Dem Mikhaylov
‘Inquisitor’, a series of stories
Story One
Start of Way
A sleepy village situated on the bank of the wide Asdora was lazing in the sun so scorching that most of its inhabitants made a sensible decision to wait until the heat was over in the shade of fruit trees talking to their neighbors to kill the time. Despite of the peace and calm that the village was wrapped in, some anxiety was increasingly growing.
All recent talks ended up with discussing the weather abnormally hot for the season. Arguments about possible drought and crop failure became more and more severe.
Every day the peasants hopefully looked up into the sky waiting for signs of rain that could save their harvest.
But it was in vain.
No single little cloud, let alone thunderstorm.
The Asdora usually deep and free-flowing had grown shallow exposing sandbanks with wisps of decaying algae to the scorching sun beams. Every day the villagers filled dozens of buckets with river water but it was enough to give drink to thirsty animals only and to water backyard allotments not to let them dry up. Fields surrounding the village required too much effort that peasants didn’t have. And day after day laden ears of wheat nodded lower and lower to the ground that was cracked because of the drought. Soon – if nothing happened – under-ripe grain would start dropping on the dry soil.
Dignified old men were sitting under the shelter, meaningfully frowning their grey eye-brows and going over all the troubles that the village had faced in their memory. Middle-aged men preferred keeping silence glumly and from time to time shouted at their wailing wives to calm them down.
The elder’s beard was shaking helplessly, when he was counting coins kept in the village money-box again and again. He hoped to find enough money to hire a mage who could control rain. But no way… Miserable coppers could hardly amount for one silver coin. But everybody knew that the mage wouldn’t leave his house for less than five silver coins. Mages are that sort of creatures. Their ears could distinguish ka-ching a dozen of leagues away, but they would be deaf to a pleading appeal of a blind beggar messing around at their feet.
Only kids were happy on such hot days. They took advantage of the fact that their parents didn’t notice them and were enjoying freedom – sudden and that’s why even more admirable.
- Fla-a-a-tis! Where the hell is this brat?! Flatis! I’ll tell your dad and he’ll skin you alive! Fla-a-a-tis!
Making sure that her naughty son wasn’t going to emerge and there were no signs of him anywhere, the lady stopped shouting, waggled her finger at the empty yard and disappeared behind the door. But actually the yard wasn’t empty. If the enraged mother had looked at the hayloft, she would definitely have found the reason of her fury – two mop-headed boys, covered with wisps of herby hay, were hiding there. Holding their breath they were waiting until the danger was over.
The door banged shutting but the boys were not going to show their presence soon. They were still waiting. Their prudence didn’t let them down – in less than a minute the door banged opening. The lady who hurried outside was turning her head left and right very quickly hoping to see her son dashing away. But the yard was empty again except for a couple of hens idly messing around in the dust.
- Oh, Flatis, your dad will skin you alive for sure – the dark-haired boy whispered under breath.
- No, he won’t – the second boy replied with some hesitation in his voice and then added – his ultra blue eyes were sparkling at the moment – Mommy won’t tell him. Lery, if somebody asks you about it, say that we went fishing! To that deep place under Bird Cliff. Got it?
- What about fish?
- We’ll catch a little fish on our way back home as a proof – Flatis hissed, he didn’t like when
‘Inquisitor’, a series of stories
Story One
Start of Way
A sleepy village situated on the bank of the wide Asdora was lazing in the sun so scorching that most of its inhabitants made a sensible decision to wait until the heat was over in the shade of fruit trees talking to their neighbors to kill the time. Despite of the peace and calm that the village was wrapped in, some anxiety was increasingly growing.
All recent talks ended up with discussing the weather abnormally hot for the season. Arguments about possible drought and crop failure became more and more severe.
Every day the peasants hopefully looked up into the sky waiting for signs of rain that could save their harvest.
But it was in vain.
No single little cloud, let alone thunderstorm.
The Asdora usually deep and free-flowing had grown shallow exposing sandbanks with wisps of decaying algae to the scorching sun beams. Every day the villagers filled dozens of buckets with river water but it was enough to give drink to thirsty animals only and to water backyard allotments not to let them dry up. Fields surrounding the village required too much effort that peasants didn’t have. And day after day laden ears of wheat nodded lower and lower to the ground that was cracked because of the drought. Soon – if nothing happened – under-ripe grain would start dropping on the dry soil.
Dignified old men were sitting under the shelter, meaningfully frowning their grey eye-brows and going over all the troubles that the village had faced in their memory. Middle-aged men preferred keeping silence glumly and from time to time shouted at their wailing wives to calm them down.
The elder’s beard was shaking helplessly, when he was counting coins kept in the village money-box again and again. He hoped to find enough money to hire a mage who could control rain. But no way… Miserable coppers could hardly amount for one silver coin. But everybody knew that the mage wouldn’t leave his house for less than five silver coins. Mages are that sort of creatures. Their ears could distinguish ka-ching a dozen of leagues away, but they would be deaf to a pleading appeal of a blind beggar messing around at their feet.
Only kids were happy on such hot days. They took advantage of the fact that their parents didn’t notice them and were enjoying freedom – sudden and that’s why even more admirable.
- Fla-a-a-tis! Where the hell is this brat?! Flatis! I’ll tell your dad and he’ll skin you alive! Fla-a-a-tis!
Making sure that her naughty son wasn’t going to emerge and there were no signs of him anywhere, the lady stopped shouting, waggled her finger at the empty yard and disappeared behind the door. But actually the yard wasn’t empty. If the enraged mother had looked at the hayloft, she would definitely have found the reason of her fury – two mop-headed boys, covered with wisps of herby hay, were hiding there. Holding their breath they were waiting until the danger was over.
The door banged shutting but the boys were not going to show their presence soon. They were still waiting. Their prudence didn’t let them down – in less than a minute the door banged opening. The lady who hurried outside was turning her head left and right very quickly hoping to see her son dashing away. But the yard was empty again except for a couple of hens idly messing around in the dust.
- Oh, Flatis, your dad will skin you alive for sure – the dark-haired boy whispered under breath.
- No, he won’t – the second boy replied with some hesitation in his voice and then added – his ultra blue eyes were sparkling at the moment – Mommy won’t tell him. Lery, if somebody asks you about it, say that we went fishing! To that deep place under Bird Cliff. Got it?
- What about fish?
- We’ll catch a little fish on our way back home as a proof – Flatis hissed, he didn’t like when
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