Demoni Vankil - Letter Six

Pray for me Ethany. Pray for my speedy success. Pray for my sanity to sustain me through the nights while I pray for news.

Demoni Vankil is the historical and award-winning work of Höbin Luckyfeller, and the precursor to Chronicles of a Hero.

An ancient puzzle box.
Fourteen letters.
A Council of Whispers.
…and a clerk.
Discover the 700 year old secret millions died to protect.

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LETTER SIX

My Beloved Ethany,

The isolation is killing me. The echoes and howling across this massive mountain range remind me daily of our remote location. It has been so long since I have heard your voice. I sometimes believe I hear it on the wind. I have not heard from you in so long and I believe I may go mad. I am tormented by the lack of any news…especially of the war. But I can feel it being waged upon our lands.

The supply wagons have become less frequent, and it forces us to rely on the wood lore of the Kutollum combined with our hunting skills to stay fed. Frost berries may fill a belly but do not satisfy for long. However, it’s not the food that I miss so much as the news.

The last we heard, swarms of Vallen march on the western lands, laying waste to the towns and villages. I am told even the majestic Forest of Andle has been set aflame! Hammel has tried communicating with his people in the north by Artic Tern, but even he receives little news.

My progress is slow but steady. Even as I write, a renewed fire is kindled in my belly to complete this project in haste. I have the ability and knowledge to change our fate. I must succeed.

Pray for me Ethany. Pray for my speedy success. Pray for my sanity to sustain me through the nights while I pray for news.

All my love,

Eamon

The letters had consumed my every waking hour, and I made the tired, foolish mistake of taking them down to the tavern. Wood, the tavern keeper, brought me spiced roots and meats with a large pitcher of Blackseed Ale. I combed over each document by candlelight, seated near the popping fire.

Vallen patrons shouted and growled at one another in the tavern's background. In the corner, a priest of the Brotherhood was alone, sipping new wine and a small book, while old Terrin sang his tales at the hearth.

The mists in lands not far away,
Have hidden the deer and doe,
But alas, its power cannot hide,
The broken hearts and woe.

For upon the field of battle near,
Were waged the wars of shadow,
When men and elves and dwarves did fear,
The dead upon the meadows.

Choose ye this day, to serve darkness or light,
For the worth of a soul is revealed in the fight.

The evil swept across the sea.
And turned the days to night.
While wives and children fled the land,
Their men remained to fight.

The battle sore and blood did flow,
As many lost their lives,
The Vallen horde did pierce the lines,
With sword and lance and knives.

Choose ye this day, to serve darkness or light,
For the worth of a soul is revealed in the fight.

In the end the Gods did hear,
The cries of faithful men,
Who gave their all and fought with might,
Unto a bitter end.

For light did prick the night again,
The horde destroyed no more,
Now heroes live by bards abroad,
Their deeds are now our lore.

Choose ye this day, to serve darkness or light,
For the worth of a soul is revealed in the fight.

That old codger needs a new job—his music depresses the crap outta me.

Apparently the Vallen scum felt the same way, because the next thing I knew, a large metal mug filled with ale ricocheted off the hearth and onto my table. Black liquid sprayed over the whole of my notes…including the letters.

I bolted.

Standing up too quickly, I knocked over the candles I was reading by and ignited the drenched papers altogether. It suddenly engulfed the table in flames.

Beating the fire with my cloak, Wood finally doused the table with water as I felt back into my chair, horrified. In an instant, I had destroyed all the letters!

Pushing through the soggy ashes of my notes…I gasped.

Under the destroyed remains of my personal notebook were the 14 letters…unharmed! Lifting a single letter from the debris, the ash diluted ale beaded and rolled off the surface of the paper, leaving it dry and unblemished. Lifting each letter, the result was the same.

It harmed none of them in the slightest fashion.

Peering at them more closely, I noticed a slight shimmer in the upper right corner of the paper. A small watermark. So they weren’t completely indestructible. The impressive discovery made me more curious. Checking each page, I recognized a similar mark in the upper right corner. That wasn’t an accident.

What I did next, I can’t fully explain, because it was nothing more than a hunch.

Lighting one candle…I held the letter over the open flame.

The candle went out.

I lit a match and tried to hold it under the paper.

The match went out.

…so I set all the letters down on the table and poured the remains of my ale onto its center, then lit it on fire.

Wood hollered at me, but without taking my eyes from the flame, I assured him all was well and we both watched the fire consume the liquid in full and fade to nothing.

The table was unharmed…and so were the letters.

My conclusion is that rune lore is real.

And Eamon is possibly a genius.

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Paid subscribers can access the entire archive of this series from the beginning, along with other stories and every article I’ve ever written. If you aren’t a paid subscriber, you can access the archive for free with a 7-day trial OR earn a paid membership by joining the referral program!