Fallowfell; Second Semester Chapter – 50

Tam Linn VS Fenrir Suneater

Tam Linn leans against the cold metal of a lamp-post outside of Amanda Skog’s boarding house, watching, waiting as the sun rises. He isn’t a true fae, for had he been one, the metal would have burned him. He shakes the thought and begins to strain his sight.

His pupils dilate, receiving more light, taking in more of the visual spectrum than neccessary. Infra-red, x-ray and eventually electronic signals and the like. Skog won’t call her grandfather; he will call her, and when he does…

“Yowl, what do you think-” he stops. Yowl is nowhere to be seen. In fact, he hasn’t seen her since two weeks ago, when he executed the brownie. He scowls. Yowl’s disappearance shouldn’t have left him such a keen sense of loss, yet it does.


But John Dobbs was lying to him! Keeping secrets! He had the right, he had it. Yes, he nods to himself. Dobbs was keeping secret about Greyscale, something about a chest of some kind. Alas, he wouldn’t give that secret up, no matter how hard Linn stared.


Because out of the Seven, Linn is the only who doesn’t need to torture to accquire information. He can actually make out the electric synapses that the brain sends out the body, and high-jack them, making torture unneccessary. It was the method with which he entered Rune Fallowfell’s soul. And before he killed Dobbs, he caught something about a white chest, a chest made out bone.


What, he wonders, is that chest’s connection to Nidar Greyscale? The mental picture of that chest was followed by a sensation of the world fracturing. Clearly, it holds great importance.


Eventually Tam Linn shrugs. One way or the other, he’ll find out the truth. He pulls his coat closer around his body. The cold cannot hurt him, few things can, but the act reminds him of his humanity. And speaking of humanity… he gazes down at the arm, making it translucent. Blood and bones become visible. The sight aggravates him, and so he returns it to its normal, white skin-tone.


He shouldn’t- a signal leaps from Amanda Skog’s room and over the horizont. Linn smiles viciously. The hunt is on. He weaves a glamour around his shape, making himself look like a postman for the unwary.


He starts to follow the signal through Fallowfell, passing Evers, Charlie’s and the Crimson Bridge. People greet him, an intended effect of his disguise and he greets them back.


Before long he finds himself standing next to an ancient phone-booth, a relic from another time, very much like himself. This part of Fallowfell is dilapidated, or as dilapidated a neighbourhood can become in a city of ten-thousand. Chewing-gum is stuck to the pavement and the concrete apartments-buildings seem worn with time, tired.
The signal terminates in the vicinity of the phone-booth, which curiously enough is empty. Linn increases his field of vision, the full three-hundred and sixty degrees, noticing the man in brown overalls around the corner.



He instantly create two glamours; the first of which turns him invisible, the second that leaves a split-image of him standing where he stood. He makes the split-image move, away from the phone-booth, and the man moves after the image, followed by the invisible Tam Linn.


As the three of them move out of the downtrodden part of Fallowfell, Tam Linn notices the uncanny similarity between this man and Amanda Skog. Blue eyes. Long black hair. The walking gait of a person who thinks they own the world.


The split-image vanish in a shower of golden sparks when they have reached far enough into the forests that screams won’t be heard. Tam Linn turns visible. “What”, he asks,” gave me away?”


Fenrir speaks, back still towards Tam. ” Nothing, really. I guess”, he says, calling on divine magic and bursting into a horse-sized white wolf,”that I am really paranoid”, he finishes, form taken in seconds.


Ten lances, each made of silvery-light impales Fenrir, prepared in advance by Linn, hidden away from sight or sound. Fenrir howls and starts to make a stumbling leap, as if planning to get away. An opaque barrier shimmers into existence, and Fenrir slams into it, crumbling.


Tam Linn walks through the barrier. He creates a gigantic axe of that same silverlight, not pausing in his stride. “I am bit surprised”, Tam Linn says. “I had expected-” Fenrir lunges at him, maw open, darkness coating his fangs. And Tam Linn dies. That close the darkness eats through his skin in seconds, boils away his blood and reduces him into less than nothing in the blink of an eye.


Linn reforms through sunlight metres away, staring at Fenrir. He motions, and a large pillar turned spear of silverlight strikes Fenrir, to no avail. “Silver, you’re immune to silver”, Linn states. It isn’t a question.


Fenrir gets up on his haunches, glaring at Linn with eyes of Arctic-blue. “And you’re a weird one. That would have killed most witches, lesser gods and middle-aged vampires.” Linn snaps his fingers, and the barrier disappears.


Tam Linn shrugs in response. “I will have to do this the hard way then”, he says. He turns invisible, creating not one, nor two, but a hundred split-images. The split-images can only use a fraction of his true power, but a hundred of them will suffice. Each image points at Fenrir, and thin lasers arrow in on him.


Fenrir does a barrel-roll, avoiding the seared ground and the small clouds of superheated steam created from the boiled snow. He opens his mouth, vomiting up a band of darkness that seems to absorb the the lasers.

Meanwhile, Tam Linn skulks around the images, around Fenrir. Silver might not work, but old-fashioned steel through the heart and decapitation, no matter how messy, will. Fenrir breathes out the darkness in the same manner of a member of the Flight, and Linn can feel his images die.


Less than half a metre away from Fenrir, Linn catches one of his ears moving. That’s all the warning he gets before Fenrir wheels around, showing him why he earned the nickname Suneater.


Linn throws up one, two, three barriers of light, large clear panes of them between him and that dark matter. The darkness devours holes in those barriers the moment he refreshes them, effectively putting them in a stalemate.

Fallowfell; Second Semester Chapter - 49
Fallowfell; Second Semester Chapter - 51

Good morning. Or perhaps it is good evening, depending upon your location perpendicular to Greenwhich. My name is Sebastian. I like to write, run, and occassionally grab a beer. Not at the same time though.

Posted in Fallowfell
5 comments on “Fallowfell; Second Semester Chapter – 50
  1. DeNarr says:

    [He shouldn’t- a signal leaps from Amanda Skog’s room and over the horizont. Linn smiles viciously. ]

    Did you miss something here? He shouldn’t what?

    Also, the ending seems a bit more abrupt than normal.

    • Sebastian says:

      Ehrm, the interruption was just meant to be convenient. And I won’t leave you hanging, in the following chapters all shall be revealed ( doesn’t sound cryptic at all, right?).

      On another note, I am happy to announce that I have created my very own domain, http://sebastianlindbladnovels.com/ where I have so far posted the first eight chapter of the first Fallowfell volume, and where, in time, I’ll be posting the continuation of this story before starterserial goes dark.

  2. Evan says:

    Small typo: lounges -> lunges

    lounges is to lie, sit, or stand in a relaxed or lazy way.

    lunges is are sudden forward thrusts of the body, typically with an arm outstretched to attack someone or seize something.

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