(Learn more about Whisper in Glaive: Blade of a Flower! (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play, Apple iBooks, BookBaby)
Whisper’s Folly
It was late on a cold and rainy autumn night. Whisper sat on a wooden chair wearing only his underpants. Candles lit the dim room, and the light glistened off the man’s clammy skin. Despite the weather, he was hot and wanted to open a window, but standing up would reveal more than he wanted.
Across from Whisper sat a beautiful woman. Not quite a noble, but she was wealthy for a Heart Grove citizen. Unfortunately for Whisper, she was fully clothed without a hint of perspiration. The rest of Whisper’s clothes were folded in a tidy pile on the floor near the woman’s feet. A smirk played on her lips as she drummed her fingers on the table.
“Well?” she asked.
Whisper licked his lips and rested his hand on the top card of his Keener deck. On the table between the players were several cards neatly aligned on the field of play. Her side, though, was more crowded than his.
He had already lost seven games in a row. After losing all his money, he had wagered the clothes he had worn to the private meeting. He thought he was due for some good luck, and he believed in his deck. He had poured his soul into its composition and trusted it to pull through when he needed it most. The card he drew at that moment was exactly what he needed; The Abomination.
“How about we make this more interesting?” Whisper said. “Let’s sweeten the pot. I’ll add my sword into the mix along with my underwear. I want all my clothes back and all of yours, including that ring,” he nodded at the silver band embedded with a blue stone she wore on her finger.
She raised her eyebrows. The sword was a dreadsteel masterpiece. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
Without hesitating, he nodded an affirmative.
“It’s on then,” she said. They shook hands.
He emptied the bowl that held his game currency. “I play… The Abomination,” Whisper yelled and slapped the card down with a flourish. “Abomination… Obliterate!!”
It was a powerful card. The gold border around the card signified that it was rare. The Abomination combined the values of all the cards on his side into a single card, making it difficult to kill. Whisper attacked with the Abomination, and though the woman had to use most of her forces to prevent her commander from dying she didn’t seem flustered at all.
“I play… Lullaby,” she said when it was her turn, and she mocked his dramatic flare from earlier. It was a clever play. Lullaby forced the highest value card in play, friend or foe, to fall asleep. The sleeping card could not take action until another higher valued card was played.
Whisper’s jaw dropped. No card played from that point on could have a higher value than The Abomination. The woman’s deck was full of low-value attackers and Whisper was out of resources. He was cornered.
“Do you have any more wine?” he asked.
She topped off his goblet which he drained in a single pull. For the rest of the game, she hit him with small attacks and smiled each time. After a few turns, Whisper lost.
He walked out of the house into the rain, cold and naked. The journey home was an unpleasant slog through puddles, barefoot. When he arrived, he saw a light through his window and the front door slightly ajar.
Whisper was already in a foul mood. Thieves were the last thing he wanted to deal with, but maybe a good brawl would shake him out of his funk. The man kicked open the door, raised his fists into a fighting stance, and showed a toothy grin.
His aggression melted away when he saw the man and his little boy. Whisper sighed then crossed his heavily inked arms. “What are you doing here?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he stepped in, slammed the door shut, and strolled to the liquor cabinet, paying no mind to his state of undress.
“It’s good to see you, too, dad,” the man said. “Your sword…”
Whisper looked down as if he just realized his nakedness. “Now is not the time to be envious, son. Boy, go to my room and get me some clothes.” The child nodded then ran up the stairs to the second floor.
Whisper pulled a bottle from the cabinet, unstoppered it, sniffed, grimaced, gulped the contents, and then grimaced again. “Tal’Gathra’s piss. This stuff is awful. What do I gotta do to get some quality poison in here; make it myself?”
Despite the loud complaints, he continued to take pulls from the bottle. “What brings you around my neck of the woods?” Whisper sat casually at the kitchen table.
“I’m crossing the Drake Sea,” the man said. “I’m leaving the boy here.”
“The Three Hells you are!” Whisper said. “I’m too busy to babysit.”
“I knew you’d say that, so I came prepared,” he replied, and tossed a bundled stack of gold geldarian notes onto the table.
Whisper tried to hide his interest, but it was a lot of money… a lot of rounds at the Keener cafe.
“I need you to promise me that you will complete his training and watch over him until he has his ink,” the man said. “Count it if you want. One-hundred-thousand geldarian.”
“Fine. I promise,” Whisper said, but the words came out hollow and both men knew it.
Silence hung in the air as the man stared at Whisper. It was a sharp, deadly silence. The kind of quiet that occurs before a violent maelstrom, and the two men were in the center of it all. Whisper had only seen his son like that one other time, and the aftermath was a bloody mess.
Whisper’s false smile melted away. “I swear it by my own blood and ink. You have my word,” he said with more conviction than a monk of the old religion.
The stifling aura evaporated, and Whisper’s son forced another smile. The little boy, finally returned with a set of pungent and wrinkled clothes. He handed them to Whisper then looked at his father.
“Son, you’ll be staying with him for a while,” the man said then nodded at Whisper. “He’s going to teach you how to fight. I’ll send a message to you when I can.”
The boy said nothing. Tears formed in his eyes, but he held them back. He had recently lost his mother and now his father was leaving him. He clenched his jaw and balled his hands into tight fists, willing his father to change his mind. The man did not.
Without another word, the boy’s father left the house. Whisper sighed, dropped his clothes, then rested his head on the table.
“What do we do now?” the boy asked after a few moments.
The only reply was the steady rumbling of Whisper’s snoring.
*****
Whisper woke hours later with a pounding headache. A blanket was draped over his shoulders. He shrugged it off and found his clothes. They reeked of vomit and sweat so he opted to tie the blanket around him.
He found the bottle of spirits he had been drinking before he passed out, and after a moment’s hesitation he put it to his lips and drained the contents. He grimaced and looked around. Something was odd about his house. The furniture was straightened up and chairs pushed in. The floor was clear of debris. Empty bottles and papers were gathered into a burlap sack in the corner of the kitchen. All his books were shelved.
It was… clean. The place was even dusted.
Whisper shuffled over to the window to let in more light. He swung the shutters open and peered outside. The sun was high overhead; noon. The cool autumn breeze circulated in the house and expelled the stale air. It was refreshing. Whisper opened the rest of the windows. He pitched his foul clothes outside, intending to buy new outfits with his recently acquired wealth.
The money! Where is it? He looked around frantically. The stack of notes was nowhere to be found. He looked under the table and benches. Nothing. It wasn’t on the bookshelf or any of the drawers or storage compartments in his house. The kid wasn’t anywhere to be seen either. The little shit robbed me!
Whisper stomped toward the door and flung it open. He was startled to see the small boy standing there, reaching for where the door handle would have been. In his hands was a basket of fruit, cheeses, and freshly baked bread.
“Oh! You’re awake!” the little boy said. “I did some shopping.”
“Wide awake,” Whisper said. “Where is it?”
The child set down the basket and pulled the wad of cash from his pocket. He handed it to Whisper.
“Stealing is wrong,” Whisper said.
“You have nothing to eat here, and I was hungry.”
“I don’t care. Steal from me again and I’ll cut your hands off. Now go inside and don’t get into any trouble until I get back.”
As the boy took the basket inside, Whisper snatched the fresh bread then left the house.
He strode up the street to the bath and cleaned himself up. If he was going to play at the high-stakes table he needed to look the part, so he discarded the dirty blanket and walked to the nearest clothing store wrapped only in a towel. The attire he chose wasn’t the finest, but it was clean, comfortable, and fit nicely. He dickered with the clerk but ended up paying full price.
His next stop was the Keener vendor to buy some expensive cards as upgrades to his current deck. He didn’t want to get caught with Lullaby again so he bought two copies of Adrenaline Rush, which removed all effects on a card and doubled the attack value for a turn; the perfect complement to The Abomination. Doubling the value of his most powerful card would be the end of any commander.
He liked his odds in his next match, no matter who it was against.
After modifying his deck, he hit the liquor supply store where they knew him by name. “Ho, Whisper! More of the same?”
“No, Larry. I want the good stuff this time; top-shelf!” Whisper said.
“Ah. Finally on a winning streak, huh?” Larry said. “No better way to celebrate than with a bottle of Zenith!”
Whisper didn’t reply and handed him a silver note worth one-hundred geldarian in exchange for the spirits. He left the store and gulped some of the whiskey. Smooth. Nutty with a hint of fruit; orange. Good shit!
Finally, he bought a dreadsteel sword. Walking to the high-stakes table without one screamed that he was an imposter. Even after all the purchases, Whisper still had over ninety-five-thousand remaining.
The sun was setting when he entered the Keener cafe. He breathed in deeply. The smell of oak and kefgreen smoke filled his nostrils. The murmur of low voices called to him. The curses of frustration and victory cheers made him itch to play.
Private in-house games were fine enough, but this was the place for real Keener players. This was where Whisper felt the most alive. He was done with the piddly games for pocket-change. It was time he made his fortune by fleecing these sheep.
He made his way to a roped off section. Most players at the tables in that area looked like sharks, hungry for blood. Before the establishment admitted anyone beyond the ropes, large muscle-bound bouncers made the player sign a contract. Per the binding document, all amounts owed had to be settled immediately after a loss. Playing on credit was strictly forbidden.
Whisper sucked at his teeth when he noticed two cleaners in a shadowy corner; a man and a woman. The cleaners, oath enforcers from the empire, were elite fighters that made sure contracts were not breached by either party. Anyone that broke a contract would face dire consequences at the hands of a cleaner.
After rolling up his sleeves, Whisper sat at a table across from a bird-like fellow. He had a large, beak-shaped nose and triangular face. The man sat rigid, shuffling his deck nervously. The perfect mark.
“Is this seat taken?” Whisper asked then sat without waiting for a reply. He took another gulp from the bottle of Zenith and smacked his lips.
“I play for ten-thousand geldarian each game.” the hawkish man said then eyed Whisper suspiciously. “It might be too rich for your blood.”
Irked by the insult, Whisper slapped the fat stack of cash onto the table. “Shut your mouth and let’s get to it.”
Cards were shuffled and drawn, and Whisper went to work quickly. He destroyed his opponent and collected his ten gold notes. Easy money.
Twice more, Whisper thrashed Beak-Nose in one-sided games. The hawkish man paled and looked as if he would throw up all over the table. It was the quickest thirty-thousand geldarian Whisper had ever made. He could buy a fancy horse for that kind of money. Not a lame pack-horse, but the real battle stallions owned by High Nobles. He would live like a king at this rate. The only bottle that would touch his lips for years to come would be Zenith whiskey.
“You have to give me a chance to win it back,” Beak-Nose said. “My wife will kill me if she finds out I already lost a hundred-thousand earlier this evening. I need to make it back. Are you willing to play for a hundred-thousand?”
Whisper smiled. “I grow bored with your weak play. I need to move on to a more challenging opponent,” he said. “…unless you are willing to play for two-hundred…”
Beak-Nose hesitated and frowned. He looked as if he wanted to cry. “…Okay. Two-hundred-thousand it is. That is the last of my money. Thanks for giving me another chance.”
“Don’t hate me afterward,” Whisper said. “It’s only a game. I’ll be happy to give you some pointers when we are finished.”
The pair shook hands, shuffled, and drew. Whisper smiled at his starting hand. He had both The Abomination and Adrenaline Rush; the perfect draw.
Something was off about his opponent. The timidity that was present moments ago had fled. Beak-Nose scoffed and sneered at him as if Whisper was a dirty alley rat or a shit-stain on his boot. He handled his cards with precision and purpose, unlike the previous haphazard manner in the previous games.
A few turns went by and both players had several low and medium valued cards on the table. It appeared to be a stalemate until Whisper finally decided to make his move.
“I play… The Abomination!” he spun the card on a finger and then slapped it on the table. He combined all the cards on his side into a single pile under The Abomination to represent the fighter’s value. The power was staggering. One attack could potentially destroy his opponent’s entire force. A second attack would end the game.
Beak-Nose intercepted the attack with only half his force, letting a large amount of damage flow through to his commander. What a fool! My next attack will end him. Even if he uses Lullaby, I have Adrenaline Rush to counter.
It was the hawkish man’s turn. “I play Sacrifice to Tal’Gathra. Both of us must destroy a fighter on our respective sides and we return the resource values to our banks.”
Shit. Tal’Gathra fuck me sideways. The only fighter Whisper had was The Abomination. It consumed all his other fighters into a single card. Whisper took a deep, shuddering breath, then chugged the remaining Zenith whiskey. It sat burning in his belly. It’s okay, at least the resources flow back into my bowl; a lot of resources. Beak-Nose took a big hit last round. I can rebuild and pick him off slowly.
“My next card is Economy Collapse. We both empty our banks,” the hawkish man smiled a sharp toothy grin.
A few turns later, Whisper’s commander died. He had lost. “You hustled me! You piece of shit!” Whisper stood abruptly and grabbed the man by the front of his shirt. He hesitated for a moment then punched him in the beak, which drastically changed the angle of the nose.
Everyone in the Keener Cafe stopped what they were doing to gawk at the scene. The bouncers made their move to apprehend the angry loser.
Whisper threw the hawkish man to the ground and raised his fists to battle the bouncers. He kept an eye on the cleaners, but they hadn’t moved. At first, the big men tried to grapple the smaller wiry man, but Whisper lashed his fists out, striking at the wrists and forearms. One went for the hilt of his sword and Whisper delivered a swift kick to his groin. He followed it up by smashing the empty Zenith bottle on the bouncer’s head, knocking him out cold.
The other beefy man bull-rushed Whisper. Whisper hopped back, grabbed the charging man’s head, and brought a knee up to crunch into his nose. The man’s head snapped back and his legs wobbled then buckled.
Crooked-Beak called out loud and nasally, “Are you going to pay me?”
“No way, asshole. Not a chance in the Three Hells.”
“Then you have broken the contract.”
The cleaners made their move. Whisper picked up a chair and hurled it at the closest one then dashed for the door. With a perfectly executed roundhouse, the woman kicked it out of the air, shattering the wood. Splinters flew in all directions. The other cleaner rapidly closed in on Whisper.
Whisper knew he was in trouble. He briefly considered drawing his sword but immediately stifled the thought. Naked blades would mean deaths; one likely his own. The normal resolution for Keener disputes were beatdowns followed by relief of possessions. Whisper didn’t want it to escalate beyond that. Let’s just get this over with, he thought.
The cleaner that closed in let loose a flurry of punches. Whisper blocked and struck back, landing several solid blows on the oath enforcer. The cleaner staggered back and raised his eyebrows in surprise, as if it were the first time he lost a fisticuff exchange in a long while.
The woman laughed at her colleague’s bewilderment, rested a firm hand on his shoulder, and pulled him away. It seems she wanted a turn.
Whisper obliged. She kicked low, but he lifted his leg out of the way. She recovered unnaturally fast and delivered a powerful right hook that turned Whisper around. He went with the momentum of the spin and swung his hand out in a backfist strike. It landed square on her cheekbone, snapping her head to the side. She backpedaled then looked as stunned as the first cleaner.
Whisper was still dazed from the punch. The room swayed and his vision was slightly blurred. Now both cleaners attacked at once, in perfect coordination. Whisper dodged the man’s punch only to put his head directly into the path of the woman’s deadly, chair-shattering, roundhouse. He saw a flash of white… then darkness.
*****
Cold water crashed into his face. He coughed. When he came to, he was on a chair, naked again. Another bucket of water hit him. He moaned in agony as his head pounded. He tried to raise his hands to his face, but they were tied securely to the chair.
Crooked-Beak spoke, “You have some nerve gambling here with money you don’t have.”
“I thought-” Whisper started but a hard slap across his face immediately cut him off.
“Other patrons recognized you, Whisper. They know where you live. My bouncers are going to your house right now to collect what is owed to me,” Crooked-Beak said.
“My grand-” a punch to his gut set him gasping for air. He wheezed as he tried to control his breathing.
“They’ll be back any moment now with the deed to your property. The recent survey had it appraised at just over ninety-thousand,” he said, paging through a ledger. The hustler must have had it updated regularly for this purpose. “I already took the cash you had on you, a hundred-twenty grand. The property deed will make us even.”
“The wager was only for-” Whisper’s head snapped back twice as Crooked-Beak delivered two quick jabs to his face.
“I know what we bet, but you broke my nose and injured my staff. The difference will cover those damages. And to make sure you will remember this, I’m going to give you something that will remind you every day.”
Crooked-Beak drew a blade and held it for Whisper to see. It was rusted, chipped, and dull. Whisper squirmed and his stomach lurched. He had seen others with the scar; the mark of shame. In some other city, it could be passed off as a battle wound; but not in Heart Grove. It was the sign of a loser who had hit rock-bottom.
The hustler held the crude knife against Whisper’s left cheek. The man grabbed a fistful of Whisper’s hair to keep the head from moving. He angrily sawed the instrument back and forth into the flesh. Blood gushed from the wound.
Whisper screamed and tried to kick, but his legs were secured, too. He managed to rock side-to-side until he tipped and crashed to the ground. His head met the floor with a thud.
“That should leave a proper scar,” he said then turned toward the door as it opened. “Ah, my men have returned.”
“Sir, this boy was in the house,” one of the men said. He pushed the kid in front of Cooked-Beak. The child was pale with fright; wide-eyed and horrified.
“Oh my, he has lovely skin. Who is he?”
“He hasn’t said a word,” the bouncer said.
Crooked-Beak kicked the fallen Whisper. “Who is this lovely boy?”
“My charge, I am his warden,” Whisper croaked.
“I’ll give back your house in exchange for the boy. He’ll make a nice addition to my slave force.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Crooked-beak pouted and paused for a moment in thought. “I’ll play you in a game of Keener for him,” he said. “I’ll wager two-hundred grand. You’ll be able to drink all the Zenith you want. If you can beat me.”
Whisper was silent a long while. I beat him several times in a row. That last game was just bad luck. It was just a fluke. I can beat this crooked fucker.
The parting words from his son sounded loudly in Whisper’s mind. The warning hammered in his skull. Whisper would not break his word.
“No.”
“A shame,” Crooked-Beak said. He grabbed and pulled Whisper upright by the hair then hissed into his ear. “I control Keener in this town. If I catch word that you are back in Heart Grove playing, I’ll put out a kill contract on you. You understand?”
Whisper tried to nod his assent, but Crooked-Beak still had fistfuls of his hair. “Yes,” he managed to say. Blood dripped off his chin and trickled down his chest in little rivulets.
“I’m glad we have an understanding,” he said then turned to his bouncer. “Toss this trash out along with the boy.”
It was dark outside. The constellation that indicated midnight showed that it was well beyond the hour. Defenseless against the autumn chill, Whisper’s teeth chattered as he strolled to his house with the little boy in tow.
He wasn’t surprised to see it boarded up and locked. There was nothing of value inside anyway; maybe a bottle or two of cheap whiskey. He could have used a drink at the moment. Instead, he walked around back, curled up in a corner, and slept.
*****
Whisper was jarred awake the next morning by the poke of a stick. His head throbbed and the left side of his face burned. He saw the boy through squinted eyes. The kid was shivering and jabbing at the man.
Whisper stood slowly, groaned, and realized he was still naked. No blanket covered him this time. He walked down the street toward the market. People gawked and pointed. It was a small town and he knew many of the faces. They sneered and spat at the ground, disgusted by the man. Whisper decided that he hated living in Heart Grove.
“Thank you,” the boy said. “…for not trading or gambling my life away. I understand the burden, and that you’re baring it all.”
Whisper cocked his head and looked at him sideways. “Did you just say what I think you said? Son-of-a-bitch…”
“Tal’Gathra take me if I’m lying. I really do appreciate it. That’s the naked truth.”
“How old are you, you little shit?”
“Ten.”
“Old enough to train…” Whisper said. “And I’m going to enjoy every moment of it.”
Rather than try to raise and train the boy on the streets of Heart Grove, Whisper decided to abandon the town altogether. He didn’t relish the idea of heading into the wilderness empty-handed, however, so he sold the last thing he had that was worth a damn. His Keener deck.
The clerk in the Keener stall arranged Whisper’s cards in a neat stack on her desk sorted by value. All except for the Abomination, which he held between his rough fingers as she totaled the cost for the rest of the deck. It wasn’t enough. He’d paid a lot for some of the cards, but none of them were rare enough to fetch much on resale, except for the one he had in his hands.
When Whisper had acquired the Abomination he’d thought he’d finally found a winner. He completely dismantled his previous deck and designed a new one that, he thought, would be the deck that would make his fortune. Now, that deck was all he had left.
He glanced at the little boy, sighed, and placed the card on top of the others. It was worth all of the other cards combined.
The clerk doubled her total, counted out the geldarian notes, placed them on her desk, and looked up expectantly. Whisper took the money and quickly left, not giving himself a chance to think twice. He bought some second-hand clothes, cheap hunting gear, and low-quality camping supplies. Finally, he took the boy by the ear and headed deep into The Wilds.
“Come on, Glaive. Let’s see if we can turn you into a fighter worth a damn,” Whisper said.
END
Thanks for reading!!
(Learn more about Whisper in Glaive: Blade of a Flower! (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play, Apple iBooks, BookBaby)