Johnathans story (standard:fantasy, 3119 words)
Author: Mark Tival	Added: Sep 20 2007	Views/Reads: 3148/2128	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
a magician is looking to fullfill his prophesy, this is only the first few pages but I want to what you think of it

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

of the noise that the man had heard from the edge of town was issuing 
from. Turning his head he saw a sign, most of the words long ago lost 
to the sun and the many sand storms that tore through the deserts 
killing those foolish enough to be out in them. The man however could 
make out enough of the letters to tell him what the building was. 
Ignoring the staring looks of the people who surrounded him he turned 
right and started walking towards the tavern his foot falls sounding 
dryly in the evening air leaving boot marks on the ground in dented 
into the stony road of compacted sand that passed for a road in the 
town.   The man walked up to the door taking in the deep knots of the 
old splintered wood worn deep by the winds. He put his hand to the door 
and walked in. Bright light met him as he walked into the room. It was 
small and lit brightly by three kerosene lamps burning dirtily on a 
shelf behind the bar. Around him people sat, some playing cards, all 
drinking, huddled in small groups perched on rotting chairs being eaten 
away by wood lice. All noise in the bar ceased as the man walked in 
every pair of eyes falling upon the stranger as he stood in the door 
way the quickly falling night a collage behind him making him seem even 
more intimidating. Unfazed the man met the eyes of every man in the bar 
before turning to look at the barman himself. He stood behind a long 
plank of wood that obviously played the role of bar. It stood about 
waist height to the man with dirty glasses encrusted with dirt on them. 
Behind the barman stood another shelf slightly lower than the one on 
which the lamps stood belching their poison into the air sat the few 
drinks the bar had to offer. Lined up like half dead soldiers most of 
them were half or more empty their amber and clear liquid seeming to 
have eaten slightly into the glass, which held it. The man recognised 
the amber liquid as Sien, a drink made from what ever liquid and 
fermentable oat was available. The man stepped down onto the floor his 
boots making soft clunking noises as they hit the floor, cut out from 
the upper layer of sand and lined with straw and devils grass. He 
carried on walking between the tables where the people sat gazing 
unabashedly at him. Nobody made a move in the room as the man came to 
the bar. He finally came to rest his feet touching, but only just, the 
wood his hands resting upon its dirtied surface. The bartender looked 
at him through deep brown eyes framed by deep lined deepened most 
likely by the sun. He allowed his eyes to take in the man standing in 
front of him. Medium height with black hair that fell in messy long 
waves that fell down almost to his shoulders. His face was a long 
handsome face a deep-sunned brown. A few days worth of travelling 
stubble lined his jaw. Instead of diminishing his looks, it simply 
enhanced them. His deep brown eyes caught the barman's and for a second 
the barman felt them piercing them. A suspicion took root in his mind 
and he stored it away for later. The man stood silent looking at him as 
if waiting for some thing. Finally the barman spoke, ‘what you be 
wanting?' He asked his voice as deep and powerful as the man standing 
opposite him expected it to be. A voice deepened and hardened by years 
working in the throbbing sun. The man answered, ‘I'll have what they 
have' He said indicating over his shoulder to the small groups of 
people sat behind him, their eyes still on him. His voice was fairly 
soft, not high nor low, yet it carried behind it a power that the 
barman wouldn't quite put his finger on. The bartender turned to get 
the drink picking out one of his finer liqueurs from a bottle that 
stood to the left of the row of bottles. One he saved only for special 
occasion, hence it was still more than half full. One of the men 
sitting down stood up his eyes never leaving the man and left the bar 
shooting the bartender a look of disgust as he reached the door. As if 
reading the barman's eyes the man spoke, ‘Ignore his look he'll come 
back another night' The barman shook his head in surprise at how the 
man had known. Still the thought wiggled in his mind. Ignoring it the 
barman opened the bottle and poured the man a measure of the pale amber 
liquid into one of the cleaner glasses. Placing it carefully in front 
of the man he spoke, ‘Two copper pieces...please,' He hurried the last 
word as if mentally scolding himself for forgetting it. The man said 
nothing simply smiled and knocked the drink back in one go, his face 
giving no indication as to the taste of the drink. Then he reached for 
a small pouch that hung to the left side of his hip. He pulled out a 
small bundle of coins and counted the correct amount and placed them in 
the barman's out stretched hand. The man took the pieces and put them 
under the bar into a small box that he carefully unlocked and locked 
with a small delicate key with the rest of the coins making a small 
metallic chinking noise as they hit the small pile that lay in the box. 
Turning his head back to the man the bartender looked at the man again 
wondering to himself about him. The man however had paid him, in gold 
no less so to his mind he had no choice. The man stood at the bar 
taking in the smells and sounds of the bar (the others in the bar 
having long gone back to their games and idle bitching of the day). He 
was tired he figured to himself. Too tired to do what needed to be 
done. He would do it in the morning. He placed his glass down in the 
greasy work top of the bar and nodded the barman's attention. He walked 
over to the man, ‘What ye be wanting? A room by chance?' The words came 
out more a statement than a query. He had known people like the man 
standing in front of him. Part of him however wasn't so sure that he 
knew all if any of him at all. The man across the bar simply nodded. 
‘Then I need to know your name sir if you please' The barman didn't and 
guessed quickly that the man opposite knew it as well. Behind the brown 
eyes lay knowledge far beyond anything the scraggily bunch of pricks 
and tobacco munchers who populated the town knew the bartender figured. 
The man answered any way, ‘If its of importance to you its Johnathan. 
My last name is my own' He words came form his mouth once again hinted 
at a power that few if any in the town had of ever would know. The 
bartender nodded his approval at the name and the mans tone. ‘Follow me 
if you please' He called into a small doorway that led off to what was 
obviously the kitchens, ‘Amy I'm going to show a man to his room look 
after the bar if it pleases you. In reply to the call a woman came out 
from the door. Johnathan guessed her to be no more than about twenty, 
her looks unsullied by the hardship that the desert took. As soon as 
she walked out the bar stood to attention in more ways than one. A few 
wolf whistles greeted her as well  as she flicked her long golden hair 
in barely concealed amusement and happiness to be the object of so many 
men's desires. The barman clicked his tongue in annoyance at the impact 
her appearance caused. He ushered the man named Johnathan behind him 
towards some stairs that he'd passed by unnoticed when he had first 
walked in. The old stairs groaned worryingly underneath Johnathan's 
feet as he followed the head bobbing in time with its footsteps echoing 
off the small walls that enclosed them on either side. Darkness had 
fallen long ago, earlier just after he had stepped in the bar. The cool 
heat however was only just starting abate absorbed by the walls that 
were only just beginning to give it out again. In the darkness the 
candle that the bartender had taken from underneath the bar and lit to 
show him his way up the stairs barely reached the corners of the 
landing that they had come up onto. It was a short corridor with a low 
roof that enclosed the two men on all sides the walls being close to 
one another to allow for more space in the rooms when times were more 
prosperous. The candle light feebly reflected the dull unvarnished wood 
that laid the floor, worn thin by years of passing feet, the owners to 
poor to have the money to have then refitted. Down the middle of the 
corridor the floor sagged a little a trick of the mind the truth being 
that the feet that had passed over the floorboards had worn the middle 
lower than the rest. The candle light hid most of this from the mans 
eyes casting thicker darker shadows than it banished. Long shadows 
looking like daemons played in the flicker of the candle flame a, 
macabre dance between the life of shadows and light. The man walked 
following the barman along the short landing to a door at the end of 
the corridor barely visible in the gloom of the night. The man pulled 
out a short rusty key that may have, at one time, been a handsome brass 
but the years had worked their evil game and the shine was lost to the 
confines of time. Putting it into the key hole he turned it slowly as 
if it took some effort. A grating sound cut through the relative quiet 
of the corridor, the rest of the people of the bar now too far drunk to 
make much noise. Soon, Johnathan, guessed they would need to go home, 
the early rise of the next day dragging them out of their happiness 
like a fish out of its home. The need to scrape a meagre life from the 
hard sand and animals called them more fiercely than any drink could 
ever do. Them man however wasn't bothered with the toils of normal men, 
their short struggles against the advancing death meaning nothing to 
him. Same as time he guessed to himself. The barman opened the door and 
stood aside to allow Johnathan to see the room. It was small with 
greasy windows that would not give in much light in the day and now at 
night which cut out any light that might have been shining. In the 
corner under the window  an obvious  attempt  to make the room look 
nicer  sat and old bed, the materes stained and in places torn from the 
spring wires which glimmered dully beneath the candle light. A worn  
wooden side table with a single solitary candle on it sat lonely by the 
bed. The barman muttered some thing that may have been a pleasant night 
but Johnathan's ears were not on him and the words reached his ears 
having no meaning. He felt the key being pressed into his hand and the 
hollow sounds of the door being closed behind him and the deep chunky 
sounds of the man making his way back down the stairs to relieve the 
woman of her duties and send her back to the kitchens. Johnathan turned 
to the door and placed his hand on the small round handle and muttered 
briefly. A spell against those who would enter by force. The magic, 
small blue sparkles of life glittered before his eyes arranging 
themselves obediently around the door. The magician moved mover to the 
bed pulling off his jacket and placing it over a woodlice ridden chair 
that sat at the desk. He pulled off his shoes and fell on the bed. He 
had been walking for months, trying to find the town he was in now. 
Despite his excitement he was asleep before the last customer was 
displaced, some times indignantly, out onto the street. As his mind 
drifted off to lands no longer known by the people he was amongst he 
didn't hear the howling of the lone wolf, hunger growling in its belly 
making it brave enough to come into the town. Johnathan slept. The 
night moved on. 


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