Part 3 of 3
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Tonight, Blackhall participates in the end of the siege of the Elg Herra, and concludes much outstanding business.
The Skinner Co. Network
114 - The Chase: a Blackhall Tale, Part 3 of 3
[music] Welcome to FlashPulp, episode 114. Tonight, we present The Chase, a black cocktail, part 3 of 3. [music] This episode is brought to you by the "Bothersome Things" podcast. It's like eating a unicorn for dinner. Find them at bothersomethings.com or search for them via iTunes. [music] 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, black hall participates in the end of the Siege of the Elk Era and concludes much outstanding business. The Chase, a black hall tale, part 3 of 3. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, art and narration by Opoponax, an audio produced by Jessica May. [music] Moments after the departure of Thomas' former companion, panic began to march through the beds at the edges of the rolling longhouse, and down the center aisle which held the iron bowls of flame that maintained the moose-lords' heat and cooking fires. Black hall could not translate the flurry of speech which surrounded him, but he could see that all were focused upon the small closets at the rear of the wagon which acted as the home's latrines, and he moved quickly to scrutinize what he suspected was Marco's work. The cramped space stunk of spilled gin, and the involuntary releases of death. Within, his sockets bulging and his legs thrust straight was the corpse of Mathus, the elk heron shaman. A length of folded cloth remained at his throat, the obvious instrument of his murder. His body had been stripped of ornamentation, the fled Frenchmen having rifled anything that might be of value, monetarily or mystically. For a moment, Thomas shut his eyes, rubbing at their dry and rasping surface with forefinger and thumb. Fatigue was heavy upon his shoulders, and the imagined specter of Mary's dead face drifted up to him from the inky depths of his closed lids. As he let out a long breath and once again opened his vision, Mary's aspect was replaced by that of Disa, who stood before him. "Was it my Marco?" she demanded. Black all confirmed the worst with a short nod. He also removed all that might have some worth for March shared bunk, including the ring he gave me in safe keeping till our ceremony of binding. She spoke in husky tones and a flash of despair across her face. For she might weep, the pregnant woman strode away. The attack came at noon, and Thomas, who'd relocated to the roof of the rearmost in the procession, finally had his first close viewing of the pressters, as a raiding party detached itself from the larger force and moved against his perch. They came with fire in hand, and their dogs baying in the lead. The alabaster-skinned men huddled close behind the hounds, with leather shields held high to stave off arrow attacks, and those without torches totalled long, rough-hewn logs on their shoulders, to act as pikes against a bullmuth rush. Black all's unsettling plan had formed soon after the discovery of Maths' body, but the knowledge he intended to implement had come straight from the old man's tongue, and he knew the shaman would gladly give anything to bring an end to the threat against his people. Still, Thomas had kept up a stream of apologies as he'd conducted his grisly work. All the better to keep his gorge from rising. Now, as the approaching contingent moved to catch their wheeled target, he set aside Marco's cast-off gin bottle, which harbored the old man's side organs, and raised his baker rifle. His targeting was arbitrary, as any of the encroaching assailants would have happily seen him dead. The crack and roll of gunpowder filled the air, and the lead of Black all's foes fell, his torch landing amongst the trampled grasses forgotten. Construction of the larger charm had been considerably less disgusting, although moving the fire-able had been sweaty or worse. Once in place, Thomas had wound leather about a wooden lid to hold it over top of concoction he'd mixed within the basin itself. With Asmon's assistance, he sent the vessel tumbling. The volume of the cauldron had allowed him more room for reagents than during his original demonstration to the old man, and as the cedar covering shattered upon the ground, a misty feline of immense proportion rose up, nearly overtaking the height of the wagon itself. The dogs ceased their forward movement with animal terror in their eyes. They turned and began to flee. At the carotus of their beasts, the pallid men also pivoted, and the retreating mob was soon moved to panic as a cluster of mounted defenders arrived in response to the prearranged signal of the birthing of the ghostly cat demon. Black all knew the phantasm would not remain corporal long, only until the last of his whiskey supply ran into the earth, but it was ample for his intentions. In short moments, the riders had retrieved the fallen presser corpse and returned with it to Thomas's station. It was easy enough to extract the necessary blood from the cadaver's weeping wound, and once again taking up the gory gin bottle, the frontiers' min mixed in the last component necessary for his preparation. A man came running from the assaulting line, shouting to rouse his people. Black all noted another beside him, a familiar hunched form which he suspected to be hoken. Thomas could only guess what fearful words the trader must have used to press the desperate plan after realizing that this might be his final attempt to lay low those who had spurned him, or for that matter, did he know what volume of riches the pressers must have originally promised the defector to turn against his people. Black all wondered if it was a sum greater than that which had purchased the loyalty of his former friend, the voyager. Whatever oaths the presser king now pawned in his own tongue, it was enough to rally his host, who moved forward as a mighty wall, driving the flood of frightened hounds before them. Although it still stood, the summoned whiskey spirit's form had begun to blur, and despite its aggressive stance, its clawed hands had begun to dissipate in the breeze. Black all implemented his closing scheme, tipping the now sealed gin bottle on its side, upon the roof, and setting his boot heavily through the glass, crushing the blind orbs within. The rushing line fell forward, suddenly asleep upon the unyielding plain. The pack, spooked by the apparition before them, and the swooning of their masters behind them, scattered as if a cloud burst, draining into the dry turf. This left an odd moment, all those of presser blood having suddenly collapsed, and their mongrels absconded, there would but two figures still standing amid the dense heap of slumberers. One stood at the forefront of the failed rush, and one stood in the rear, having been happy to let those he considered savages carry out the grim work of fighting. A single arrow arced over the fallen sleepers, its flight strong and true. Marco was allowed no scream as its shaft passed through his traitor's throat. Black all turned to Sidisa, standing alongside him, a bow in her hands. She spoke. I will tell little Marcus, or Ida, whichever happens to arrive, that he died defending us from the presser siege. With that, she moved to retake the latter, disappearing once again into the depths of the long house. The lone figure of Hogan had only made five steps when the simultaneous wrath of the multitude of long, stymied archers was unleashed, cutting him down mid-stride. Seconds later, the grunting efforts of the harness buffalo had pulled the triumphant Elle Cara beyond bow range. Black all turned to Asmond. They'll sleep two full days, more than time enough for the caravan to make an orderly escape. "We should turn about and cut their throats," said the Earl's son, "but I have no stomach for butchery. Considering their intentions, we have been kind to them." The dogs will not stay long from their master's guiding hands, and it will not be so kind of fate if they have been too long in feeding their animals," replied Black all. The frontier has been stooped for his rifle, eager to be once again on the path that would lead him to marry, and yearning for the distance, which would put him well away from the politics of others. Flashpulp is presented by http colon slash slash skinner.fm. The audio and text formats of Flashpulp are released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution, non-commercial 2.5 license. [Music] [Music]