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November/December 2015 www.pilcrowdagger.com

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Table of Contents

Short Stories – Fiction

Call of the Wild

By Miranda Luby

Page............................................................13

Understanding

By Roger Schumacher

Page............................................................28

Short Stories – Non-Fiction

No Money Christmas

By Laurie Harriton

Page..............................................................9

Wildfire at Christmas

By Paul Jackson

Page............................................................21

How to Celebrate Day of the Dead

By Rebeca Barroso

Page............................................................34

Poetry Grandma’s Tour

By Noreen Lace

Page...............................................................12

While the Snow Came Down

By Alejandro Escundé

Page...............................................................20

The City

By Catherine Tripp

Page...............................................................33

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Roger Schumacher - My early childhood was consumed by comic books,

Creature Feature Presents, Star Trek, and Clint Eastwood flicks. In 1980 I

attended the School of Visual Arts earning a film degree and then spent the

rest of the 80’s and 90’s working on small film projects, screenplays, and

other AV projects. I have been working with prose since 2003 and have taken some classes in

order to better learn the craft. These short stories are my first attempts at getting published. I am

currently working as an Inventory Analyst.

Understanding

“The land had remained strong over the decades

since the age of the witches. Now there was peace as

the Brotherhood cultivated the people’s spirit

throughout the land encouraging all to pursue their

dreams.

Some however still clung to the pain of the past.”

- Chief Historian Kaylyn of the Brotherhood

****

A light snowfall began to cover

the landscape. White

patches hung over the

grassy plains and partially

covered trees and their

limbs. It was late December

by the calendar of their old

world. The annual

holidays were

approaching and their

influence traveled to all the borders of

the wood. Those in this land knew and

embraced the significance of this special

time.

Most of them did anyway.

Warlord Rem mounted his horse outside

the King’s palace. A young girl stood by

watching him. He was old now in her eyes.

His hair greying, but he still possessed a

youthful vigor. Something he attested to

surviving this long. The young girl with raven

hair and dark eyes stared up at him.

“But why must you leave now Uncle?”

she asked. “The celebrations begin today.”

She noted he kept his back to her. Rem

avoided her gaze and was not in the mood to

answer questions.

“Something I must do, and have done

every year.” He shifted in the saddle and

reined his black horse in the direction of the

far off mountains.

“Your tradition,” she assumed. “So

why don’t you let me

come with you?”

At that Rem turned to

the young woman.

“No, that would not

be…” He searched for the

right word. “Appropriate”.

“I know where

you’re going. It is

common knowledge. The King and

the others have spoken of it but none will

say why you go-,” She asserted as she

watched the older man stew in the saddle.

“Then you know it to be personal to me.”

Rem urged the horse on its way. “Be content

with that.”

She watched him fade down the road

from the palace and into an ever disappearing

speck on the landscape.

“I don’t understand, father. What is

wrong with him?” Gracelyn said to her father.

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Meletaure stood behind her and had

watched the exchange. He had garnered much

patience where his daughter was concerned.

The older man sighed and watched the snow

fall for a time before answering his only child.

“I have known him since we were both

much younger then you. And yet, his has been

a road that is paved with pain no matter the

richness around him.” He looked to his

daughter who had turned at the sound of his

voice. “Come, Gracelyn, we should be getting

back inside.”

“He’s just stubborn,” she lamented.

“As are a great many here,-” Meletaure

put his arm around her shoulder and guided

her back toward the palace. “-Including you.”

The light began to wane in the late

afternoon. The snow had stopped leaving a

pristine cover untouched over the land.

Warlord Rem’s horse slowed as he reached

the valley between the two peaks. He looked

to the looming mountains that surrounded the

valley. Rem stopped his horse on the trail and

looked around. There was nothing but his

horse’s tracks leading up to his position. His

breath was caught in the frigid air as he

listened hard. He nodded to himself now sure

of the state of affairs.

“Damn kid-. She never listens to

anyone.”

He looked to the valley ahead him. His

goal was not far beyond.

“She needs a lesson.” He spurred his

horse on as they started up again, bolting

down the trail into the valley.

Gracelyn rode along in silence, her

attention focused on the road ahead. She had

decided she would wear a white cloak and

leggings against the wishes of her father.

“That will make it hard to see you-.”

Meletaure said. “What if you get hurt or

worse?”

Gracelyn smiled with her usual

confidence shooing the matter into

insignificance.

“It will be like camouflage. He’ll never

see me coming.”

Meletaure looked up at the greying sky

above thinking of how he would explain his

daughter’s absence to his wife.

“I never should have allowed you to take

his survival classes.”

“As I remember, it was your idea with a

full hearted agreement from uncle. No one

should not ever know how to fend for

themselves while among the wild. There is no

room for deadweight among the

Brotherhood.”

She laughed at her impression as her

father stewed.

“I’ll be fine, father.-” I’ll take Lakefire.

He’s fast and looks just like snow. We’ll

catch up to him in no time.”

“That won’t save me from your mother-.”

Meletaure offered.

“I’ll be back before she even knows I’m

gone.”

Gracelyn tightened the white scarf over

her face as the wind picked up. She could see

the hoof prints in the shallow snow on the

road ahead. She looked around and saw

nothing but the mountain peaks in front of

her. She spotted the valley path between the

looming mountains. She brought Lakefire to a

gallop and continued down the trail.

She slowed as the hoof prints she

followed began to ebb and finally stop. She

looked back and saw nothing but her own

horse’s tracks.

“No more tracks, but that’s impossible-.”

She wondered.

She looked ahead and saw the remains of

an ancient wall. It was broken in far too many

places to count. The bricks and mortar had

disintegrated over time leaving nothing but

rubble under a fresh cover of snow. She

brought her horse to a walk and saw the

entrance to the valley. An iron rod fence stood

against the snow stretched over a gap in the

wall. A sign teetered over the entrance of the

fence. The remnants of a door that still hung

by a single hinge could be seen lying just

under the snow.

Gracelyn approached the sign; she

couldn’t read what it said. The letters were

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worn over with rust. She sat upon her horse

and studied the area.

“What is this place? Why would he keep

coming back here?” She mused.

Suddenly a snow ball hit her square in

her back directly between her shoulder blades.

She was startled by the blow and had to rein

in Lakefire as the horse jumped from her

shifting in the saddle.

“You never listen.” Warlord Rem’s voice

carried over the cold air.

She managed to get control of the horse

and turn toward the voice. Warlord sat upon

his horse brushing the fresh snow from his

hands. She looked at him accusingly.

“You couldn’t have seen me coming.”

“You made more noise than an

avalanche. Everything within ten miles heard

you.” Warlord stated. He cantered over to

where Gracelyn waited. “You always lacked

in stealth training.”

“That doesn’t explain how you were able

to hide your tracks.” She was mad because he

was right.

“I have a military horse.” He said patting

his mount on the neck with one hand. “He is

capable of many tricks.”

He was now next to her and brushed the

snow off her back.

“Why did you disobey me?” he ordered.

“Why you come here is no secret among

the adults but not me. I want to know.”

He smiled for the first time.

“At least you know when to be honest.”

“So why is it kept from me?” She asked.

“It’s not something you would not

understand-,” he answered.

“I’m not a child anymore. I’ll be of adult

age next summer.” She declared.

Warlord stared at her for a while but said

nothing. After a long pause he made his last

attempt to reason with her.

“An adult doesn’t act so reckless. I’m

sure your parents aren’t happy about you not

being at the celebration.” Rem concluded.

“I know the Brotherhood’s history. I’m

quite versed in the Chronicles.” She shot

back. “As I recall you were plenty reckless

when you were much younger.” She turned

her horse to come alongside his and indicated

the entrance. “So are we going inside or not?”

Warlord Rem nodded to himself and

brought his horse into a gallop. Gracelyn

laughed and steered Lakefire into a bolt

behind him. After a short stretch, Warlord

slowed and Gracelyn as well behind him. She

looked around and saw more of the iron fence

to their right.

“Where does this lead?” she asked.

“The past,” Warlord remarked.

She shook her head and adjusted her scarf

once more over her lower face.

“Typical.”

She looked ahead as the trail bent around

to the left. They soon stood at the head of

single lane. There were half burnt out

buildings on both sides of the street. Dark

openings once windows were now black and

filled with broken glass. Doorways resembled

open scars, nothing left but black fixtures

long since abandoned. The area was silent

except for the hoof plods and the breaths of

the horses.

“Where are we?” She became uneasy

looking over the deserted village.

“My home,” he said.

His eyes looked from structure to

structure. Rem came to a stop in front of a

large building located at the center of the

village. It stood partially destroyed. Its

framework blackened by fire and its walls

nothing more than disheveled wood. Rem

stared at the mass, his breath a regular stream

of puffs on the wind. For a time, even the

horses didn’t stir. Gracelyn looked around and

then to her uncle.

“Uncle.-” She came up alongside him and

placed a hand on his shoulder.

He turned to her, his eyes dark and

empty. She had never seen this look before

and didn’t care for it. He broke the silence

suddenly. His tone was quiet but forceful.

“We should move on.”

He turned his horse toward the opposite

end of the street without another word.

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Gracelyn was filled with foreboding but

followed.

“You lived here?” She decided to break

the uneasy silence between them.

“We all didn’t grow up in great trees of

magic. Many of us came from less

extravagant means.” He stopped and turned to

face her. “You read our history, the story of

the Brotherhood. Then you know that the

Wood wasn’t always as it is now. There were

darker more dangerous times. I remember

when I met your father and the rest. We all

came together for the purpose of altering the

direction of those years.” He stopped and

looked at the end of the street. The last house

was just off to the right. “I’ll show you what I

mean.”

He urged his horse toward what was left

of the house. They approached and stopped

just a short distance away. There was not

much left. Just a few burnt beams and some

dilapidated stone work was all that endured.

They faced forward looking at the remains.

Some small trees were growing inside the

center of the structure.

“This is where I was born. I lived here for

the first twelve years of my life.”

Gracelyn stared at what was left. “You

grew up there?”

Rem looked at the house hearing the

voices of his past cascade down through his

memory. His parents and siblings were all

talking, and laughing together, a child’s

recollections.

“There was no kingdom then-. People

lived in separate districts. My people lived

here for generations in peace. We had little

contact with the other races and lands.

Separatism was a practice of the old ways, not

like it is today.”

He continued to stare at the vacant

structure reliving his memories while

speaking in a hollow voice.

“What were left on that street were the

homes to the clans of my kind.”

Gracelyn began to grasp the severity of

what she had seen. She looked back down the

street at the burnt out hovels.

“Your clans, what happened?”

Warlord turned his horse away from the

remnants of the house.

“There is something more-,” he said not

looking back at her.

She followed keeping just alongside him.

She kept her eyes to the landscape but her

heart was focused on him. Rem turned to the

left and Gracelyn saw a group of headstones

set just off the trail. The stones were old and

some were broken. Others had fallen over and

were covered by the snow.

Rem dismounted his horse and slowly

walked over to the headstones. He stopped

and knelt down on one knee and began

brushing the snow from the nearest headstone.

His face was still a mask covering his

emotions.

Gracelyn was at his side and looking over

his shoulder. She watched as his bare hands

cleared the snow away revealing worn

lettering carved into the stone. Rem’s right

hand traced the letters in the stone as his

breath formed clouds over his efforts. He

suddenly stopped and brought himself down

on both knees. His hands held tight the edges

of the tombstone.

Gracelyn tried to read the writing but

time had worn away some of the lettering.

“T-Y-R-E” She began.

“It’s Tyree,” Rem said, “My father.”

“I remember the last night.” Rem began.

“Fire was everywhere. Panic was in the

street as the slayers washed over the villagers

like a wave consuming everything in their

path. The villages fought valiantly but were

outnumbered and overmatched. Women and

children were being slaughtered in the street

right alongside the warriors. The slayers were

dark forms, large, not before seen by any of

our village. It was believed they were the

servants of the witches. But we never learned

for sure. They possessed great strength and

savagery; there had no valor about them. The

screams of the dying and flailing of the dead

32 November/December 2015 Pilcrow & Dagger

filled the street as the dark slayers amassed at

the tall building in the center of the village.

Inside the building I was with my father

and the Head of the village. They handed a

box containing the secret scrolls; all the

combined knowledge of our people. I looked

to my father, he handed me the staff of

Ursaydees; the great weapon our forefathers

had created. I was scared and very young.

Tears filled my eyes as father kissed me

goodbye.

The Head of the village opened a small

trap door in the floor. Both men pushed me

through the door against my protests as the

fires started inside the building. The trap door

was shut just as the front doors of the building

gave way and the slayers entered. A brief

confrontation was followed by silence and

burning of fires all around. I crawled on my

hands and knees along the passageway while

the chaos happened above me. After a long

while I came out the other side. I stood just

outside the wall that surrounded our village.

Heavy rain began to fall as the fires burned

and the slaughter continued. I ran into the

dark woods carrying my burden never looking

back.”

“I was consumed by burning anger and a

need for revenge for years after.” He

commented.

“Was there anyone left?” Gracelyn asked.

“I buried those I could find. The rest…”

Rem held the headstone struggling with his

emotions.

Gracelyn dropped to her knees and

hugged her uncle from behind. They stayed

like that for a long time before Rem released

the tombstone and reached around with one

arm and brought his niece to him.

****

“Today a monument stands where the

gravestones once did. Time and the Woods

have reclaimed the village and all of its

remains. The monument has a plaque that

relays the story of its existence to any that

care to stop and read it.

-This memorial is dedicated to those

brave souls who defended their homestead

against an unspeakable evil. Though all but

one perished in their plight, he who escaped,

the First Knight Warlord Rem of the

Brotherhood, banded together with the others

of his ilk and helped create the world we now

live in. Those who made the ultimate sacrifice

for the survival of their brother believed it

was not in vain. And their memory has been

forever honored, by he who alone, who

survived that long night of darkness. On the

eve of the annual holidays Rem journeyed

here in tribute of their memory. A tradition

his niece Gracelyn continued after his death.

She vowed to carry the mantle of their

memory until her own passing.-

So with love and respect we honor her

memory here as well.”

Chief Historian Kaylyn of the

Brotherhood

Daughter of Gracelyn

Great Niece of First Knight Warlord Rem

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Produced by: Christopher L. Silver