Dies Irae, Terras Irradient

short stories collection - a compilation of my short stories.


“Ye food aging quite well, why don’t ye come in and stop it.”
“Ain’t ya the wisest of men, I’m coming, I’m coming.”
“What’d ye see out there, herd o’ bison, flock of geese, some lady rambling about?”
“Wha ya on, ain’t no way any ladies come up here.”

There is a scene in Lord of the Rings were the torches are being lite across lonely mountains to warn the realm of the danger from Mordor's armies. I often wondered what the people manning those stations did everyday. So I wrote a story about them.

“Ye food aging quite well, why don’t ye come in and stop it.”

“Ain’t ya the wisest of men, I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“What’d ye see out there, herd o’ bison, flock of geese, some lady rambling about?”

“Wha ya on, ain’t no way any ladies come up here.”

“Eh, we ain’t that far up, couple thousand feet me guess.”

“We can see them clouds, couple million feet be me guess.”

“Ye crazy, we’d be in heaven if we million feets up, no way we going there anytime soon.”

“With them crazy winds blown, we might be going there sooner than ya think.”

“Eh, the wind will die down, what’ll kill us is those animals.”

“Don’t ya be trying to scare me with them monster tales, ain’t no monsters in heaven.”

“We ain’t in heaven yet.”

“Quite with ya, wha them word called again, sar. . .”

“Sarcasm mate, sarcasm.”

“Bah, ya and yar fancy words, I’m off to bed.”

“I’m going to check on the flames.”

“We ain’t seen no flame in a hundreds day counting, we ain’t going to see one now.”

“Go to sleep will ye, one last check won’t hurt anyone.”

He stepped out of the small cottage, the old, moss covered green door barely holding the wind at bay. Little drops of rain hit his face, he looked up.

“What’s with ye God, gonna tease me then kill me?”

A thunderous applause was heard to the east, and again the crowd gave an ovation. The man gave a little jump and drew his ragged shawl around his broken frame. He walked to the small tower down the trail, the lush sparkle of the tower’s youth faded to the rugged exterior seen now, the wood frame was showing in places. The man looked to the west, at the endless sea of mountains, each peak trying to outdo the others. He looked at this and his chest heaved, he saw this majestic scene every day, yet it still awed him. Crawling up the ladder, he surveyed the horizon, looking for signs of light.

“Ya be joking with yarself if ya think ya be finding any light in this rain.”

The man jumped with a start.

“I thought ye went to bed, what ye be sneaking around fo’?”

“Them mountians, want’d to catch one last glimpse, but yar rain ruined it.”

“See no light, off to bed with me then.”

“Wait, ya not see that sparkle, them lights, them lights!”

“Ye be right, me lord get yer fire, get the fire!”

The fire was lit and the men looked at the burning mass of wood, its light bright enough to see for miles around. They saw a small twinkle on the horizon form, then another.

“Yar rascle, one last look eh?”

“What was the bet ye made, hundred and one days no light?”

“Wha ya be talking about, me said a hundred days, I owe ya nothin’.”

“I’ll let ye go, how long till the next beckon is lit?”

“Don’t ya try to play yar game, the beckons are lit!”

“Yes, the beckons are lit!”

bahanonu [at] alum.mit.edu

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