Tonight we conclude our tale with a story of romance and death amongst the ancient pines.
The Skinner Co. Network
FP334 - Moderation, Part 3 - Sour Thistle's Lament
Some days, gloomy, my hours are slumberless Dearest, the shadows I live with are none less Little white flowers will never awaken you Not where the bright culture saw the land's taking you Angels have no fire ever turning you Would they be angry if I saw to join you Ooooh, Sunday Welcome to Flashpulp, episode 334 This evening we present Moderation, Part 3 Syroth Thistle's Lament This week's episodes are brought to you by Black Flag TV In love, midnight movies don't you? But can you handle midnight movies 24 hours a day? Your death will be indescribable Find out on Black Flag TV The first viral television on the way Black Flag TV is entirely dedicated to haunting horror Science speak for the end of cold movements Broadcasting live 24 hours a day Obscure independent movies and classic horror Make Black Flag TV your sanctuary for the horror genre They're coming to get you, Barbara Visitor's now, Black Flag, Dark TV Flashpulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age Three to ten minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings Tonight we conclude our tale with a story of romance and death amongst the ancient pines Moderation, Part 3 Syroth Thistle's Lament Written by J.R.D. Skinner Art and narration by Uphopenax An audio produced by Jessica Minh Things changed with time It was one of the few truths of Syroth Thistle's experience But for that moment at least The stones upon which the preternaturally large wolverine sat Were truly her favorite place in existence There was something to respect in the swell and push of the river In which the flat boulders were set And yet here, midstream, the patrusions offered a sort of roaring peace She did not think of Garu often She could afford herself little opportunity for reflection When the matters of her kingdom were at hand But here, with no disputes to settle and no grievances to amend She found her mind circling the memory of the massive gray wolf's rough mane They had met in combat A plague of dead men had come pouring from a large Abunaki settlement south of her lands And, though it was beyond her borders, she had some thought that stemming the flow at its source Was a preferable solution, over allowing it to stagger into her domain as a larger problem It did no harm as well That the response would also curry her the favor of the elk lord who ruled the territory And, grease the conference she intended to hold Regarding a drought that had kept her subjects short of supplies to store against the winter She would later learn that it was the same motive that had called Garu to the wildwoods About the infected village It was messy work, but not such that she would ask another to do without dirtying her own claws Besides, the air had begun to reek of chill, and she needed no goding to take on a final hunt ahead of the impending snows The queen had brought her troop of weasel-faced fishers and a single black bear, an old boar named honey, who accompanied her simply because he enjoyed the slow nature of the prey They'd come across a cluster of a dozen dead, as sighted for them by a ruffled white owl The bird had seen the shambling carcasses chase and devour a boy of twelve, and even to its animal mind, the scene had spoken of corruption Spotting the moaning cannibals had been easy enough, but before she might storm against the trees and call down her warriors, the sound of panting broke from the east She was Garu, and behind him a canine mirror of her own honor guard The pack of grey wolves were but a shadow of their leader, however, as the black-eyed forest lord seemed to shoulder aside the very oaks He was the first to set teeth to a corpse, and to shake its skull between his jaws until it twitched no more But sour thistle was not far behind The two royal parties had made a fierce sport of the remaining search A competition she won with a tally just three greater than her opponents As they traveled again north together, she used her victory to torment him to no end, and each night of their trek was spent exchanging increasingly grand was tales of battle and cunning She told of the eastern dragon who had once roosted within broken-leg crag, intent on driving her from her kingdom, so that it might feast endlessly on fat-wild venison And of the madman who had become so enraptured in the study of the arcane that he contracted lakanthropy "What could I do?" she had said, "The wolf man refused to believe there was no cure I didn't say that slaying the beast would do as much, but it didn't take much implication" Garu had grinned and scratched at his ear with a lazy hind leg "At least as a blind animal with a trinket I collected" she continued, heh, and shagged a little dagger imbued with the ability to hack through nearly anything It did manage the job of dispatching the monster, but unfortunately, the lizard had carried the fool well into the clouds beforehand Still, I suppose his heart landing was a cure of sorts "Well," her companion had replied, "I too once knew a man who suffered the wolf-plague I believe he sought me out in hopes that our commonality meant I might have a secret knowledge regarding his condition, for he had tracked some distance to the west "I had no answer either, of course, but I offered him a place in my pack" She suffered greatly from the guilt of having eaten his father, well under the influence of the full moon, and so he accepted He lived with us for many years, for the majority of the month he would fashion the shelters or use his monkey arms to create delicacies over flame And on the nights of his change, he would roam the snows at our sides and fill his belly With garable, though even occasions on which we would send him briefly amongst his kind So that he might exchange game-made for tools Yes, it was nice to have a pet And so the tales had continued, till they had come to be standing in the small creek that was there agreed upon point of separation Their goodbyes were short, and she did not turn as she moved on She did note, however, that there came no sound of a splashing departure before she was beyond earshot It had taken some will to resist sending her winged spies to follow his progress Instead, she filled her time by fattening against her coming rest Earlier in the season she had commissioned a cave, intent on a long nap It was not her habit to sleep the full winter, but it was difficult to avoid the lulling calm of the falling white, and the calling comfort of a well-chosen fellow snorer, and doubly so after a satisfying hunt Once thoroughly stated, she had settled in for a week's dreaming, only to find her rest broken on the first night, by the knowledge of a presence She'd found Garoo at the foot of her little hill, his eyes bright, he'd said "I need your presence. After my return home, I realized it was the one thing I lacked. I will wait here, until you will have me." Then he'd howled, though Sarathistle had been, at first, enthusiastic to see his form. This rolling pronouncement served to remind her of the duties of her office and pressures of her title "Do not assume of me, I am not some mindless bitch to mount," she had replied, and then she'd laid her claws across his nose. She'd seen him take much worse from reluctant meals, but she'd also known the wound would sting. He'd bled, but not moved, and she'd wheeled to return to her bedding. There, when not convincing her that the suitor was in actuality, at hand to cheat her of her crown, her Mayan's voice had reminded her that she had no place for courtship. Despite her best efforts, she was unable to smother such thoughts with sleep. Upon the following mourn, her Mayan clouded with fatigue and rage, she'd returned to the waiting intruder. "You will never rule these lands," she said. "I never want to," he replied, and there was something in the grin he'd worn that irked her, and she'd raked her nails across his chest, taking away hair and flesh while leaving a flowing trauma. She'd remained still, a tactic she would later regret mistaking as an insult to her strength. She'd not been familiar with utter subservience, and so had confused it for insolence. From the tree branches she'd felt the eyes of gathering jays, their side cocked heads no doubt judging if their ruler would stand idle at these grievances, or if perhaps she'd grown weak and lost her heart to another. She'd attacked him then; he'd not defend himself, not even to the extent that any child of the wilderness must be able to manage if it is to survive, and she'd nearly accidentally slain the lord of the snows before she might compensate for his lack of response. "If I do not last the night, you must take my territory as yours," he told her through a mouthful of his own blood. Then he'd gone limp. He'd summoned the best of supplies from her storehouses, but even as the raccoons laid out their surgeries, it had taken every aspect of her occult knowledge and power to pull flesh and sinew together, and it would be months till he was fully recovered. Finally, when she had returned him to the state she'd found him, she broke from their usual conversation and brought herself to ask. "Why?" He replied, "You must understand. Once I know what I want, I will not cease until I have it. I want you, or at least I want you to tolerate me enough to allow my company." There was no other way. She'd smirked at that, and they'd bedded for the first of their hundred slumbers. That was a century past. The dead who walked the earth of any kind were increasingly rare, and there was no longer enough of the occult in the world to sustain unfettered eruptions. Should she have met Garou in such a ruined condition again, she knew she would not be able to summon the rights to save him. It was not the draining of the arcane from the world, however, that had forced her to summon Blackhall, some two years previous, to slay her consort. Though, in their quietest moments, the lovers had both lamented its passage. It had been the knowledge that the Great Wolf could never lay aside his obsessions, and that she could no longer deliver the killing blow that was an inevitable end to their fascination. His passions, she supposed, gave him much in common with Thomas. He knew why the man had undertaken his new excursion, and what he intended to ask in exchange for the service he had rendered. It was obvious to all that the humans themselves, when their burdens had grown to be too much. Her falcons had carried a letter to her, written in his hand, detailing as much. At least, she thought, if her reading of the unnecessarily vague and verbose language of the day was correct. Was even this matter with the slavers not the fault of the tools he bore? She would hold the mystic trinkets he had collected so that he might continue his chase. She would also divine their purpose, and provide them up when the occasion was right. And not just pay the debt she owed him. What if the knobbly knuckled man was right? What if he might pull the breathless back from beyond? The last of her reverie was broken by a sudden landing, and she shook off the hypnosis of the rushing water. The finch sniffed at its watery surroundings and did a short hopping dance of greeting and subordination. The queen noticed, though, that its steps kept it at a careful distance to guard against it, becoming a brief meal. She smiled. From the bird's hooked beak came songs of a place, a man, and the albino squirrel who'd whistled the urgent missive into its ear. It was not the first messenger of the day. She had already heard of the slaver's grudge, of their hounds, and, more worryingly, of their guns. It was now time to come to the aid to the only living being who had done her a favor that she'd been unable to complete for herself. She rose, and so too did her retinue. Along the banks to her left, lifted high a thousand racks of deer and moose. The er sine faces of sixty black bears and the dozen members of her Fisher Honor Guard. She nodded to the generals amongst the gathered, and the honored dipped their heads in veneration. It was no longer possible to recall which of these short-lived mortals had been birthed upon her own soil, and which had sprung from the lands once belonging to Garu. She knew just that she was pleased to hunt with them all. The fire of her awakening spread on, through the underbrush, and ignited a pack of wolf and howls to the west. Yes, things changed, and some day even such low intruders would be beyond her power to rebuff. But this was not that day. With a clearing of her throat, she went to war. 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