little comfort, and meanwhile close my eyes to ride this big swaying human to wherever he was going.

  IV

  TOOK MY BOOTS OFF OUTSIDE on the porch as usual. Swung open the screen door and the heavy inside door. Then shrugged out of my coat to hang it on the inside hook by its collar. Ball cap went over the top of it on that tall hook above it. Untied the bandanna, shook it out flat, and then draped it over the ball cap so it could dry out.

  Turning back to the room, I walked the few steps over to the coffee pot and poured another mug of my custom chicory dark-roast. Stirred the honey into it and enjoyed the sweet, stout flavor.

  Next, I needed to finish up that story I was writing. And my mind started to fill with the characters and their wants and needs and actions to take to get them. Most times, I'd change out of my work jeans into some more comfortable sweatpants, especially on a chilly morning like this one, but today I wanted to write.

  It's been awhile since I had a head full of characters and action. I don't believe in writer's block - that's just a self-fulfilling prophecy. You sit down and you write, and words go on the page. But I can get too tired to write, and know that I'll just put garbage on the page if I try to muscle through it. So I'll go nap or go take a walk, or read a book I actually liked, and then I could usually write again.

  You want to invite the muse into your mind and help them make a home there. But it seems sometimes they have taken their own walk and aren't available to help you write. Always temporary. Never comfortable.

  Today, I was back at it. Something had changed. Writing was easier than usual. But like looking in the mouth of a gift horse, it's not anything you want to stop and question when things are going well. You just want to sit there and write, let the words flow out of your fingers and enjoy the action and discipline of getting the right words in the right order.

  Sitting at my desk, typing at the keyboard, steaming mug of coffee near by.

  The world was right, for now.

  V

  WHEN HE HUNG UP HIS coat, I was refreshed enough to make the jump up to the shelf above that coat hook, and scramble up onto it. The shelf wasn't wide, but I found an old open shoe box that he used to hold odd bits he'd picked up, but wanted them out of his pockets. All sorts of odd stones and curious bark pieces, acorns and buck-eyes. I pushed them around until I had a semi-comfortable place, curling around them and letting my wings unfurl to their full length, becoming my blanket.

  I was in the mind of that human, even as tired as I was. Trying to find out who this was, whether he was sentient or feral. He just wanted stories to write. I knew lots of them. I didn't care that he wanted to rename the people in those stories. This human liked to write mysteries. And so I sent him the fuel he needed to write. I knew lots of mysteries. All the legends of my folk, and the other folk who lived in the pastures and the woods.

  I was finally safe. Glum-dun couldn't come into this tiny cabin. They had to stay away from humans. Especially since they put their houses in clearings and had dogs to bark at them, and cats to hiss. Those woke up the humans, as well as the chickens and other creatures. The humans would come out with their strong lights to see what was happening. And the trolls hated light, even flashlights could burn them.

  So I was safe, and I could rest. And every now and then, maybe tell the human another part of the story. Right now I was very tired.

  Now I could rest. And heal. At least that's what I hoped for as my heavy eye-lids closed.

  . . . .

  When I woke, the cabin was empty. I peaked over the side of that shoe box and saw only an empty chair, a table with a laptop closed, a drained coffee mug. Of course, sleeping all twisted up around hard objects wasn't the best sort of sleep. I was sore from all the running, and sore from all resting around and on top of lumps. I needed to get up and get some sunlight if I was going to heal any time soon.

  The trick was - I couldn't fly, and this shelf was way off the ground. Of course, I could simply die right here in this box if I didn't drink in some sun rays soon. Riding on that human's neck helped, as they put out considerable heat. And this warm cabin with it's tin roof wasn't hardly a snackful of heat. But it was considerable better than the cold dark woods with a troll forcing you to run and burn energy you couldn't replace.

  Next was to get some real sunlight. I peeked over the side of the box again. There were two windows, one on the north and an opposite one facing south. The table was just below the north window, but that indirect sunlight would be a poor meal and leave me hungry even if I sat in it all day.

  The south window was a problem. When his futon was made up as a couch, it was just below the window sill. But he had put a hard shade outside to keep most of the sun out. The curtains that covered the window on the inside I could deal with. You can always move them. A good thing was that it was fall and the sun appeared much lower in the sky. Twice a day, the sun would shine directly in. If everything was just right, I could feast for those few hours each day.

  I didn't know if this human was truly sentient, if I would have to hide from him. So many were feral and wouldn't open their mind to see pixies, fairies, ghosts, spirits, and the other creatures that lived around them. Those people were what we had always been taught as being "poor in spirit." Some could learn, but they had to open their mind. Of course they couldn't hear us telling them to, so it was what that one human author ca
lled a "Catch-22."

  Wait. This human was also a writer. I heard his tick-tacking on his laptop keyboard as I fell asleep. I'd tried to feed stories to his mind. Maybe there was hope for him.

  But I had to get out of this box and over to that window. The next question was how to get from here to there and back again?

  I looked around everything he had set into this shoe box. Then got an inkling of a plan...

  VI

  WHEN I CAME IN FROM outside, it felt good to be inside. The air had warmed up, so I'd left my chore coat on it's hook, only taking my ball cap and bandanna. Plus a sweatshirt. Since I was splitting cut wood and ricking it up for the coming winter, I was down to a sweat-soaked t-shirt pretty soon after I started.

  I'd made some good progress on that pile of wood, and had another idea for that story, so clunked the ax into the splitting stump, then untied my bandanna. from around my forehead to mop the rest of my face as I moved into the cabin, picking up my sweatshirt on the way in.

  It was warmish inside, too much for me right now. I leaned over and opened up the north window first. That would help. But not quite enough. I needed a breeze, if only for a little while. So I kneeled on the futon-couch to pull that opposite window up. Screens on both windows kept the bugs out, but let the air in.

  And the curtains seemed to move by themselves on one side, just as I opened that window. I didn't feel the breeze move them, so maybe it was another "God's whim" again. I just never had it show up inside my cabin before. I just shrugged. Because there was writing to do.

  Then I noticed the string. I'd taken my cap off and put it on my table with the sweat-moist bandanna. and laid the sweatshirt over my work chair. So when I turned to write, these were in my way. Should have put them up when I came in. Turning to put the cap and sweatshirt on their hooks by the work coat, I saw the piece of baling twine hanging down. Odd. Wasn't there yesterday.