Kokabiel by Eric K. Hasler (reading an ebook .TXT) 📕

That intoxicating sound of infectious joy disrupting the heat of the midday sun made him cringe. The sound of children’s laughter being carried by what little wind there was made him tremble and mutter with sour contempt at the isolation he was beginning to feel. Slowly he wandered towards the contagious happiness trying not to be seen while at the same time hoping that someone may call him over to join in with whatever they were doing. The closer he came to the group the more painful the laughter became. He heard a whisper “look at the way it walks,” the laughter exploded then faded into another whisper “he’s the reason brothers and sisters shouldn’t breed.” A boy from the middle of the group pushed his way forward, “don’t worry about their words Kokabiel. Come, play with us,” he said in a reassuring tone. “Are you brainsick?” bellowed the girl with a big red boil on her left cheek. “Yeah,” said the boy with buck teeth and dark freckles, “we don’t want the outsider playing with us!” A young girl with frightfully bright red hair pulled the group back together and whispered, “If we play fetch then we don’t have to fetch him.” Everyone agreed, apart from the eldest boy, “If we don’t fetch him it will be like last time. He’ll think he’s the best and rub our faces in it.” Everyone groaned. “How about if we make him fetch us,” said the girl with a droopy eye. “That way we can run off!” “Just let him hide,” said the fat boy, “last time we did that my father beat me. Besides, we don’t have to find him. He’s dumb enough to stay hidden all night and will get in trouble.” “Kokabiel,” they shouted in unison, “come play fetch with us!” Kokabiel raised his head; he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you sure,” he asked, “I don’t wanna cause bother.” “Hurry up!” said the girl with the boil. “Who’s fetching?” asked the buck teethed boy. “You are!” ordered the droopy eyed girl. “Close your eyes and count to a hundred.” 1 2 3...and they were off running in different directions.

Making sure that nobody was watching him Kokabiel sneaked around the back of Doogal’s winery and found a discarded wine crate and pushed it against the wall then climbed up. The crate however, was nowhere near high enough to climb onto the roof from, but it was a good start. From there Kokabiel jumped and grabbed onto one of the second floor beams which used to be a supporting beam for the original roof, he then heaved himself up into a perched position. Slowly and carefully Kokabiel stood up swinging his arms in circles in an attempt to keep balance. He could see into the second floor through a window and was surprised to see that there was nobody in the room. Opening the window slowly making sure not to make any noise, he was again surprised, but this time by the noise coming from inside the winery as the villagers were singing some disgusting songs. “No one will ever hear me with that racket going on,” he thought, so climbing onto the window sill, using it as the next part of the makeshift ladder he reached for the edge of the roof and heaved himself on top. Once on top he walked to the centre of the roof where the chimney was positioned. He sat down with his back against the bricks and listened to the dissonance echoing through the chimney. The sick lyrics being sung out of tune and out of time made him giggle. As Kokabiel sat there listening to the rabble he lost track of time. Hypnotized by the strident noise he hadn’t notice that the sky had started to turn black with heavy clouds, or that the wind had started to pick up. Lightning streaked across the black sky as rain started to fall. Thunder crashed loudly with a pounding that should wake the dead, and yet Kokabiel just sat there unable to move from the mesmerising cacophony echoing through the winery’s chimney.

The winery was by far the biggest building in Daldara, and situated in the middle of the village. It was also the most popular place and a favourite hangout for everyone in the village. Some of the best wine in the surrounding area was brewed in this winery. People from all over came to Daldara to enhance their taste buds by trying Doogal’s wine; which is why the sign on the door said, ‘Doogal’s winery: the best wine you will ever try’. Almost every night you could find the whole village here tasting their fill of wine. It was an odd experience for the people not to drink at least four bottles before stumbling home. In fact, whenever there was a storm approaching Doogal would bring out his not so great wine because he figured that with the storm people wouldn’t have anything else to do. So he would get them drunk cheaply. This was one of the many reasons why Doogal was the richest man in the village; he was also the smallest man as he stood just less than five foot two. He was also very tight with his money; he never employed anyone to help him with the brewing process because he thought that they might steal his recipe and then become a rival. He was also scared that if he employed someone to help with the bar tending they might steal his money, so he did all the work himself. He had the bar set up at a height which would suit anyone taller than five foot two, but behind the bar he had it set for anyone who stood less than five foot two. Since he was the only short person in the village, this gave him the excuse he needed to not employ a bar hand.

The place was usually full with drunken cheerful singing of the sickest lyrics that could be imagined; people of all ages took part in this which had helped it to become a village tradition. When a stormy night would arrive the people would dress in their finer clothes, and bring all their money. Storm night was usually the night when certain types of consenting adults would also conceive their children. To accommodate this, Doogal had added a second floor to the winery. He called this the long rest room. Anyone who drank in the winery could access these rooms, as long as they had the money to pay for it. This was another of the many reasons why Doogal was the richest man in the village. Since the people liked to spend all their money and time in Doogal’s, the other tradesman of the village came in bringing their various skills. Nancy’s pies were a number one favourite, not because they were good, but because they were cheap. She had a great range of meat pies, but for some reason the horse pies were the best selling. Not that Nancy complained, but she thought that some of her other pies were better, for instance; beef and potato; fish and pumpkin; and her favourite dog, tomato, cabbage, and cheese pie. In fact, the only problem Nancy had was that the only time the punters would buy her pies was when they had drunken four or more bottles of Doogal’s wine. Since she could only sell her pies in Doogal’s winery, Doogal decided that he would become her silent partner, which meant that he would receive ten percent of her takings. This was also another contributing factor towards the riches that Doogal had acquired.

However, there was something strange about this stormy night. Not only was it the darkest night that anyone could remember, but the people were quieter than usual. Nancy had only sold three pies and was looking a little depressed. Doogal was doing his best to convince the people that they would not be able to leave until they had drunken their quota. The punters were singing, but they were not as bold or boisterous as usual. When the thunder and lightning show was crashing its way through the sky the people looked to liven up a little, but not like other nights. No one had gone up the stairs yet and Doogal was not very happy. There was too much talking going on, which means that there is less drinking going on. “This is not a good sign for a winery” thought Doogal. He decided that it would be wise to see what the people were talking about, that way he might be able to appeal to their senses, and get them to drink some more. Stepping out from behind the bar and walking to the first table he found three sober gentlemen talking about the nearby battle. “It’s terrible,” said the fat man with the big bushy beard, “The whole village of Dunubone was totally destroyed.” The skinny man with outrageously huge eyes asked, “Do you know if there were any survivors?” “There are none left alive,” said the fat man. “It looks as though the Milburgaen army put everyone to the sword, and then set the whole place on fire.” “I just hope that some of those who burned were Milburgaens’,” said the man who had the misfortune of being born with big ears, big nose, and very small lips. “There is no way to tell,” said the fat man, “Everyone is burnt to a crisp. If any of the burnt belongs to the Milburgaens’, then it’s too hard to tell as their armour and weapons have been taken, which may be to expose the strength of an undefeated army. In fact, judging by the way they have been tearing around the land, it looks as though we could be next.” Doogal took his chance and asked, “So, you have seen the outcome of the battle have you? Did you go and fight in defence of Dunubone?” “Well, no,” said the fat man sheepishly, “But I heard the news from a reliable source!” “Well,” said Doogal, “If you have not seen it with your own eyes, how can you be sure that the Milburgaen army are not the ones burnt to a crisp, hmm?” “I suppose that I can’t be sure,” said the fat man. “Well,” asked Doogal, “Do you think it wise to spread fear amongst the punters without any clear evidence of what truly happened?” “Well, I guess that makes good sense Doogal,” agreed the fat man, “How about you get us three more bottles of wine, it’s on me.” As Doogal walked towards the third table, deliberately avoiding the foul smelling pies at the second table, he found the topic to be much the same as at the first table; only slightly different. The man at the head of the table was a horse trader. He wanders into the winery once every two or three weeks; he can often be seen making deals with Nancy, but not tonight. He is the only traveller in the village tonight, which obviously means he is the only one with any reliable information about Dunubone. “The Milburgaen army has been totally smashed! Damson was the only survivor, and I saw him running out of the village like a little whipped puppy with his tail wrapped between his legs,” boasted the horse trader, laughing. “You should have no fear of that warlord. Well, not for a few years anyway.” He roared with laughter, and shouted very loudly, “Doogal my old buddy, get us some more of the best stuff you have.” Doogal smiled and thought, “This seems like a good start, but what can I do to encourage more drinking.” An idea came to him.