Category: Uncategorized

The Harbor Master’s Shadow

by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

     Even now, some have said when they come to see what happened, they can hear his footsteps.Those who come at night have claimed to see the candlelight in the window of his shed.

     Other times, he can be heard speaking to the captains of the ships he boards.

     Yet no one has ever seen what he looks like, though a man’s shadow appears in the light, on the wood of the pier, and in the shed’s doorway or window when the candles are lit.

     The harbor stopped being used years ago when the profits dried up and the pirates had no one to prey on.

     The townspeople left in a slow exodus, like the sun burning off the morning fog that daily shrouded them with a despairing  sadness as their homes rotted around them.

      It wasn’t always so, but that’s what it became of it.

      Those were happier times, weren’t they, my son?

      I knew there was no one behind me. 

      I knew I felt no paternal hand on my shoulder.

      I knew I didn’t smell the pipe tobacco, or the scent of spices always deep in his clothes.

      The shadows blurred, and I told myself the water in my eyes was mist from the ocean, and the standing hairs on my arms and neck weren’t real.

      Yet I answered, speaking to no one.

      “Yes, father. They were everything to me.”

      I lowered my head, letting the tears come, and saw his shadow behind me. 

The Ferryman’s Choice

by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

 The river reeked, even though the water ran through cavernous tunnels with a degree of force.
    The unknown, ugly creatures that inhabited its scarlet turbulence had grown used to the boat skimming above them. 

     His cowled robe was tattered, ripped, and filthy from the flesh corrupting, healing, and tearing anew on his bones. 

     The stench of his new sores wafted on thick, warm breezes in the mist.

     On the banks of the river he traversed collecting the souls of the damned, the pleading eyes of mortal spirits watched in pain and hopeful sadness until he passed.

     They had to wait a century, sometimes longer, to enter the gates, and every night the beasts returned to gnaw and tear until morning. Then their flesh, like his, would heal anew, ready for the next night.

      It never stopped, and they were powerless before the terrifying creatures that tormented them with licking, nipping, and powerful bites that made their preys’ screams echo in the caves, summoning more to the feast.

      The river was a deep scarlet liquid ribbon dyed in eons of blood, viscera, and tears.

     But for now, the quiet of the bow, and the damp cold mist coalescing and dissolving in the fetid breeze.

     This was his lot, his fate, his calling, and he hated every moment of it.

     He’d thrown the lantern down, deliberately spilling oil and fire into the boat, but it never burned.

     He threw into the river, hoping the quenched flame broke the binding spell on his soul, but the lamp never sank, and always floated back toward the boat until he took it out of the foul current.

     In his rage, if there were souls to take he would berate them, frighten them and give them visions of the torture they could expect.

     He reveled in their anguished cries. 

     Those who jumped into the river met their fates when the ugly, unearthly things below the waves found them, and made short work of them, or worse, returned them to the boat.

     Something he couldn’t see was walking on the bank, coming toward him.

                              ***************I

   It had no physical body, just a shimmering outline distorting the natural view, magnifying as it came down the bank. 

    “The mouths in the hall speak your name, Acheron. The wagging tongues tell your betters you tire of making this journey.” 

     Acheron looked up, but his face was darkened by the draping cowl, the filthy state of his skull, and the hollow spaces that once held his eyes.

     “It has been too long. I want to leave and give it to another.”

     There was almost a mocking lilt of laughter in its answer.

     “Did you make another?”

     “I did.”

     “This changes things. Where are they?”

     “In due time. And who..what, are you?”

     “A gatekeeper.”

     “I can’t see you.”

     “No one can.”

     “After all this time, you hid yourselves from me?”

     “We are only seen by the supplicants.”

     Acheron said nothing.

     “Where is your freight?”

     “They will be here later.”

     “Then go. We expect you at eventide.”

      Acheron pushed off to get his waiting cargo.

                                  ************

     Chapter 2: The Journey Home

     They cowered before him, and held onto each other as the boat swayed beneath their weight.

     “I’ll hold it here. Balance yourselves.”

     They shifted about, still gripping someone nearby, gripping the last of their humanity, sounding very much like a litter of puppies.

     “Such good mortals. Shall we begin?” 

     He pushed off again, and the boat slowly wheeled into the slower current.

      “You will see such wondrous sights…”

      Acheron held his long knife out over the water, and the silver in the blade sparked dark red, like a dying ember.

      The sights they saw on the river’s surface were unspeakable, bloody, and obscene, the reality of their fate finally becoming clear. 

       Acheron turned his attention to once more navigating the caves, and his passengers’ cries and screams soothed him. 

  Chapter 3: Entreaty

   When the ferry passed the Waiting, they stood on the shore and watched with their owlish eyes as one of the ferry passengers tried to jump out and come to them on the shore, but his knees buckled and his back spasmed.

     He fell to the boat’s wide deck, looking up into the blackness of Acheron’s hood.

    Acheron backhanded the man while the others scrambled away.

     He picked the man up by his collar, and shoved him into the arms of another one, making them both stumble.

     They cowered beneath a gaze they couldn’t see, their imaginations making it all the more dread.

      “Peace, children. We are near the end of our journey.

“Refrain from desperate outbursts. They serve no purpose now, and they will not help you. 

       “Your souls will abide in this realm, forever.”

       He could almost see their spirits breaking, and hear the sigh of resigned relief that as bad as this was, they were not in pain or burning.

        “What happens when we’re through the gates, and you leave us?” one asked.

       “That has never been my concern.”

       After a brief silence, a woman approached and  spoke to him.

       “Would you like to know?”

       He was surprised at the question, and realized that he’d do anything to stop paddling this accursed ferry through the rank, perpetual gloom that clung to the Styx like a needy child.

          “I think…I would.”

She smiled up at him. “My name’s Amira.”

Chapter 4: A Tired Ending, A New Beginning

       Amira came back through the gates, walking towards the ferry.

      When led away in chains, Acheron gave her one last look, but she couldn’t read his expression. 

      Regret? Gratitude? 

      She shivered, rubbing the coins in her robe pocket together as a distraction that she’d sent him to die.

      He wanted that.

      No, he wanted to stop rowing.

      No, he wanted his freedom.

      On it went, and soon there was too much crosstalk in her mind. She stopped walking, and took in the scene before her eyes.

      The river kept flowing, and the dark, bleak boat skimmed the small waves smacking against the sides.

      The gates closed, and a fetid breeze from inside the dark temple gagged her, covering her mouth and nose with the new black, heavy hooded robe some grinning thing gave her. Defeating the urge to retch, she got in the boat, centered herself for balance, then picked up the oar.

Pushing off took some effort. The scarlet-black water was silty and chunky with things she wouldn’t look to examine.

        As she began her journey upriver her skin began to itch and burn. 

       She fought back a pang of panic, and setting down the oar a moment, she scratched the most urgent ones.

       The skin under her now lengthy, darkening nails sizzled and dripped.

       The panic rose anew. 

       “W-w-what is this?”

       The river is claiming you for taking away Acheron. 

        “No! No! He wanted to leave you. I only told him what he already knew, but he’s the one who decided!”

         The skin on her hands was coated in warts and calluses, as if she’d been rowing a long time. The pain in them was rising, but she couldn’t drop the oar.        

“Stop it!”

         You didn’t see him as he was beneath the robes.

          We shall make you as Acheron.

          One must prove worthy of the ferryman’s oar.            

Black Calliope

by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

 Orphaned and abused, Eric and his little sister Diane decided to run away when (once again) the foster parents opened the doors to their rooms and helped themselves.

    In the aftermath, sore and wrathful, Eric came up with a plan.

    That night, as the foster parents slept, they did everything right.

    When they left they took the knives with them.

The hot nights on the run took their toll, and thievery was not their strength, so they took to begging, and took what came with it as summer turned inexorably into winter.

*******************

   The winter night was foggy when Eric and Diane were done begging on the streets.

    Diane had been pushed down, and Eric was punched when he tried to defend her.

   The day only got longer as their feet were sore trying to catch up with what dignity they had left.

   Today, there’d been enough money for them to eat. 

   The cook and waitress brought their meals to the alley, not wanting them to stink up the place.

   They were too hungry to care.

                                                        ***************

    Eric knew the ground would be wet from the fog, so he lined their sleeping space with the rags they found to keep out the dampness, and pulled Diane close to keep her warm. 

     Her frailty was a liability in the streets, and offers had been made, but Eric was a staunch defender and had to grow up fast. Diane’s nature wasn’t as hardened yet, but she came to see the practicality of her brother’s way of thinking. 

     She didn’t have to worry, she just had to do what he said.

     Over time, her reluctance to harm others slowly dissolved into quiet, feral self preservation.

     They were safe here in the abandoned amusement park. 

     There was only one security guard who only left the booth to stretch his legs, and he had no idea they were there.

      Next to their sleeping space, a broken, rusted calliope with warped wood and chipped painted animals, splintery benches for those with no desire to grab the brass ring, and pitted, pockmarked clown faces stood as a sad testimony to happier times Eric and Diane had never experienced.

      She imagined what it would be like to ride one, just once.

      Settling down, and settling against each other for warmth, her brother’s arm around her, Diane was soon asleep. 

      And though she seldom dreamed, she dreamed tonight.

                                                           ******************

      The ponies…didn’t look like that.

      She walked toward the calliope, its lights diffused by the fog.

      It began to slowly move, and the grinding noise made her stop and cover her ears.

      As she watched, the music started, its speed matching the slow wheeling. At first it sounded more like a dirge trying to be festive.

     The music…is not right. I have to tell the ticket man.

     There was no ticket man.

      I can get on for free?

      She moved toward it again, taking her hands off her ears as the music brightened and the horses began to move.

     It looks like fun.

     A voice called her, but she didn’t recognize it.

     I can ride for free now.

     The voice again, but she couldn’t see who was calling her.

     A pink horse with a white mane was in front of her, and its bright blue eye seemed to follow her as she got closer.

     The stirrup’s rust scraped her bare sole as it wobbled, but she managed to get into the dusty saddle.

     Again the voice. Louder this time. Closer.

     But the horse was moving now, and she grabbed the frayed reins as she looked around, and the voice faded. 

      As the horse ran and leaped in its slot, Diane began to laugh, and all the other children on the other horses began to laugh with her.

      The horse moved even faster, and the voice fell farther behind.

      That was good. She didn’t like when it called her. 

      It knew her name, and that scared her.

      She was glad when it was gone.

      And laughing, she let go of the frayed reins, and threw her arms out and her head back, and let the bright, festive, frantic music take over.

      Free of the daily, earthly darkness, she screamed with delight.

                                                     ****************

      Eric woke up, realizing Diane was no longer with him.

      He called her name and got no answer.

      He got up to search for her, and called again and again.

      But the fog was thicker than before, getting denser as he walked toward the calliope. 

      He saw her just before it obscured his vision.

      She was getting on one of the faded, broken, warped, dilapidated horses.

      He saw her hike herself into the saddle, and began to run toward her, calling louder.

He stopped when he saw the calliope was moving, then started running again.

One last time he called, the tears welling.

      He saw when she took the worn reins into her frail little hands, and her body spasmed and jerked her nose and eyes began to bleed, and she threw her arms out to her sides, and screamed.

      The scream faded as the calliope rumbled low as it circled faster and faster.

In helpless fright he watched as each time the horse passed him, Diane became translucent, and began to dissipate into the fog.

He was still on his knees, sobbing into his hands as the night shadows and quiet returned to mock his grief.

A Portrait of Death

by smithaw50, posted in BLOGGING 101, Uncategorized

 Part 1: A Late Arrival 

    The night sky was obscured by a hard rainfall.

      No thunder, but it felt imminent.

      Everything had been laid out for my guest, but he was late, and given the fact that our meal had gone cold and gelid, I stopped expecting him and enjoyed a cup of dark red wine that held a gem of amber firelight in its ruby hues.

      I sipped, savoring it, and was drifting toward sleep when the knock came, rousing me out of a drifting dream state.

     He’d used the heavy metal bar curved through the jaws of a badly sculpted gargoyle knocker I’d taken a fancy too and purchased; it looked more irritated than menacing, which is how I felt at receiving guests in general.

    But all of the servants were in bed, and in a flash of beneficence I decided to let them sleep, and went to answer the door myself.

                                                           *************

    He’d taken a human face for this session, an affectation for which I was grateful, but it was the shimmering black robe that caught my attention. For all the millenia he’d worn it, it wasn’t tattered, frayed, dirty, or worn.

     It seemed made of liquid obsidian, and rippled with his movements, seeming to surround him instead of adorn him, for when he sat down it didn’t spread out.

    “No scythe?” I asked.

     He grinned. “Not needed. It’s symbolism, mostly.”

    “Then how do you…?”

    “It’s fine, don’t worry. Are you prepared to start?”

    “W-well,” I stammered a bit, “it’s just that people are used to seeing you with it.”

    “There are countless pictures of me holding one, but tell me, do you really want to do what everyone else has done?”

    I started to answer, but the question in and of itself gave me pause.

    “I…I suppose not.”

    “Good. Are you prepared?”

    “Yes.” Then I clarified. “To paint you, that is, not to…”

    Again the small grin. “Of course.”

                                                      **************

    He posed himself just so, the gentle hues of candlelight reflecting off his robe as if underwater, clear and flowing, not obscured or murky at all.

    There was pristine quality to him that belied his calling.

    I chuckled as I sketched the outline. “Flowing robes.”

    “Pardon?”

    “Oh,” I said, flattered he was even listening, “I said, ‘flowing robes.’ It’s a term used to describe–”
    “I’m aware of its use. I just didn’t hear you.”

    “Well, the thing is, yours actually does, or seems to…”
    He didn’t answer, leaving my unspoken question drift into the air.

    In the distance, I heard the first roll of thunder herald the storm.

Part 2: An Early Departure

    The mix of the wine and lateness of the hour, and the patter of rain and low thunder began to wear on me.

    I thought I saw drops of darkness start at his sleeve, falling and coming to rest on the floor like ink, and slowly spread.

    I blinked, put down the brush, and rubbed my eyes, thinking it to be an illusion, but when I opened them again, they were still there, now drifting toward me.

   I ignored it, and looked at Death’s face.

   Nothing had changed from the time he walked in; his skin hadn’t paled, his countenance was still, and there was an emptiness to his gaze that brought to mind this was more of an annoyance he was doing as a favor to me than an honor. 

   Indeed, it was.

   The obsidian color never lost its shine as more of his robe dripped and pooled, spreading across the floor like an ebon fog.

   I was rooted to the spot, no longer painting.

   “W-w-what’s happening to me? I don’t understand…”

    Again, the grin. “The longer you paint me, the more of me you capture, I also capture you.”

   “But if  you take me, the painting will be unfinished!” I heard the plea of rising panic in my voice as the fog coiled around me and began its slow ascent.

   As the thunder rolled, closer than before, lightning flashed and the rain fell harder.

   His obsidian robe and human guise sloughed from him, leaving only his alabaster bones.

   He rose and walked toward me. 

   “Do you not yet understand, dear painter, that all the portraits of me were finished by me?”

  The flowing obsidian was cool against my flesh as the brush and paints fell, and my vision, as its color began to match his robe, was undisturbed by starlight, save for the amber firelight suddenly captured in the void of his eyes, and on the blade of his shimmering scythe.

Transitions

by smithaw50, posted in BLOGGING 101, fantasy, Uncategorized

 I was bent over her, offering what small comforts I could in her final moments, but yes, I was also curious as well when I looked into her eyes.

  They were yet beautiful, and still full of life, but restless despite my murmuring of vague and pointless reassurances she’d be fine, when she was so clearly not; they couldn’t seem to focus on my face.

   As I was the one responsible for her current state, I wasn’t so sure I’d look at me either.

   She’d lost a lot of blood and was starting to tremble, her right hand squeezing mine in a desperate attempt to anchor herself to the living world as my tears fell on her cheeks to mingle with her own.

   I called her name.

   For a moment, it brought her back from wherever she was, and she stopped trembling.

   “Help me,” she whispered through dry, cracked, bloody lips.

   “I want to help you, but you have to choose. Now.”

   The scent of her leaking blood was intoxicating, and as much as I knew what I would have chosen for her, it had to be her decision, and hers alone.

   She struggled, blinking rapidly, and breathing became harder.

   Her wounds filled and emptied with red life with each heartbeat, and I trembled myself from the sheer effort it took to keep my focus.

   Again, the squeezed hand for something to anchor her and keep her safe from the unknown realm of spirits.

    “I…can’t…”

    I smoothed her hair from her forehead and pulled her close.

    “Do you trust me, then?” 

    “Yesss.”

                                                     **********

    Despite my frantic need, the bite was tender, the herald fangs well placed, compensating for the curve to fit snug into the vein that would give me back my own life, cursed as it was.

    I sobbed with the pleasure and gratitude of the warmth that filled me, pulling the wasted nourishment away from the holes in her body that spilled it on the ground.

    Holding her with both my hands on her back, braced in my arms, she shuddered against me as I worked. Her loud gasp of finality was music in my ear as she slumped against me, and her nails scratched my forearms.

     I felt her life slip, and bit deeper in a final bid to make this work. It was selfish and cruel on my part, but I couldn’t let her go yet. 

     Caught up in the sensations, I closed my own eyes and gave myself over to our moment.

                                                    ***********

     I don’t know how long we stayed in that terrible, tender tableau of damnation, but her skin was cold against my cheek when I felt her lips move to give me a tender kiss and whisper my name.

     My eyes opened, boring into hers, looking for fear, questions, loathing, and horror at what she’d allowed herself to become. 

     There was only a calm acceptance, her eyes as clear and lovely as ever, scanning my face.

     “You came back to me.” 

“I never left, you fool.” She nestled on my shoulder.

I suppose, all things considered, she didn’t.

No, They’re Not Asleep

by smithaw50, posted in BLOGGING 101, Uncategorized

 The things that can scent you in the dark, that track you by the smell of your fearful blood, and the things that feast on the small, red, stringy, buffet that is you, don’t take their rest by day, as you would hope, or once believed.

   No, dear child, their thoughts churn, and their dreams give them power. 

   Their lack of humanity robs them of all innocence, and there is no divine judgment on their soulless bodies.

    They’ve already made plans for tonight, and you will never know when your part of town, or  all of your farms, forests, festivals, and sabbaths will be a day of bloody carnage and a Valhallian feast for the damned.

                                                        ************

     Sometimes, they fight among themselves with a great slaughter, but the diminished ranks are always replenished.

     It’s neither quick nor pretty, this refilling. 

    Some are quite willing to die, and some are so wretched they will beg to belong, no matter the cost.

    Others will be turned, and still others, turned away, but those are seldom left alive.

    These plans, at times, have brought undue and unwanted attention.

    Those who bring it are willing to risk the consequences, and bigger losses ensue.

    The ruination is glorious in scope, and the air smells of wasted humanity proportional to the scope of the war. 

    They’re stupid, fragile things, these humans, but they’re sense of self cannot be denied. A rebellious, vain, and silly lot, they are not inept at fighting their enemies. They will cry, and mourn and wail, but they will not stop fighting all the way to their own demise.

   But soon, their end must come.

   Be there to witness it.
   Be there to help it along.

   Be there tonight, child. 

   No, they’re not asleep. 

   They never are.

The Passing: Shiftings (Chapter 29)

by smithaw50, posted in BLOGGING 101, Uncategorized

The walk to the Cancelers Palace took the better part of the day, and we arrived at the gate in the late afternoon, when the sting of the summer sun began to ease.

Tyrel removed his robe as the day waned, and I took a quick look at his physique, pleased with what I saw, if uninvolved; it would not do for a Canceler to be unfit, given the dangers involved.

Caution, Little Mother.

I smiled and felt my face heat; it seemed the spirit of my deceased familiar was now privy to my thoughts.

**************

The palace grounds were immaculate, attended by women in peasant garb, their hair tied, their gloves tight, and the face nettings stifling and concealing all but their eyes.

“Is this for their protection, Tyrel? It seems a bit cruel.”

“Bees thrive here, Tina. So, yes, in a way, it is, but it’s also for our protection. A cast spell that’s misunderstood because of the netting can go awry; it eliminates the possibility of any threat within the walls.”

They knew what they were doing, these men. I seethed a bit, but as there was nothing I could do to stop it, I refocused on the task at hand.

In other circumstances, I would have asked Tyrel to tour the garden in the late day sun, and also in other circumstances, I would have gladly done so with Tyrel. As it was, Abdiel was holding fast against the approach of the Cancelers’ collective power now that we were close enough, and though I didn’t feel any different, I still inquired.

“Abdiel?”

We are well, Tina.

I was relieved to hear it, but he was subtly, frequently, almost…..reluctantly, shifting inside of me still, restless and agitated. I was having trouble keeping my balance, and let him know.

It can’t be helped, Tina. They’re trying to find us…there are wards here, too.

I walked beside Tyrel. “What did you do, lead us into a trap? Abdiel says there are wards…”

“I didn’t know about these, Tina. I swear.”

I wasn’t ready to take him at his word: “You didn’t feel all this power around us?”

“You didn’t either, save for Abdiel.”

“These are your people, Tyrel. The fact that they deceived you could mean you’ve been away too long.”

“I don’t know. Things definitely felt different the last time I was here.”

My mind almost burst with questions, but I quieted them; too much was yet unknown, and if his people changed things and became unfamiliar in his absence, he was just as vulnerable if not more so.

“Were you gone too long, then?”

It scared me that he considered my question before answering, “I don’t know.”

********************

The watchman was all business, and Tyrel was hard pressed to think on his feet.

“Is this your prisoner?”

“Yes.”

“Her hands are bound, but if she has magic, she can still cast. Why didn’t you gag her?”

“I took her magic.”

The watchman oozed skepticism, but Tyrel held his cool and kept his expression neutral. The man was weighing the validity of the response, considering the source.

“You are well regarded here, Canceler, I meant no disrespect.”

“None was taken, watchman. You fulfill your duties well.”

The gate opened. “Enter, Canceler Tyrel. Keep your prisoner silent.”

************************

I kept thinking something was wrong; they should have been able to detect my magic, bindings or not. Abdiel claimed to be stronger than before, and if I could feel him, they should have sensed his presence. Our presence.

I told Tyrel.

“I managed to put a shield around you, Tina. It was the only way to get you inside.”

I hadn’t felt it at all. That concerned me even more; there was a subtlety to the art of Canceling then, one he hadn’t revealed before.

“What happens now?” I asked.

“I have to present you to the Council of Elders.”

“Won’t they know you’re protecting me?”

“I don’t know, Tina. As I said, something’s off, and I want to to stay to see what it is.”

“Won’t they punish you as well?”

He lost his patience: “Dammit, girl! You’re like a toddler with all these questions.” He lowered his voice, regaining control. “I’ve only just returned. I don’t know what they’ll do, but we’ll find out together and face it, whatever it may be.

“I promise.”

Abdiel stirred, but it was Zephyr’s voice I heard. I will shield us all, Little Mother.

The Passing: Inner Voids (Chapter 28)

by smithaw50, posted in BLOGGING 101, Uncategorized

I woke to the sound of Tyrel singing to himself, and the smell of roasting rabbit.

The sun was just breaking the horizon, and a few cirrus clouds fanned out like horse tails across the sky, lit underneath with the blended pinks and blues of an ending night and a new day.

I propped myself up on an elbow and rubbed at crusty eyes. “When did you get back?”

“Yesterday. I couldn’t wake you, and I had no need to, so I let you sleep. Bandits would have picked the place clean.”

“Abdiel was guarding things, and spirits don’t sleep.”

“No, but they do disappear.”

Tell the boy we are here, and we never left your side.

“Abdiel said to tell you, boy, that they are here, and never left me.”

He frowned at that, and I couldn’t suppress my grin. Sometimes Tyrel could be so full of himself, he needed a little deflating.

“I heard him.” He didn’t rise to the bait and say more about calling him a boy, but what he did say turned the tables, and it was my turn to worry. He stopped tending the rabbit, stood up, and directed his words to me without looking at me.

“It’s best we not get too familiar, Tina. I know how I am, and I will not have you or the spirits you command belittle me.” He cut off a slice of the rabbit and brought it over to me on a piece of hollowed out bread. “Do we understand each other?”

I was surprised at how much the words stung, softly spoken as they were. but ever since I met him, there was no moment of levity, not even when the spirits took themselves to safety.

Now, it wasn’t just them at risk if he couldn’t persuade the Cancelers to help us find the traitors. They’d simply cast the spirits into the Void and kill us, or strip Tyrel of his power if he violated any such code that forbade him to help me.

And if we find out they are only storing magic there and not destroying it, how will we counter such power then?

“Abdiel?”

We are here, and all is well. The long rest has strengthened you.

“And Tyrel?”

We can withstand him now, but we will see about the collective.

“And what of Zephyr?”

“I am here, Little Mother. The Canceler threw my body into the fire.”

“I’m sorry for that. I wanted to…”

“No need for sorrow. He only hastened that which would become of it much later.”

I couldn’t argue with the logic. “Can you get a new body?”

“I will rest for a time with Abdiel, then we ‘ll see.”

I turned my attention to Tyrel: “What happened at the palace?”

“They’re willing to meet with you.”

“Meet me?”

“There was no other way; I told them that I took your power and bound you here, and I needed to question you further about the rumors of a Traitors Guild because they were hiding people and creatures that could harm us.”

It took a moment to gather my senses, coming to grips that he’d been so openly stupid.

When I found my voice again, I asked. “Are they going to torture me?”

We won’t let them.

“They’ll cast all of you into the Void, Abdiel.”

Then we will harvest as many of them as we can to join us.

I shook off the bravado of his reply, though he’d made me curious.

“Tyrel…?”

“I don’t know, Tina. I don’t think they’ll let me question you alone, but I can’t say how far they’ll take it if you don’t answer me. They’ll be able to tell if you’re lying.”

“Is that why you told them what we planned?”

“I told them my part in it. Nothing more. They don’t know you’re not bound here, or tied up, or even dead. I can’t leave you here, since you asked me to join you, though you had the spirits to protect you.

“If I tell you they will know if you’re lying, don’t you think they’d know if I lie too?”

“You might have told me that, since our entire plan was based on deceiving them.”

He was pacing, taking off his hood and running his fingers through lengthening hair that was now at his shoulders. “That’s just it, that wasn’t a power they possessed before.”

He stopped pacing, and came back to stand in front of me. I felt Abdiel tug, but he didn’t shrink away.

“Something is about to happen, Tina,” Tyrel said. “There’s going to be a collision of power. The gathering of strength, spells, coin, spirits and blood all point to it.

“And we’re going to be in the middle of it all.”

The Passing: Reclamation (Chapter 27)

by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

In the cool evening breeze, the blood felt warm on my hand.

Tyrel had gathered enough firewood for me to build one if I needed to, and I was grateful to him now for doing it, as the night promised to be long and difficult. I’d forgotten how quickly the weather changes in the high places, but I’d have to wait now until the ritual was done.

I comforted Zephyr with my other hand, stroking his molting feathers as his bloated body gradually regained its shape as he rested on my lap. His beak stayed open, but his eyes were closed as his life faded.

My throat grew tight, but I had to steel myself for what was to come. “Thank you, Zephyr.”

He was beyond responding now, but the tension went out of him as he shifted his body to seek what warmth was left in me against his own gathering night.

**************

The cut in my palm began to tingle, and a deeper heat suffused my body as Abdiel began the transfer. There was a constant, subtle pressure against the cut as if another hand was pressed against mine.

Both sensations grew stronger.

“Abdiel?”

I’m here, Tina. They are eager to leave, but I can’t let them overwhelm you. There won’t be enough of the raven to bury.

I looked back at Zephyr. He was deflating, his eyes sunken, his beak working, though he wasn’t trying to speak.

“I don’t know that he cares about that, Abdiel.”

No, but you do.

I kept silent, somewhat surprised at his insight; though his own nature was dark and prone to harm others, he couldn’t override my own. Gran would not have passed her lore and power to me if he could. It was good to know she’d put something in place so there would be no possession of my character.

And he had the right of it; I would not leave Zephyr to the elements and scavengers.

“Thank you for that, Abdiel.”

Relax, Tina.

I shrugged the tension out of my shoulders and rolled my neck, took a couple of deep breaths, and braced myself as best I could under the circumstances.

The heat was pleasant, the tingling not so much, but the whole of it carried an undercurrent of power, and I realized now why Zephyr had swollen; they’d grown in power while they were inside him. In fact, it likely consumed him.

I was supposed to incubate them, but I hadn’t. His death would be a problem because there’d be no way to get in to the Cancelers Palace undetected. I was getting all of them back, but stronger. If I couldn’t control them, they’d go out into the world if the Cancelers didn’t stop them.

Tempted as I was to voice my concern to Abdiel, the others would hear, and I didn’t know if they’d submit to him after that; his authority depended on our working together, and if I expressed doubt in my ability, I’d put doubt in them about his.

I took the pain. If they started to rebel, I’d go in further toward the wards, but so far it was going well.

*****************

It took hours, and by the end of it I was too hot and sweaty to need a fire. and Zephyr’s cooling corpse was flat and stiffening as I saw his own spirit leave.

We are all here now, Tina.

“I know,” I told him, as I wiped the latest round of retching from my lips, shaking and sick.

I took Zephyr’s body off my lap. I’d bury him tomorrow.

I was also losing the fight against sleep as my body had gone way past its limits.

“Guard me, Abdiel.” I stretched out on the ground itself, my pack for a pillow, and sleep came like an invading army.

Always, little mother.

Little Mother? Zephyr had called me that…