Kokabiel meets Fabariel
That intoxicating sound of infectious joy disrupting the heat of the midday sun made him cringe. The sound of children’s laughter being carried by what little wind there was made him tremble and mutter with sour contempt at the isolation he was beginning to feel. Slowly he wandered towards the contagious happiness trying not to be seen while at the same time hoping that someone may call him over to join in with whatever they were doing. The closer he came to the group the more painful the laughter became. He heard a whisper “look at the way it walks,” the laughter exploded then faded into another whisper “he’s the reason brothers and sisters shouldn’t breed.” A boy from the middle of the group pushed his way forward, “don’t worry about their words Kokabiel. Come, play with us,” he said in a reassuring tone. “Are you brainsick?” bellowed the girl with a big red boil on her left cheek. “Yeah,” said the boy with buck teeth and dark freckles, “we don’t want the outsider playing with us!” A young girl with frightfully bright red hair pulled the group back together and whispered, “If we play fetch then we don’t have to fetch him.” Everyone agreed, apart from the eldest boy, “If we don’t fetch him it will be like last time. He’ll think he’s the best and rub our faces in it.” Everyone groaned. “How about if we make him fetch us,” said the girl with a droopy eye. “That way we can run off!” “Just let him hide,” said the fat boy, “last time we did that my father beat me. Besides, we don’t have to find him. He’s dumb enough to stay hidden all night and will get in trouble.” “Kokabiel,” they shouted in unison, “come play fetch with us!” Kokabiel raised his head; he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you sure,” he asked, “I don’t wanna cause bother.” “Hurry up!” said the girl with the boil. “Who’s fetching?” asked the buck teethed boy. “You are!” ordered the droopy eyed girl. “Close your eyes and count to a hundred.” 1 2 3...and they were off running in different directions.
Making sure that nobody was watching him Kokabiel sneaked around the back of Doogal’s winery and found a discarded wine crate and pushed it against the wall then climbed up. The crate however, was nowhere near high enough to climb onto the roof from, but it was a good start. From there Kokabiel jumped and grabbed onto one of the second floor beams which used to be a supporting beam for the original roof, he then heaved himself up into a perched position. Slowly and carefully Kokabiel stood up swinging his arms in circles in an attempt to keep balance. He could see into the second floor through a window and was surprised to see that there was nobody in the room. Opening the window slowly making sure not to make any noise, he was again surprised, but this time by the noise coming from inside the winery as the villagers were singing some disgusting songs. “No one will ever hear me with that racket going on,” he thought, so climbing onto the window sill, using it as the next part of the makeshift ladder he reached for the edge of the roof and heaved himself on top. Once on top he walked to the centre of the roof where the chimney was positioned. He sat down with his back against the bricks and listened to the dissonance echoing through the chimney. The sick lyrics being sung out of tune and out of time made him giggle. As Kokabiel sat there listening to the rabble he lost track of time. Hypnotized by the strident noise he hadn’t notice that the sky had started to turn black with heavy clouds, or that the wind had started to pick up. Lightning streaked across the black sky as rain started to fall. Thunder crashed loudly with a pounding that should wake the dead, and yet Kokabiel just sat there unable to move from the mesmerising cacophony echoing through the winery’s chimney.
The winery was by far the biggest building in Daldara, and situated in the middle of the village. It was also the most popular place and a favourite hangout for everyone in the village. Some of the best wine in the surrounding area was brewed in this winery. People from all over came to Daldara to enhance their taste buds by trying Doogal’s wine; which is why the sign on the door said, ‘Doogal’s winery: the best wine you will ever try’. Almost every night you could find the whole village here tasting their fill of wine. It was an odd experience for the people not to drink at least four bottles before stumbling home. In fact, whenever there was a storm approaching Doogal would bring out his not so great wine because he figured that with the storm people wouldn’t have anything else to do. So he would get them drunk cheaply. This was one of the many reasons why Doogal was the richest man in the village; he was also the smallest man as he stood just less than five foot two. He was also very tight with his money; he never employed anyone to help him with the brewing process because he thought that they might steal his recipe and then become a rival. He was also scared that if he employed someone to help with the bar tending they might steal his money, so he did all the work himself. He had the bar set up at a height which would suit anyone taller than five foot two, but behind the bar he had it set for anyone who stood less than five foot two. Since he was the only short person in the village, this gave him the excuse he needed to not employ a bar hand.
The place was usually full with drunken cheerful singing of the sickest lyrics that could be imagined; people of all ages took part in this which had helped it to become a village tradition. When a stormy night would arrive the people would dress in their finer clothes, and bring all their money. Storm night was usually the night when certain types of consenting adults would also conceive their children. To accommodate this, Doogal had added a second floor to the winery. He called this the long rest room. Anyone who drank in the winery could access these rooms, as long as they had the money to pay for it. This was another of the many reasons why Doogal was the richest man in the village. Since the people liked to spend all their money and time in Doogal’s, the other tradesman of the village came in bringing their various skills. Nancy’s pies were a number one favourite, not because they were good, but because they were cheap. She had a great range of meat pies, but for some reason the horse pies were the best selling. Not that Nancy complained, but she thought that some of her other pies were better, for instance; beef and potato; fish and pumpkin; and her favourite dog, tomato, cabbage, and cheese pie. In fact, the only problem Nancy had was that the only time the punters would buy her pies was when they had drunken four or more bottles of Doogal’s wine. Since she could only sell her pies in Doogal’s winery, Doogal decided that he would become her silent partner, which meant that he would receive ten percent of her takings. This was also another contributing factor towards the riches that Doogal had acquired.
However, there was something strange about this stormy night. Not only was it the darkest night that anyone could remember, but the people were quieter than usual. Nancy had only sold three pies and was looking a little depressed. Doogal was doing his best to convince the people that they would not be able to leave until they had drunken their quota. The punters were singing, but they were not as bold or boisterous as usual. When the thunder and lightning show was crashing its way through the sky the people looked to liven up a little, but not like other nights. No one had gone up the stairs yet and Doogal was not very happy. There was too much talking going on, which means that there is less drinking going on. “This is not a good sign for a winery” thought Doogal. He decided that it would be wise to see what the people were talking about, that way he might be able to appeal to their senses, and get them to drink some more. Stepping out from behind the bar and walking to the first table he found three sober gentlemen talking about the nearby battle. “It’s terrible,” said the fat man with the big bushy beard, “The whole village of Dunubone was totally destroyed.” The skinny man with outrageously huge eyes asked, “Do you know if there were any survivors?” “There are none left alive,” said the fat man. “It looks as though the Milburgaen army put everyone to the sword, and then set the whole place on fire.” “I just hope that some of those who burned were Milburgaens’,” said the man who had the misfortune of being born with big ears, big nose, and very small lips. “There is no way to tell,” said the fat man, “Everyone is burnt to a crisp. If any of the burnt belongs to the Milburgaens’, then it’s too hard to tell as their armour and weapons have been taken, which may be to expose the strength of an undefeated army. In fact, judging by the way they have been tearing around the land, it looks as though we could be next.” Doogal took his chance and asked, “So, you have seen the outcome of the battle have you? Did you go and fight in defence of Dunubone?” “Well, no,” said the fat man sheepishly, “But I heard the news from a reliable source!” “Well,” said Doogal, “If you have not seen it with your own eyes, how can you be sure that the Milburgaen army are not the ones burnt to a crisp, hmm?” “I suppose that I can’t be sure,” said the fat man. “Well,” asked Doogal, “Do you think it wise to spread fear amongst the punters without any clear evidence of what truly happened?” “Well, I guess that makes good sense Doogal,” agreed the fat man, “How about you get us three more bottles of wine, it’s on me.” As Doogal walked towards the third table, deliberately avoiding the foul smelling pies at the second table, he found the topic to be much the same as at the first table; only slightly different. The man at the head of the table was a horse trader. He wanders into the winery once every two or three weeks; he can often be seen making deals with Nancy, but not tonight. He is the only traveller in the village tonight, which obviously means he is the only one with any reliable information about Dunubone. “The Milburgaen army has been totally smashed! Damson was the only survivor, and I saw him running out of the village like a little whipped puppy with his tail wrapped between his legs,” boasted the horse trader, laughing. “You should have no fear of that warlord. Well, not for a few years anyway.” He roared with laughter, and shouted very loudly, “Doogal my old buddy, get us some more of the best stuff you have.” Doogal smiled and thought, “This seems like a good start, but what can I do to encourage more drinking.” An idea came to him. He stood on top of one of the tables and shouted at the top of his voice, “Twenty percent off all wine for the next hour in celebration of the defeat of the Milburgaen army.” The whole place roared with joy, and it seemed as if all at once everyone rushed to the bar. Doogal smiled, and forced his way through the people.
Doogal was now rushed off his feet. Never before had he needed to work so hard. It was at this moment that he started to think himself an idiot for not hiring a bar hand. He started to worry whether or not he had enough wine to go around. Once the punters had finally sat back at their tables he started to feel relieved. He opened a bottle and poured himself a glass. As he raised the glass he noticed Richard glaring at him. Richard was Daldara’s mayor and for the most part he was a reasonable man. Even though it was unsure where Richard came from, the whole village knew him to be an honourable man. Some of the villagers thought that he was from Eomar, but whenever they asked Richard would say, “You wouldn’t believe where I’m from even if you could understand what I was saying.” Unlike the other villagers he would not stoop as low as getting drunk and out of control. Instead he would have one maybe two glasses of wine and just enjoy the company of his villagers. He figured that if he spent time with the denizens then he may be able to help them with certain issues. Besides, being in the winery on a stormy night was a great relief to him. He considered it fun to sit on one glass of wine and listen to the stupid lyrics sung by his drunken villagers. But not tonight, something just didn’t sit well with him. “What’s your problem Richard,” asked Doogal. “I was just wondering how long it will be before Damson rebuilds his army and comes to this village.” “You heard the horse trader, Richard; do you know how long it will take to rebuild the army, hmm?” “That’s true, I have no clue,” said Richard, “But did you know that the horse trader did not come here from Dunubone, and that he has not been back that way in months?” “What are you saying, Richard?” “All I am saying is that it is not wise to pin all your hopes on a man who is drunk on your wine.” The crowds started to rush towards the bar again. Doogal, once again, was worrying whether his supply would last, while struggling to keep up with the demands. The punters had also started to get very loud. Loud like they have never been before; the lyrics were even sicker, and very derogatory towards Damson. The winery had become a mad house. Neither Richard nor Doogal were impressed. Punters were stealing their way upstairs, some were not even worried about going upstairs. Some were dancing on the tables in ways that had never been seen before in the village. Nancy had managed to sell all her foul smelling pies, and was now dancing on the table that the horse trader was sitting at. She was being very suggestive. The horse trader didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he got up from his seat, swept Nancy off her feet, and the table, and carried her upstairs very quickly. A fight had even broken out in the back corner between two men who were arguing about whether Damson had died or not, which started to get a little out of hand. One of the men stood up, grabbed a wine bottle and smashed it over the other man’s head. This was not that well appreciated. So the man with glass in his hair started to throw punches. The punters who had watched all this unfold just stood there cheering the two men on. Then it started to get messy, and the people watching started to join the fight, which extended to a major part of the winery. Tables and chairs were being used as weapons. Wine bottles were being thrown from one side of the winery to the other side. Nancy’s half eaten pies were being thrown into people’s faces. Richard just stood there holding his half empty glass with his mouth open watching. Doogal also stood there watching with a look of absolute horrified surprise. The words “never before have I seen such carnage” dribbled out of Doogal’s lips. “This is what happens when people get drunk on cheap wine,” said Richard.
Just then the door smashed open. In walked a heavily armoured man standing around six foot four. He took three steps into the winery and looked around. The punters stopped making carnage as fear entered the hearts of everyone present on the first floor. They just stood there staring at the man whose armour was covered in blood. What could be seen of his skin looked to be a very pale white. The shocked punters started to whisper to each other, “He looks like a Milburgaen, could the army be outside waiting for orders to destroy us,” said a very faint, and scared whisper. The man walked slowly towards the bar. With every footstep the punters shivered. The closer he got to the bar the slower he walked taking his time to stare at every face in the winery. When he finally reached the bar he growled at Doogal, “Give me a glass of wine.” Doogal poured him a glass and said, “This one is on the house sir.” The man looked at Doogal, snatched the glass up off the bar sculled it back, and then smashed the empty glass onto the floor; he then turned and walked outside.
The mesmerising cacophony echoing out of the chimney stopped and Kokabiel slipped out of his trance. Quietly he changed his position so he could move along on his hands and knees to the edge of the roof. Peering over the edge he could see this Milburgaen warrior walk over to a further six warriors. In a deep growling voice he spoke to the six, “Is there anyone in the other huts?” “No” was the reply, “unless you consider children something worth mentioning.” Laughter amongst the ranks was silenced by the growling voice. “All the adults are in the winery drunk. I can’t see if any of Kyson’s men are in there,” he said. “That doesn’t mean that the whole village isn’t full of Kyson’s men. We are in his territory after all,” said one of the warriors. “Right,” said the growling voice, “Block all the exits to all the huts including the winery, then burn the whole place down. Burn every hut, kill every horse. Make sure nothing survives. If this is one of Kyson’s villages it sure as hell won’t be when we’ve finished.” All seven of the warriors went about their task blocking all doors and killing the animals. Once that was completed they took the straw from the stables and placed them in piles in front of every door and window. They then set the straw piles on fire. Kokabiel was shocked; he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “What should I do,” he thought, “should I go down there and tell them to stop?” As he was contemplating standing up and doing this, a sudden realization appeared in his head. ‘If they’re killing and burning everything why would they listen to you?’ While contemplating this invading thought, Kokabiel moved slowly and quietly back towards the chimney where the cacophony had once again started to echo.
The sky was no longer threatening all forms of survival with a ferocious thunder and lightning storm. The black clouds had finally emptied themselves of water and were now a light grey. But there was a smoky ash mist that was rapidly penetrating the sky. With everything finally ablaze the seven warriors climbed on their horses and headed out of the village. The people inside the winery were beginning to realise that there was a fire running through their village. They started to scream and shout, “Open the door! Smash the windows! Let us out of here!” Kokabiel stood up, stuck his face down the chimney and shouted, “That man in the armour has blocked all the doors and set the whole village on fire. The chimney is your only hope. Climb up!” Out of their drunken fear a fight broke out until smoke inside the winery caused some of the villagers to cough. But, that didn’t stop most of them from fighting each other to get to the chimney.
Surprisingly, the smallest man, Doogal was the first to start the smoky ascent to freedom. This makes sense as the fireplace in the winery was behind the bar. Kokabiel stretched his arms and reached down as far as he could and shouted, “Grab my hands.” But it was too late. A cloud of smoke rose up the chimney and got into his mouth and eyes so he moved back towards the fresher air. As he moved a ball of fire shot up out of the chimney. The screams inside the winery stopped. The coughing stopped. The flames did not stop. Kokabiel ran to the edge of the roof and saw that the whole village was completely engulfed in flames. “How do I get down?” he thought. He looked around the edge of the roof looking for some form of exit but he found none. Flames started to burn through the roof, the outside walls of the winery looked to be made of fire. In fact, everywhere he looked there was fire. Putting his head into his hands he whimpered to himself, “There’s no choice. You have to do it. DO IT!” he shouted at himself. Pulling his head out of his hands and standing up he went to where he presumed the back of the winery’s roof was, turned around and with all of his might he propelled himself forward as fast as he could. He ran to the edge of the roof and jumped as far as he could through the fire. He hit the ground with a thud, and then let out a scream of pain as he tumbled over and over until he came to a stop. He tried to stand up but his left foot was hurting, which made him scream again then collapse back to the ground.
Lying there crying, as everything he had ever known was being burnt to the ground he saw a remarkable sight. Walking through the fire was a man, with a bald head. In fact the fire looked as though it just couldn’t be bothered trying to burn this man. With every footstep he took the flames separated themselves from the man and re-converged behind him. Kokabiel shivered as the man approached, bent forward and with his deep seeded eyes peering deep into Kokabiel’s heart asked, “Do you need some assistance young man?” “My foot,” said Kokabiel snivelling, “it hurts.” “That’s because it is broken,” said the man. “Come with me and I will repair you.” The man picked up Kokabiel in both arms and complained, “What did they feed you in that village, you’re heavy!” Kokabiel sniggered.
Looking into the snivelling boys eyes the man asked, “Since you can’t walk and I have to carry you to our destination, would you mind telling me your name?” “I’m Kokabiel,” he said trying his best not to cry. “Well Kokabiel, it is most fortunate for the both of us to meet. My name is Fabariel.” “Thank you for coming to my rescue Fabariel,” said Kokabiel. He smiled and replied, “You’re welcome my new little friend.”
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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 01.08.2014
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