losthellhound

Very rough draft of the first part of chapter one

Chapter One


It was early morning, and Thomas was late. He sprinted from his room, through the kitchen and out the door before his mother could stop him. He could hear her cries of dismay as he disappeared around the corner but he did not look back. If he was late again Ulfan swore he would turn Thomas away. The inn owned by Ulfan was half way across the city, but if the market was still quiet Thomas would make it on time.

Tendrils of fog clung to every corner of the road and Thomas tripped as he ran, cursing the uneven stones of the road as he nursed his swollen ankle. Thomas took a moment and looked around him. He had made it half way through the market, and he watched the first early merchants set up their stalls. The market was small, a huddling of several three story buildings looking out on a central courtyard. Soon the entire square would be filled with stalls and hundreds of morning shoppers, but for now it was quiet. Thomas stood and tested his ankle carefully. It would hold, but he would pay for it tomorrow. He cursed his ill luck once more before continuing on. The streets slowly widened and became more structured as Thomas continued, and as he got closer to the centre of the city he saw more and more people starting their day. Thomas crossed the border of the market into the section of the city known as the guild quarter, where the most powerful men and women made decisions. As well, it was the home of Ulfan’s Inn, The Black Pony. Thomas turned the last corner and could hear Ulfan’s voice rising in anger. Suddenly Thomas’ blood ran cold. Have the heralds already called the day to start? Did I miss it? He quickened his step and although his ankle felt like it was on fire, he hurried across the road towards the inn.
“Dam this curse-able fog! How can I do business if I can’t see?” Cursed Ulfan.

Ulfan was standing outside the door to the inn, flailing his legs wildly at the thick soup of fog that clung to the ground. He was a large barrel-chested man with arms as thick as a blacksmith’s and a head of thinning grey hair. Thomas had known him all his life, and started working for him a year ago. The inn was small, the common room comfortably seating a score or so of patrons. Ulfan’s bulk and stern eye was enough to keep even the rowdiest of drinkers calm and Thomas could not remember ever seeing a fight in the Black Pony. Thomas looked on as Ulfan continued to fight against the thick layer of fog by the door to the inn. Suppressing the urge to laugh as he watched the spectacle, he coughed softly to get Ulfan’s attention. With a start, Ulfan turned around and ceased his attacks.

“Dunna ya know its not good to be sneaking up on a man like that?” Ulfan asked, wiping his hands absently on his apron.
“I’m sorry sir.” Thomas responded slowly. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.”
“Well you dunna think about it, just get in there and start working. I’ve got nuf to worry bout without you under foot. Now get!” Ulfan playfully kicked at Thomas as he ran into the inn, a wide smile spreading across his gruff features. For a moment the fog was forgotten. Ulfan followed the boy inside, to find a man standing inside. Ulfan studied him for a moment with an innkeeper’s eye and tried to remember where he had seen him before. He was old, perhaps one of the oldest men in the city, but seemed to stand with the strength usually reserved for the young. His face was obscured by a beard of stark white, wisps of it straying from a few small braids. His eyes had a strong sense of kindness and Ulfan followed his gaze to find the stranger was staring at one of the walls of the inn. More specifically, he was staring at one of the larger decorations in the inn: A sculpture of dark iron. Ulfan looked at the sculpture himself a moment, and was suddenly struck that he didn’t know what it was a sculpture of. It was large, heavy enough that it would take three men to carry it if Ulfan ever wanted it moved. It started at the topmost with a small circle wide enough for someone to put a hand through it. The metal extended down from that in a long thick shaft, branching into two arms that curved upwards. At each end of the arms was a wicked looking point.. Ulfan was startled as the stranger suddenly spoke to him.
“It is a stunning item. Do you know what it is?” The stranger asked.
Ulfan was about to answer that he did not know when a spark of recognition came to him.
“Well it’s a…” Suddenly, as quickly as it came, the spark was gone, but a shadow of a memory lingered. “I kept it from the Pony when we returned from.. Wait.. Returned from.” Ulfan stopped, the memory gone.
The stranger put his arm on Ulfan’s and smiled softly. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll have some men by later to get it from you. I’m sure you have better things to put up anyways, that old thing is just another piece of metal to rust.” The stranger said, in his soft voice.
A part of Ulfan suddenly felt as if it was wrong to remove the sculpture, but confusion led him to wave his hand absently in acquiescence. Remembering that the man was still there in front of him, Ulfan straightened his back and smiled his sweetest smile while straightening his apron.
“Me name’s Ulfan good sir. I’m the keeper here at the Pony. What can I get ya?” Ulfan asked.
The stranger let his gaze drop from the sculpture and smiled.
“Pleasure to meet you Master Ulfan. You have a proud inn here. A bowl of tea would be wonderful.” The stranger answered.

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"Life is possible only with illusions. And so, the question for the science of mental health must become an absolutely new and revolutionary one, yet one that reflects the essence of the human condition: On what level of illusion does one live?"
-- Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death