A Tower Without Doors
By Mark Fassett
()
About this ebook
The tower stood for centuries, a dark and forbidding figure against the horizon. Bremin toiled in its shadow his entire life, just like his father and grandfather. It did not appear the tower or Bremins’s life would ever change...
Until the day a tight-lipped stranger offered Bremin an enormous sum of money to guide him to the tower so that he may discover its mysteries.
Only, Bremin knows the tower’s power, and he fears what might befall them should they cross through the tower’s shadow.
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A Tower Without Doors - Mark Fassett
Published 2013 by Ravenstar Press
Monroe, WA
This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
A Tower Without Doors. Copyright © 2013 Mark Fassett. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information, contact Mark Fassett: mark@markfassett.com
Smashwords Edition
Designed by Mark Fassett using StoryBox software
http://www.markfassett.com
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Cover Design by Mark Fassett
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Contents
Beginning
About The Author
Other Titles
1
A tower of black granite rose from the plain like a giant middle finger to the world. An ancient hand had carved its parapets into the figures of creatures so that the top looked like it was ringed with every sort of watchful eye. Its base had no door that the eye could see, and its walls were empty of windows.
Bremin toiled within sight of it nearly every day of his life, farming the arid land for whatever he could cause it to grow. Wheat. Corn. Beans. He worked that land because it was the land he had been given to work by his father, who had been given it by his father, but he did whatever he could to stay out of the tower’s shadow.
Death came to those who found themselves in its shadow.
The shadow only touched his lands in the late afternoon and evening, with the sun setting to the west, and only a part, at that. He worked that plot first, in the morning, before the shadow could even begin to make its slow progression toward his crop.
The shadow did not hurt his crop. In fact, the land the shadow crossed seemed more fertile than any of the other land he owned. That was not saying much.
The sound of horse hooves on the wind caused Bremin to look up from the beans he was planting. He looked instinctively behind him to the road that passed by the small house he shared with his wife.
A lone rider on a monstrous black charger moved slowly along the road.
Bremin could see the rider’s head, turned to stare at the tower. Everyone stared.
Bremin went back to planting his beans. This was his last row, and he wanted it done before the sun set.
Excuse me,
a voice called out.
Bremin looked up. The rider had stopped at his fence.
Excuse me, may I have a word?
In a moment, sir,
said Bremin. Please let me finish my planting.
Only another yard of shoving the seeds into the ground he had tilled earlier that morning.
The rider did not acknowledge his request, so Bremin planted his seeds quickly without looking up. He hoped the rider would leave in the time it took him to finish. He did not want to answer questions about the tower. He never had any answers.
When he finished, he found the rider standing idly by the fence.
Bremin pushed himself up from the ground and went to see what the rider wanted.
What can I help you with?
Bremin asked.
The rider stood tall, a head taller than Bremin. Bremin had to look up, and that did not happen often. Bremin stood taller than everyone within ten miles. The rider wore a black mustache, the tips of which were waxed into points, and a black coat that had to be cooking him alive as he rode in the early summer sun.
The tower,
the man said. Is it true?
Is what true?
That no man has ever stood in its shadow and lived,
he said.
Bremin thought about leaving, turning around and entering his house to eat the meal that Mathilda had prepared. He knew it was ready. He could smell the spices and he had seen the smoke from the chimney. He was tired.
But the man had waited.
I have never seen a man enter the tower’s shadow and live,
he said. It was the truth. He had never seen a man enter the tower’s shadow in his life.
Have you been to the tower? Have you touched it?
No,
Bremin said. It was the safest answer.
I should have guessed not. How long have you worked this land?
It belonged to my father,
Bremin said.
The man tore his gaze from the tower to look at Bremin, perhaps for the first time.
You have lived here your whole life?
Bremin nodded.
And your father?
Yes.
In the setting sun, the light reflected off the man’s eyes, making them glow a dark orange color.
Tell me, please. Did he inherit from his father?
The man sounded almost eager to hear the answer.
Yes,
Bremin said.
Are you afraid of the tower?
Not particularly, no.
The man clapped. Good,
he said. I should like to hire you.
Hire me?
Bremin asked.
Quite right. I would like you to act as a guide, of sorts.
Bremin did not like that proposal.
No thanks,
he said. I have a lot of work to do tomorrow, and I really must go eat dinner, now. It has been good speaking with you.
He started to turn away. He was done with this stranger.
A hundred dols,
he said. A hundred dols to take me to the tower.
A hundred dols would feed him for a year. His whole crop could go under three seasons in a row and he would not have to face a winter of starvation.
But something was not right about the offer. Why so much? The man could see the tower. He had a horse. He could ride right up to it. There was little between here and there but the fence that separated them.
What’s the trick?
Bremin asked.
Trick?
"Why would you need to pay me a hundred