#haymaids | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

beelzlikes · 5 months ago

Text

Excerpt from my WIP

It means little in a vaccuum, because I'm leaving out a bunch of context, but that's the definition of an excerpt right? Just a little taste, yeah?

-----

Banshee Hollow is a valley that separates the Chattel Land from the Dreadlord’s Land. It is said that when the Queen’s sword broke that fateful battle, her cry of agony and defeat echoed through the mountains and swept into the valley. Now and forevermore, the space between has been cursed, the wind itself screaming for their lost Queen, carrying her final battle cry aloft so that it may sound for all eternity.

Nearly two hundred years later, and the valley was still a barren, windshorn wasteland. Only the toughest, most hardy of grasses could find purchase on the rock, and even then only in sparse patches. The bones of old trees still crisscrossed the plane, long ago stripped of leaves, bark, and branches. And beyond this unforgiving landscape…

The Dreadlord.

Kestra the Kind Witch also lived on the other side of this dangerous hollow. If you wished to visit her and partake of the magical mysteries she’s collected, you must first brave Banshee Hollow. There, in the dark, lawless forest - if you were lucky - you might just run into a roving band of orcs. Or be caught in the darkness by something far fouler, if you were unlucky.

The Kind Witch needn’t worry however. The grove that surrounded her hut was littered with the bodies of orcs who had tried to capture her before. And the skeletons of a few men for good measure. Like any witch, she was dangerous. Yet she always found herself the occasional visitor. If you did manage to find her doorstep, you at least knew you were safe from the dark.

For Kestra was the Kind Witch. She will help you. If you pay her price.

Visher was silently bracing himself for the journey. His rickety wooden cart, laden with all sorts of odd sundries. He had tied down a canvas across the top of the wagon to keep the wind from stealing any of his precious cargo, but even then the cloth was too small and didn’t cover the entirety of the opening.

He told himself… he had to take that next step. He told himself he was ready. He told himself that it was all for the greater good, and he told himself it was the wind whipping in his face that was causing him to cry.

“Visher Haymaid!” a bright voice called out from above. The sweet notes made Visher’s heart race in a maddening combination of fear and excitement. He whipped around on his heels, but couldn’t see where the voice had come from.

“You wouldn’t happen to be avoiding little, ol’ me, would you?”

Visher glanced up, and at the top of a rocky outcrop sat Mill, kicking his legs back and forth with a triumphant grin spread wide across his face. He had his long brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail that cascaded down his neck and over one shoulder. Whereas Visher was freckled and was cursed with chin stubble even after a fresh shave, Mill was tan and smooth. “Mill,” Visher confirmed, placing his hand on his sternum to calm his pounding heart.

“C’mon up,” Mill invited with a nod of his head.

Still sore from all of the day’s work, Visher took his time to clamber up the steep, rocky hill. He lugged his cart up as far as he could, but was unable to make the rest of the ascent and Mill didn’t waste the opportunity to nag him.

“You took your time,” he laughed dryly as Visher plopped himself down to the ground, exhausted. “Looks like you brought your whole life with you.” Mill kicked the cart with his foot before absently rifling through its contents with a free hand.

“I’ve been busy today,” Visher admitted, standing to his feet with a groan. He tilted his head to one side before asking, “Where’ve you been?”

“Here,” Mill answered honestly. “Waiting for you to come skulking out.” He outstretched his arms and made to take Visher in an embrace, but Visher tenderly shifted away.

“I’m all sweaty,” he confided with embarrassment, but Mill only smiled more deeply, burying his face into Visher’s chest and hugging him tightly.

“You knew I was hiding from you,” Visher confirmed, not feeling as ashamed as he thought he should.

“Of course,” said Mill. He smiled up at Visher before kissing his cheek. Just a quick peck. “You’ve been gathering your things for days now.” He pecked Visher’s other cheek.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Mill asked. Visher answered by planting his lips directly onto Mill’s. They embraced each other, kissing harder and harder until they collapsed together in the grass, and both could taste the other’s tears on their tongue.

They were silent together for several long heartbeats. In that silence, they found small ways to speak to each other. Skin against skin there. A finger twirling around strands of hair here. Even their blinking was some secret code that only each other could read. But sometimes words were needed, and Visher could feel Mill’s returning to him.

He didn’t want to hear it. He knew what Mill was going to say, so before he could say it, Visher preempted him.

“There was a cull today.”

Mill had been steadily lifting himself up from a prone position into a sitting one, but as soon as Visher spoke he felt all his energy bleed away and he lay back down.

“I saw the smoke,” Mill confirmed.

“You weren’t there.”

“My big plan,” Mill chuckled, sweeping his hand across the rocky outcropping he had been waiting on all day. “Just so happened to not be in town. No one will be mad, I don’t miss that often. And it was a surprise to everyone.”

“They called for Millers.”

Mill’s soft grin faded, though he tried to bring it back for Visher’s sake.

“They could have taken you.”

“But they didn’t.”

“They almost took Milly.”

“Wha-?!” Mill gasped, and this time he did bolt upright. He noticed Visher’s calm demeanor, quickly surmising that Milly wasn’t actually in any danger.

“They took old Miller instead,” Visher said. He reached up from the grass to glide his hand along Mill’s upper arm.

Mill laughed a succinct, dark laugh. “Heh. Nah, they didn’t take him. I’m sure he went of his own accord.”

Visher recalled the old man’s face. The tears. His stony, stubborn face.

“Yeah he did,” Visher sighed, finding at least some pride in that.

“They’re gonna wish they hadn’t!” Mill exclaimed, punching his fists into the air. “That old man is gonna give them what for! The Dreadlord himself better watch out for Miller Millerson!”

Visher chuckled. But it was cold and half-hearted. Mill was just trying to cheer him up.

“Is Milly alright though?”

“Oh yeah,” Visher shrugged, trying to make it look like no big deal so that Mill wouldn’t worry. “I had to… fend off the orc that was trying to take her but -”

“Visher!” Mill yelled in shock and alarm.

“It worked out fine, none of the other orcs cared, they were already- mmph!”

Mill threw his entire weight on top of Visher, crashing their lips together, shutting Visher up. And for a few short hours they were the only two people in the world.

Silence returned to them after a while, but this time it was different. Heavy. The calm before the storm. At last, Mill couldn’t contain it any longer.

“You can’t save everyone, Visher.”

Visher blinked, fearful of just how close to the mark Mill had struck.

“I know you want to… to save people. People like your mother.”

“Mill, don’t -” Visher started, but Mill cut him off.

“It’s Kestra, isn’t it?” Mill asked, accusingly. Visher tried to shake his head, but Mill had grasped his face between his palms. “Visher, you don’t have to be a mage. It’s okay if magic doesn’t come naturally to you -”

Visher pulled away with an exasperated huff and sat up, crossing his legs. Mill wouldn’t be deterred.

“You’re perfect the way you are, I promise,” Mill said, his emerald eyes shining in the sparse sunlight. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, not the villagers, not Kestra… not even me. I love you for who you are, Visher. Not for who you want to be.”

“It’s not that simple,” Visher deflected, pathetically.

“Of course it isn’t,” Mill spat, becoming frustrated. “Nothing ever is. I don’t expect it to be simple. And I know life can be hard…” Mill traced his fingers over the growing bruise bagging under his eye. “But I thought… I thought we were…”

Enough.

That was the word Mill wanted to say. Visher knew it. All Mill ever wanted to be was enough. But Mill was so, so much more than that. Mill was everything. Visher kissed Mill again, but Mill didn’t reciprocate with the same passion. Feeling the guilt creep up his spine, Visher let out a shaky breath and allowed himself to fall heavy into Mill’s lap.

There they stayed for what could have been an eternity, but was realistically only a few minutes. Visher could feel Mill moving about and before long a tickle danced across the tip of his nose. Sputtering, Visher opened his eyes to see Mill giggling with a Wyrmtongue bloom in his hand, one he had deftly pilfered from Visher’s wagon.

He used the purple flower to tickle Visher again, and this time Visher couldn’t keep the smile from burgeoning on his face.

“That’s a lot of Wyrmtongue,” Mill commented, some of the joy leaving his voice.

Visher clenched his jaw and glanced away. “They’re only dangerous if you boil them,” he grumbled.

“Uh huh,” Mill said dispassionately. He revealed in his other hand a lump of coal he had snatched from Visher’s barrel. He looked it over dryly before laying his accusing eyes on Visher and tossing the black rock back into Visher’s cart. It landed in an empty kettle, letting out a hollow, haunting ring.

Visher swallowed hard and stared back up at the treetops. He knew what Mill was implying without him actually coming out and saying it.

With Visher’s head in his lap, Mill stroked his hand through Visher’s hair. And in this moment there was no howling wind or forest witch or dreadlord. For several precious moments, there was only Visher and Mill.

“Will you promise me something?” Mill asked.

Visher lifted up his head, recognizing the serious tone of Mill’s voice. He sat up straight with an affirmative grunt, fully at attention.

“Will you promise,” Mill began before the words stuck in his throat. Hitched, and quiet, Visher could barely hear him over the wind. “Promise you’ll come back?”

Visher chuckled nervously under his breath at the request. He didn’t know how to honestly answer that request, but he could feel Mill’s green eyes on his skin as the silence stretched out between them. At last, he gently slid his fingers between Mill’s, rubbing his thumb across his skin.

“I’ll do my best,” he answered with a soft smile.

Mill’s face fell, and he looked away. He turned his head so that his long brown hair fell across his face and Visher could no longer see his expression. Mill’s hand twitched beneath Visher’s before slowly pulling away. Visher tried to grasp tighter, to keep Mill within his grasp, but this only made Mill pull away harder, the sound of their skin brushing past each other akin to waves washing away footprints from the sand.

Mill let out a shuddering sigh, one that stole the air out of Visher’s lungs as well. Without looking back, Mill squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.

“That’s not good enough, Visher.”

Visher blinked. Mill would not meet his eye. He reached out gingerly to touch Mill’s shoulder, but stopped, his hand hovering, trembling in the air.

“Mill, I…” he started, but the cold shoulder that faced him was frigid and pained.

At that moment, Visher almost broke. He nearly spilled it all out then and there. About Kestra, about the burden he’d accepted, and the secrets he swore to keep. Mill would understand. Mill would believe him.

But if Mill knew…

If Mill really knew…

He would beg Visher to stay. Instead of letting him go.

Which is why he could never tell him.

Without another word, Visher slid from the cold rockface. He hitched his cart back up to himself and pushed out into the cutting wind of Banshee Hollow. It buffeted and sliced through him, screaming into his ears.

If Visher didn’t know any better, he could have sworn he heard Mill calling out to him, shouting his name.

Vi…er… Vi… com… ack…!

But no.

That was surely just a trick of the wind.

#personal #literature #novel #wip #story wip #feedback welcome #tho honestly there probably isn't much one can give from what I've provided here

0 notes