Dermanassian? I was just thinking 'bout him and his cloak of gray mist. But I'd
be a liar if I claimed you coming was a bolt from the sky. My reputation's
getting around, I suppose. I hear it in the square, on the docks: "Buy old Mallas
a pint and he'll spin you a yarn." So you ain't the first, coming into this
half-rotted tavern looking for entertainment on the cheap. Gods know you ain't
the last, or I'll dry to a husk waiting for a patron to water my throat.
But you don't care to hear about my troubles. You're wanting to know about
the adventure that made Mallas Cooke the talk of Beresford. Put my name in
the tales of bards. Now, I'm not as good a teller as them bards, but better to
hear it first-hand so you can be sure you get facts and not some fanciful
embellishment. Plus, they don't know the tale like I do. They wasn't there, you
see, when Dermanassian came to Galst Creek.
Probably don't know where that is, do you? Small town in the mountains, more
than two weeks from here. I don't take offense that you ain't familiar with it.
Not too many are. Trappers and mountaineers was the only ones with occasion
to go there. Of course now ain't nothing there but rocks and stumps to
memorialize where it stood. So even if you was there, you wouldn't know it.
Not now.
Used to be a thriving place, even with it being misnamed and misbegotten from
the start. Ain't a decent creek in miles. Legend has it Galst got tired looking for
a spot to set down, figured the clearing was as good as any, and built himself a
home. Galst was hospitable, had a nice cabin, good wife, children running
about. Pretty soon others figured he had a good thing going and joined him.
Called their town Galst Creek, partly to make fun, but also partly out of
respect. After all, ain't none of them formed a town. They was mostly trappers
originally, but branched out into farming and all the rest. Had crafters,
respectable herd of goats. Dug a well to solve that water problem. Before they
knew it, they had a real up and running town.
Water from that well was deep and sweet. The air fresh; not like this city air,
full of rats 'n garbage. Didn't have this stink from the pier, horseshit
everywhere, and nobles spitting on you. No, Galst Creek was wonderful
country. Hills far as you could see. Game aplenty. With our farms, we was
doing all right by ourselves, healthy and proud.
Out there it was only us, and we liked it that way. The few visitors was plenty to
keep us up on the news. Officially, of course, we was under the rule of the old
Earl Berard, but he didn't bother us. We paid our taxes and that was the end of
it.
Things started turning sour when I was a young man. I know you don't believe I
could ever be a young man, looking at me now, but I was. Sheriff too. I
remember it clear: soldiers rode through town like they did every few years,
saying we was to choose someone as sheriff and save the earl the trouble. I
know those soldiers meant it to be an insult, but I was proud when the folks of
Galst Creek put their trust in me.
So I was just as disappointed, you see, when things turned. Began with a strange
feeling we all had, like when you're taking sick. You feel the itch in your chest,
in your eyes, and your mouth tastes funny. But we stayed healthy and didn't
think more of it. Weeks went by, seasons changed, first touches of winter came,
trappers headed through town on their way back to the lowlands.
There was this one trapper we all knew, Martin Sager. Been coming to Galst
Creek since I was a boy. Grizzled, with white wiry hair and not one tooth, Sager
was a good man. Said hello to everyone, treated people decent. Always
remembered a favor and returned it first chance.
Well, Sager didn't come down that year. Had the whole town in an uproar. I
formed up a search party 'cause Sager was a longtime friend to all of Galst
Creek. We scoured the hills for days, but he was gone. We had a service for him
with the priest Kubick, the devil. Did all we could without a body, even set
ablaze an empty pyre. We went on with our lives, though, because that's what
the living have got to do.
Winter came on quick that year. Set upon us like hungry dogs, busy and
howling. The snow was wet and heavy, and it whirled dark and blinding. We sat
inside, day after day, night after night, barely making out any difference
between the two. We had every scrap of cloth and straw we could find packed
against our door and window. I remember when I was little, I complained my
daddy ought to make that window bigger so we could see to the next ridge. But
that window felt plenty large with the wind coming in. No barrier we put up
blocked it. No fire drove it back its chill...
be a liar if I claimed you coming was a bolt from the sky. My reputation's
getting around, I suppose. I hear it in the square, on the docks: "Buy old Mallas
a pint and he'll spin you a yarn." So you ain't the first, coming into this
half-rotted tavern looking for entertainment on the cheap. Gods know you ain't
the last, or I'll dry to a husk waiting for a patron to water my throat.
But you don't care to hear about my troubles. You're wanting to know about
the adventure that made Mallas Cooke the talk of Beresford. Put my name in
the tales of bards. Now, I'm not as good a teller as them bards, but better to
hear it first-hand so you can be sure you get facts and not some fanciful
embellishment. Plus, they don't know the tale like I do. They wasn't there, you
see, when Dermanassian came to Galst Creek.
Probably don't know where that is, do you? Small town in the mountains, more
than two weeks from here. I don't take offense that you ain't familiar with it.
Not too many are. Trappers and mountaineers was the only ones with occasion
to go there. Of course now ain't nothing there but rocks and stumps to
memorialize where it stood. So even if you was there, you wouldn't know it.
Not now.
Used to be a thriving place, even with it being misnamed and misbegotten from
the start. Ain't a decent creek in miles. Legend has it Galst got tired looking for
a spot to set down, figured the clearing was as good as any, and built himself a
home. Galst was hospitable, had a nice cabin, good wife, children running
about. Pretty soon others figured he had a good thing going and joined him.
Called their town Galst Creek, partly to make fun, but also partly out of
respect. After all, ain't none of them formed a town. They was mostly trappers
originally, but branched out into farming and all the rest. Had crafters,
respectable herd of goats. Dug a well to solve that water problem. Before they
knew it, they had a real up and running town.
Water from that well was deep and sweet. The air fresh; not like this city air,
full of rats 'n garbage. Didn't have this stink from the pier, horseshit
everywhere, and nobles spitting on you. No, Galst Creek was wonderful
country. Hills far as you could see. Game aplenty. With our farms, we was
doing all right by ourselves, healthy and proud.
Out there it was only us, and we liked it that way. The few visitors was plenty to
keep us up on the news. Officially, of course, we was under the rule of the old
Earl Berard, but he didn't bother us. We paid our taxes and that was the end of
it.
Things started turning sour when I was a young man. I know you don't believe I
could ever be a young man, looking at me now, but I was. Sheriff too. I
remember it clear: soldiers rode through town like they did every few years,
saying we was to choose someone as sheriff and save the earl the trouble. I
know those soldiers meant it to be an insult, but I was proud when the folks of
Galst Creek put their trust in me.
So I was just as disappointed, you see, when things turned. Began with a strange
feeling we all had, like when you're taking sick. You feel the itch in your chest,
in your eyes, and your mouth tastes funny. But we stayed healthy and didn't
think more of it. Weeks went by, seasons changed, first touches of winter came,
trappers headed through town on their way back to the lowlands.
There was this one trapper we all knew, Martin Sager. Been coming to Galst
Creek since I was a boy. Grizzled, with white wiry hair and not one tooth, Sager
was a good man. Said hello to everyone, treated people decent. Always
remembered a favor and returned it first chance.
Well, Sager didn't come down that year. Had the whole town in an uproar. I
formed up a search party 'cause Sager was a longtime friend to all of Galst
Creek. We scoured the hills for days, but he was gone. We had a service for him
with the priest Kubick, the devil. Did all we could without a body, even set
ablaze an empty pyre. We went on with our lives, though, because that's what
the living have got to do.
Winter came on quick that year. Set upon us like hungry dogs, busy and
howling. The snow was wet and heavy, and it whirled dark and blinding. We sat
inside, day after day, night after night, barely making out any difference
between the two. We had every scrap of cloth and straw we could find packed
against our door and window. I remember when I was little, I complained my
daddy ought to make that window bigger so we could see to the next ridge. But
that window felt plenty large with the wind coming in. No barrier we put up
blocked it. No fire drove it back its chill...
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| The Gray Mist By SC Bryce |
Publication History |
First Printing:
Gauntlet! The magazine of Heroic
Tales, Vol 1, #4, George Smith, ed.
(Summer 2000), also temporarily
available at
www.GauntletMagazine.com.
Gauntlet! The magazine of Heroic
Tales, Vol 1, #4, George Smith, ed.
(Summer 2000), also temporarily
available at
www.GauntletMagazine.com.
Second Printing:
Sword's Edge, #21, Fraser Ronald, ed.
(Aug. 2005) (Revised), at
www.SwordsEdge.ca.
Sword's Edge, #21, Fraser Ronald, ed.
(Aug. 2005) (Revised), at
www.SwordsEdge.ca.
Third Printing:
Universe Pathways, Issue 3, George
Sotirhos, et al., eds. (Nov. 2006).
Universe Pathways, Issue 3, George
Sotirhos, et al., eds. (Nov. 2006).
Fourth Printing:
Universe Pathways, George Sotirhos,
et al., eds. (Mar. 2007) (Greek).
Universe Pathways, George Sotirhos,
et al., eds. (Mar. 2007) (Greek).
Readers' Comments |
"A smooth read..." "What a great concept!" "I was hooked..." "Very well done..." "Good job!..." "Excellent characterization..." "Wonderful story..." "I loved this story..." "A nice surprise..." "Very believable and well-thought out..." "Wonderfully thought-provoking..." "Lovely!..." "Very effective..." "Excellent perception...." "Great job!" "Entertaining and irreverent..." "Fabulous..." "A brave idea..." "Very convincing..." "A thought provoking read..." "Nice ironic tone..." "The story kept me glued to the monitor..." "Very well written..." "I enjoyed the descriptions..." "I can almost see old Mallas sitting there..." "Really well done..." "A good read..." "Very, very well told..." |
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