Wednesday has come around again, and I’m happy to present this week’s flash fiction.
The gloves lay draped over the quarter deck’s rail. Work gloves, though none the crew would use. Riz didn’t know why his mind focused on them. Better than the cries of rage or pain, or the smoke.
They were impractical for a ship, but he focused there. His brain shoved the battle from his ears. The thin black fabric sparkled as if covered in a fine mist, but he’d seen better treasure in the short years he’d been aboard the Miramichi.
“To the Magiker!”
The Magiker. Drenfell. But he couldn’t cast without his gloves. And he hadn’t had time to grab them.
Riz sneezed, the shouts about him shoved away with the sudden pressure in his ears. Crouched behind the wheel as the wheel, the deck his most of this view of below, and the raiders hadn’t pressed up.
Yet.
He squeezed his eyes closed. And regretted it instantly. The smoke pressed more firmly into his mind and mingled with other scents he’d ignored.
Bowels and blood. Both had been spilled and only grew stronger.
A cry rose on the deck, and Riz shuddered. He tightened his grip on the wheel and opened his eyes.
Screams and gloves. Despair.
“Magiker Dranfell is fallen!”
But the gloves still shimmered. So near.
Riz grasped the gloves and sucked in a quick intake of air as magic seared his skin. Pulling them on, the power sloughed from his skin and settled into the gloves. Ready to work, but Riz didn’t know how.
Enjoy the story? Take a moment to share it with your friends using the links below or sign up for the email list to receive updates.
Be sure to check out the other Wednesday Words authors’ take on the prompt.
0 thoughts on “Uncollected Gloves”