Free The Whisper by Aaron Starmer Page A

and readied his sword. “What if I sliced you in half? Then who’d be the fool?”
    â€œStill you, of course,” Potoweet said. “Even if you had the speed to strike me, which I am sure you do not, then you will have killed your one ally.”
    â€œOr I will have killed the Mandrake,” Alistair said.
    Potoweet rolled his minuscule eyes and then zagged through the air with the speed and precision of an insect. Alistair could barely fix a gaze on him, let alone a sword. The bird finally stopped when he was right next to Alistair’s ear.
    â€œLet me tell you a story,” Potoweet said.

 
    POTOWEET’S STORY
    Long ago there was a boy named Oric who lived near the ocean, and one night he came upon a floating orb of liquid and he touched it and was spirited to another land, a magical realm made exclusively of water, a place where all of his dreams could come true. In this realm, he created a hummingbird and dubbed it Potoweet. That hummingbird was I, but I was not like other hummingbirds, for I was given the power to speak and I possessed knowledge of the magical realm. I knew not where this knowledge originated, only that it was born into me. I shared the knowledge with Oric. I became his friend and guide.
    Within the magical realm, Oric created a village that he called the Hutch, and beyond the Hutch, he created fields and stone walls, a dirt road along which to come and go. He populated the Hutch with friendly and happy souls who attempted, but sometimes failed, to lead virtuous lives. Oric adored playing pretend, and every afternoon he staged theatrical performances on a raised platform in the middle of the Hutch. The people cherished the performances and they bestowed endless praise upon Oric.
    Oric, however, soon grew discontented. He had dark feelings within him, resentment toward his loyal creations. He knew better than to let such feelings be known and risk the loss of their adoration, so he constructed an underground fortress, a stone palace where he could be alone on occasion. He hid the fortress beneath a sea of blood, so that the people of the Hutch would keep their distance. Of course, I knew of this fortress, for Oric shared all of his secrets with me.
    â€œBefore I created the Hutch, back in the world where I was born, there was a sea beast that died among the rocks in a cove,” Oric confided to me one evening. “It had many legs, slick and twisty appendages that when sliced open were hollow inside, like a bone without its marrow, like tunnels that connect faraway places. This beast has haunted me and haunts me still, for I imagine it is the sort of monster that steals people away from their slumber. If one is haunted, then one must be master of that which haunts him, and so I would like to have a similar beast in this fortress for me to command as I wish.”
    Thus and therefore a giant mass of hollow tentacles was born upon the ceiling of the fortress, and Oric gave himself control of the tentacles by way of a series of ropes. Pull a rope and a tentacle would stretch to unimaginable lengths and snatch up animals and people from far away. Now, as I’ve made clear, Oric was a god and had the power to smite using nothing but a simple wish, but it was a power he had always wielded judiciously. He believed in gracing his creations with a certain amount of free will. The tentacles, however, brought out a sinister side in him.
    If someone in the Hutch angered him or annoyed him, whether by word, action, or simple gesture, then Oric would retreat underground. He would use the tentacles to capture that person and to bring them to the fortress and set them upon a pedestal. Whilst reclining in a tortoiseshell swing above the pedestal and disguising himself in a red cloak and a mask made of goat horns, Oric would play the part of a wraith.
    â€œYou have been wicked,” he would say, or, “You have been selfish,” and the people would grovel, weep, and beg