Haley Thistle
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The Tale of the Rikity Tig (special preview)
🕑 Added 2020-10-05 21:00:03 +0000 UTCThe bonfire was burning red hot, and I could feel it seering the fuzz off my cheeks. It was much better than the winds that came off the sea though, I knew all too well how raw it can turn a person. After so many long months onboard, I had almost forgotten what solid ground felt like. I felt steady, yet I was uneasy at the same time. Having grown used to constant motion, this stillness unsettled me.
All around me, large bodies move back and forth, shuffling between themselves until they begin to look like a vast forest stretched out before me. I stared blankly into the fire, and within it I could hear screams and panic, worlds falling down, lives coming to a halt. I don’t know how the others can go about and not hear that within the flames.
“You are looking at that fire as if you know her.” A voice reaches me, seemingly coming from the flames. I turn slightly, seeing a man sitting near me. His head is bowed as he looks over his stringed instrument. Long, elegant fingers bring cords into the air, covering the screams within the flames.
“It is keeping me from becoming too agitated.” I shift in place, wrapping my coat around me tighter. I do not know where this man came from. He appeared as if out of nowhere, but considering how lost I had become in the fire, it is no surprise someone did.
The man strums slow, keeping my mind focused on his presence rather than anything else around me. The forest of men appeared to still and the fire cast its glow upon the man.
“How long have you been gone?” His eyes focus upon me, beautiful and haunting all in a single glance. They are as dusky as the morning sky, a heathered shade that looks hypnotic. Does he know me and I have simply forgotten him after all this time away?
“Long enough for my children to have forgotten me,” I answer.
He brushes aside his long dreadlocks then continues to play. “You have children?”
“Not any more,” I murmur.
The man looks up to the fire. “I am sorry to hear about that.” He starts playing a song, something unfamiliar yet nostalgic all at the same time. “These are not the nights for children anyways.”
I don’t reply, I just look straight ahead at the fire.
The man’s long fingers gracefully pull music from the strings. It soothes me, and my head begins to bob as exhaustion lays upon my shoulders. “There are things in this world much worse than man these days.”
I sniffle and raise my head, blinking sleep away for now. “What do you mean?”
A smile comes to the man’s lovely face. “Surely there must be something in the dark that you fear.”
I scoff and shake my head. “You’re talking about children’s stories.”
“Stories begin somewhere. Sometimes they begin with truth.” He lays his palm flat over the strings. “So tell me, have you heard of the creature called the Rikity Tig.”
The bonfire flickers, hissing loudly and crackingly. It causes a stir and a silence in the forest of men I had never witnessed before.
“The Rikity Tig?” I stare down confused at the man. “What sort of language is that?”
“It is no language,” the man says with a sort of smile. “It existed before all that, and will stalk us long after.” He plucks a single cord. “Have you ever seen lights out in the darkness with no explanation as to what they are? Noises that you have never experienced before, coming from corners that should hold no sound?”
I bite at the edge of my tongue while meeting his smile with a sneer. “Are you trying to scare me?”
His lovely smile grows. “Is there something to be scared of within your answer?”
I look away from him and return to silence.
He chuckles, strumming away again. “It is alright to be afraid of things in the dark, that is where fear often starts for us. The shadows and the unknown are the birthplace of most stories. I have learned many of them.”
“You’re a storyteller,” I chuckle to myself. “That explains it.”
“Most of it.” He places his instrument between his legs. “One of the first I ever heard was that of the Rikity Tig.”
“That again,” I roll my eyes. “If you want to tell me something, then tell me. But do not go in thinking that you will receive anything from me.. I have nothing. No coin. No home. Only what you see before you.”
“I do not tell stories for the joy of a coin. I have many reasons to share the tales I know.” At this point, the forest of men have taken notice and begun to crowd all about us. “Stories are important, and they should be shared with everyone.”
