tales of Suchita

Mr. Chubs was in the mood for some wine. Some fine wine, not the swill that could be bought for a copper. He wanted the one that would slither down his throat, ignite his belly and drop a warm blanket on his mind. It was with some trepidation he realized that though the town of Goya had been done with him, he was nowhere close to being done with it.

There were few ways a man like Mr. Chubs could earn coin that would allow him to indulge in wine that looked like liquid gold. But he was desperate.

He had been walking for the better part of three days when he came across a town that was big enough for him to disappear in. He found a tavern where he knew folks would appreciate a story from him, where his wagon of books would be ignored and hands and tongues greased enough that when he passed around his hat for coin, folks would be more than willing to part with a few silvers, if not gold, and he could sleep in a better bed and maybe even drink that liquid gold.

It wasn’t easy to find a tavern that could do the job but Mr. Chubs had not acquired his white hair in the sun. He knew exactly the signs he would have to look for – clothes and shoes – and he’d let the dice fall where it may.

The Blue Flower sounded like an innocent tea parlour but when he sneaked a peek in, he was greeted with the smell of ale, sizzling fat and coin. Rubbing his hands with glee, he parted with a few coins to get a boy to look after his wagon and went in, scoping the place out for the best table to join. If his harmonica was placed just so in his coat’s front pocket, well, it would be only a matter of time before…

“Oi…big man…the one with the, the,” fumbled the bartender who looked almost as old as Mr. Chubs himself, “why dontcha give us a tune here, eh?”

He raised his voice, “How ‘bout I give ye a story instead?”

He knew he had said the wrong thing when the decibel level in the tavern fell to the ground. There was a nervous titter from a drunken lad but now that he had made his faux pas, he wasn’t going to back off.

“What say you?”

The shrug was eloquent enough and Mr. Chubs did not wait for more.

*

A long time ago, longer than when even the idea of you did not exist, there lived a king who called himself grandfather instead. It was said it was his way to show his benevolence and to get his people to do even the most reprehensible of acts.

In his kingdom, it was well-known that when a child was born, he would dream of its future and when the child was 5, it would be sent to the grandfather to be raised as he and his helpers saw fit.

Parents rarely complained as they themselves had passed through the grandfather’s loving teachings and could think of no better way to show their loyalty than to give up their children to his care.

What none of them knew, could not know, was how accurate those dreams truly were. He was gifted, and if he dreamt that a child had the potential to outwit him, or dethrone him, then the child was allowed to carry on for 5 years, the grandfather wasn’t cruel after all. But it would be unceremoniously killed as soon as it crossed the threshold to his sanctuary. That the parents of this child were summarily disposed of too was understood. They, after all, had tainted the child’s blood. It wasn’t its fault.

So total was his control over his kingdom, it took the Stars to align, Time to stop and Fate to intervene to allow a child to be conceived that would herald in a new way. But before this child could be saved from the grandfather’s clutches, it, she, was killed too. And though the Night tried to hide her, and the Moon conspired with the Shadows to mislead the helpers, they could not save her.

But Earth could not abide by this, burdened under the yoke as She was. The mighty heavens may have portended the child’s arrival but it was She who was in need. As the child was buried deep into Her bosom, She used all Her ancient magic of the whispers of the world to breathe life back into the child.

Thus, was reborn the bane of the benevolent king’s existence.

She was taught by the Gods how to swing her sword, and the Animals taught her to hunt and kill her prey. The Trees taught her to stand steadfast and the Water and Wind taught her how to unleash her destructiveness. When she was deemed ready, she entered the grandfather’s domain and slew him and those who would follow him as Time once again stood still and the Night hid her from prying eyes.

The new way was ushered in on the blood of the old way.

*

While the idea of sharing a story hadn’t been well-received by the inebriated folks of The Blue Flower, the story was macabre enough for Mr. Chubs to win his coin and lodgings – and the wine that could make him forget his own pains. And though it was a temporary fix, oh what a fix it was! He spent that entire night and the next morning in a constant state of mild euphoria.

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This is Chapter 2 of 26 of The Travelling Librarian series. Written as part of #BlogchatterA2Z.

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Psst: I also have 2 ebooks on Kindle – and if you’re on Kindle Unlimited, they’re free!

• Read The Gunslinger here.
• Read 23 Letters of Love here.