The Lighter That Shone Like A Star (Story of The South)
Read The Lighter That Shone Like A Star (Story of The South) Online
Authors: Dan Cash
Contents
The Lighter that Shone Like A Star
Dan Cash
Copyright
© 2014 Dan Cash
Cover Illustration and Design Copyright © 2014 by Nich Angell
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
This ebook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the reader. It is the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, copied, or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.
For Jess, who read this first.
For Mum, whose words of support and encouragement have filled these pages and many more.
And for my Year One teacher, Mrs Pittaway, because a younger Dan Cash made a promise.
Hurburt is a land not unlike our own. The animals of Hurburt are simple; horses, sheep, and cows graze the fields, pigs and poultry are kept in farms, and birds fly overhead keeping watch. Fish swim in rivers and lakes while deer and foxes reign the forests. Insects scuttle along the ground and flutter in the air; respected by all and feared by none.
Its people are content. A
desire for change is overpowered by a longing for security. Hurburtans are often divided in opinion but generally understand each other's views. However, while politics rule Hurburt they do not rule its people. There are no gods and no religion.
The
biggest difference between our lands, and perhaps the most difficult to comprehend, is that Hurburt has neither seen murder nor war. Hurburt stands alone in The South, as it is not a magical land. It is intelligence and kindness that sets Hurburtans apart from those of the other lands.
Terexe is like nowhere in our w
orld. Fire and water rule over the land. In the Fiery Mountains reside creatures of flame and ember, beautiful to see but lethal to touch. The creatures of the oceans are gentle and kind, but should not be treated without delicate caution. While people of Terexe live in harmony, outsiders crave knowledge of the land's magic and mystery.
War has waged
, but Terexe is not easily defeated.
Salmont is the most mystical of
the Southern lands and its people are said to lead lives cushioned by clouds and unreality. Salmontaïc people drift with the butterflies but in times of trouble they have been known to soar alongside dragons. It is where dreams are realised and wishes come true.
Sheep occupy the meadows and fields but they are rarely used to satisfy the needs of the people. Instead, nourishment is provided by what can be grown
in the earth or found in the waters.
It is said that while Salmonta
ïc people no longer speak the ancient dialect of their land, it is the only language known by the animals. Thus, they roam freely.
Rysked was
once known as Red Sky, with skies of deep blood-red warning The South of danger lurking. War came and, since The End, its skies are blue during the day and black after sundown.
People and creatures live in harmony
, under the cover of their own invisibility. If an outsider were to visit Rysked, nobody is seen. Rysked folk make their presence known only when it suits them. They do not use their magic to spy on nor sneak upon others and if anybody did, then banishment would be the kindest punishment.
The South has just four lands, unlike the North, East, and West, which each have five. However, a fifth land was once rumoured in The South and came to be known as Naegis. The origins of this fictional land are unclear, but the Southern people were forever fascinated by the Naegean fairytales.
Hurburtans were particularly intrigued because they had no magic of their own. To dream about Naegis was to discover magic.
Every Naegean fairytale began in the same way:
Naegis is neither here nor there.
It is in your dreams but not in your imagination.
You can seek Naegis but it will never be found.
If you do not seek Naegis, it may find you.
In times of trouble, Naegis will call.
Be warned:
Naegis is a secret and secrets must be kept.
Naegis was the most mystical and magical land in the world. Centuries ago, there was not a person alive who did not believe it existed. It was simply accepted that, somewhere across the seas, Naegis rested. But as curious explorers searched the vast oceans it soon became clear that only water rested there.
People did not stop believing, though. Maybe Naegis was hidden beneath the waters or up above the clouds. Perhaps it was untraceable or invisible. Parents continued to read the fairytales to their children, but over time children stopped believing that they were true. They became mere stories.
As time passed, only four people continued to believe that Naegis exists. The oldest of this quartet was Bernard Harding, an author from Pipton, a quaint town in eastern Hurburt.
Bernard’s parents would read the Naegean fairytales to him every night before he slept until he was able to read them himself. They were the only books he had known until he began school.
To Bernard, the existence of Naegis was unquestionable and the fairytales were fragments of history. His parents tried to reason with him and his peers laughed at him for believing in such nonsense, but to Bernard it made every sense. For a long time, mockery precariously balanced on a blurred border between banter and bullying, until the young boy soon learnt to keep his beliefs hidden and his mouth firmly shut. Bernard had once planned to explore the world in search of Naegis but his dreams soon changed, as dreams often do.
His wife, daughter, and several published novels were all of his dreams come true.
That was until the sixth of June, nineteen ninety-six. It was a day like any other. Bernard’s alarm clock wailed at him until eventually his arm reached out from under the duvet and clumsily found the snooze button.
The ‘five more minutes’ he promised himself soon turned into half an hour, as it did every day, until he finally rolled out of bed. It was not as if he had any reason to be up early, he just preferred to make the most of his days. He liked to have eight hours sleep every night. No more, no less – not including his post-alarm doze. That left him sixteen hours each day to do whatever he so wished.
His wife, Mary, worked in Jill’s Café. Bernard’s hugely successful career meant that she did not need to work but she chose to nonetheless. Mrs. Harding claimed that she liked to keep busy but Bernard knew that she just liked hearing the town’s gossip. People go to cafés for one of two reasons, in Bernard’s opinion. The first: to have some time alone with their thoughts whilst sipping a hot drink and watching the world go by. The second: to meet a friend for a good old natter and gossip.
On the days that Mary worked, Bernard would meander over to Jill’s at lunchtime for a black coffee and a chicken sandwich. Every day he would greet his wife with a kiss, discuss his latest project with Jill, and sit at the window with a notebook and pen. Some days Bernard would sit there for hours, writing page after page of ideas, notes, and storylines. Other days, he would scribble a few words only to give up and return home.
On this particular day, he sat on a lime green plastic chair at the window with his coffee and sandwich, but did not write. Instead, he sat in silence. When he had taken his last bite of lunch and only dregs of coffee remained, Jill walked over to his table.
“Another coffee, Bernie?” she asked in her spritely manner. Jill had a raspy, sing-song voice that lit up any room, and a smile to match. Bernard looked up at her vacantly. “Bern? Do you want another coffee, love?”
“Oh. Uhh…” He shook himself out of his daze, “No thanks, darlin’. Think I’ll be headin’ home actually.”
“Are you all right, love?” she enquired, concerned. Bernard was the sharpest man in Pipton, possibly in the whole of Hurburt; this was most unusual behaviour.
“Yes, I just…” He hesitated for a moment, “I just got carried away with me own thoughts.”
“Well, you want to write it all down Bern, could lead to your next big one!” She placed her aging hand on his shoulder, smiled at him, and ruffled his hair playfully. Bernard pushed himself out of his chair and walked up to the counter to give his wife another kiss. Neither of them knew that it would be the last time they would see each other.
Bernard stepped over the threshold into his rustic, homely cottage and hurried upstairs to the smallest of his mahogany bookcases. Once he had found the book he sought and was sitting in his comfortable reading chair, the aging man opened the first page and read aloud, “Naegis is neither here nor there…”
Two and a half hours later, Mary returned home from work.
“Bernard,” she called out breathlessly. “You’ll never guess who’s suddenly reappeared… Bernard?” She stepped into the living room, calling her husband’s name. She assumed he must be upstairs, probably reading or writing some poem or novel.
“Well,” she continued, walking up the uneven, wooden stairs. “He’s back! Saw him today walking past the café with this dirty, grey sack slung over his shoulder! Odd, isn’t in Bern? Gone for weeks and then… Bern?” She had reached his reading chair, but he was not sitting in it.
Instead, a book lay there, open. Mary recognised it immediately as the last page of the Naegean fairytales. She picked it up, careful not to tear the delicate pages, and began to read the last paragraph of the final fairytale:
And so, the New King slowly walked to where the Old had fallen. He placed his palms together and looked unto the grey skies. No more tragedy would fall upon this land of peace, beauty, and magic, now divided due to war and conflict. The king allowed his hands to part before suddenly crashing them together.
There, in front of him, a
wall began to form, tall and strong, to mark the new era of Naegis.
The
Clemari then bestowed unto the other four lands a gift, or perhaps a curse, to help rebuild The South bigger and stronger than ever before.
He
walked silently to where his queen was standing dressed all in white and holding a single lily. Together they stood, in mourning.
One land was now two, separated by an
immense barrier.
Only when this barrier threatened to fall would Naegis seek help.
He was the King of Naegis, the protector of The South, and the enemy of the other side.
And he would wait.
Mary slumped down into Bernard’s brown leather chair, the book clutched to her chest. Tears swam in her eyes as she realised that the impossible had happened. Her husband was never coming back. Naegis had found him.
The South was in trouble.