End a Role

There he lay, face down, the pool of blood darkening, almost giving truth to the rumour that black blood flowed in his veins. The handle of the ivory and ebon quiva pointing skyward from his back, the single diamond gleaming in the rising light of the tre moons. There had been two, of course. The woman he had stopped to help. And then the rustling in grasses along the road, behind him. Cursed the instant he had dropped his guard. But time had betrayed him and left him tired. Not even making the full turn before the silvery blade slid home, deep, through knotted muscle, glancing off bone, stilling the pulsing heart. A single gasp of air, sinking to the dirt of the road. Gone. Still, the words had been spoken, the message delivered, hopefully the warning taken. Kings curse the slave girl if she failed. And such an exquisite last goblet of wine it had been………





The graying, bespeckled figure laid aside the pen and read the words on the page once more. Nods.
Done. Finally. A long sigh. Slips off the glasses and rubs an aching head. Half a smile as the phrase echoes in His head. “thin and stretched, like butter spread over too much bread”. Aye Dirk you and I both. You have been tired for a long time. The click of the Zippo, a long deep draw on yet another cigarette, as the fading sunlight slips through the attic window to illuminate the journal in a red glow. Leans back to sip the warmth of the coffee deep inside, brushing aside the coming chill. Hell of a journey, old friend. Was is it worth it? Cocks His head to listen to the inner voice. Aye always worth it, every damn minute.

Chuckles quietly to Himself. Just when does a char finally come to life? That instant where the Master knows that it is time to let go and the char takes up the tale? Hums the ancient tune, “The Road goes ever on and on, Down from the door where it began, Now far ahead the Road has gone, and I must follow it if I can.……….” Settles back a moment, letting the mind ride that Road, smoke swirling around His head. It should have ended in that field, Dirk, and you know it. Kings, what a blaze of glory, eh? Crossbow bolts flying, swords and daggers flashing, a desperate rescue. Perfect. Alas, a simple twist of fate, a deleted scene and another door opens as one closes. Regrets, old friend? Aye, but that’s life. Told you that you were too tired for one last foray. True, I be warned Now it is finished, did you know it would be? Silence.

Rises from the piles of papers and books strewn about. A wince with ache of the damn knee. Pours the last of the dregs of the pot into the ancient mug. Click again. Damn, chain smokin’ again. Shrugs, does not matter. Smiles and lies to Himself, yeah I’ll quit tomorrow. A last, long look as He closes the journal. Draining the mug and setting it in it’s usual place. Yeah, I knew Smiles. How could you not? Feet find the start of the winding stair downward. Turns back…

Oh Khalia, do an old man a last favor, eh? Post his end in the Chronicle. Yanno, “eyes twinkling” so he don’t be coming back. And be sure to transfer his ships, you were, after all, his last mate.


….turns down the stair again “Pursuing it with eager feet, Until it joins some larger way, Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say” The light clicks off, the stage is bare, night envelopes the now empty attic.

Thanks for the memories

Finis
Michael