Uncategorized – Page 11 – Nightshade Stories

Trial by Combat

July 7, 2017 by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

He sat on that enormous throne, cloaked in inky shadows, gazing down at me with eyes full of starlight, silver-white, penetrating much more than darkness.

I couldn’t stop trembling under that patient, terrible gaze.

“Do you know why I summoned you?” His deep voice reverberated in the high ceiling and bounced of the stone walls surrounding us.

“N-n-no.” I wanted to say more, to protest, but I was shaking so much I didn’t want to risk stammering too. I put the tip of my tongue on the roof of my mouth and swallowed what I wanted to say.

“They told me that you wish to leave. Is that true?”

The lie was on my tongue, but not before the blush was on my cheek.

I said nothing.

He leaned forward, terrible visage close to me, putrid and scarred, and th oozing a pungent liquid that had ribbons of blood laced through it.

“Have I not been a good master?”

“No master of another man, no matter how beneficent, is good.”

He raised a brow, and let out a wheezing laugh.

“I’ve always admired you for not going down without a fight. But rest assured, Laras, you are well on the way down.”

“I’ve heard enough,” I said, straightening despite the pain in my back, enduring the pain of the whip scars that broke open and wept, hissing as it trailed across my skin.

Venom.

“It wasn’t enough I called you ‘king,’ but you wanted ‘master’ as well. I can’t give you that.”

The pain brought me to my knees, in spite of my will. “I won’t give you that.”

I passed out.

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

Perfumed ministrations roused me, and the sound of muted flutes.

He left me alive.

Someone was watching me, coming into focus, thinly clad, with large eyes that observed me with a blend of curiosity and the desire to kill.

“Your Highness?”

“Nailah, to you.”

She pulled me up by the thick braid I wore, and I braced for the pain, but there was none.

“I begged him for your traitorous life, Fihr. And because he refuses me nothing, he granted it.”

She wrapped my braid around her fist, and kissed me hard.

I tried to break it, but she grabbed me and held harder.

I gave in, and against my better judgment, kissed her back; her moan of triumph led to other things, and my first waking hours were occupied for a time.

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

They came for me in the morning, not bothering to knock, startling the princess as they plucked me from her bed like a feather, struck me to the floor, stomped me into it, and carried me out to the barracks.

A test, and I failed.

The day was full of rigorous training, and I was the target; fighting to the point of numbness, I prevailed over most of them, not having been trained in their way. I drew more blood than I spilled, which angered them more.

The sun was westering when I cried out; “How much more do you need from me?”

Call me ‘master.’ Say it, and know peace once again.

Every part of me hurt, every heartbeat an effort, every breath a trip uphill with a large stone to keep in front of me. He wanted it at every cost, and it would cost me nothing.

And everything.

I shook my head.

They began shouting curses at me now, but with a glimmer of grudging admiration in their eyes; nevertheless, they would redouble their efforts to break me now, before sunset.

I was fighting on instinct and adrenaline now, and soon there would be nothing left.

I was bleeding, and never felt the cuts, pummeled, and never felt the blows, but I remained standing, shaking on legs that wanted nothing more than to kneel, the word ‘master’ thick on my tongue like sour ale mixed with blood, and maybe a tooth or two.

I spat, and with that, my wavering ended.

I would rather die.

The sun was a red rind on the horizon when the last form broke from the ranks, moving unlike any of the others.

She was thinly clad, but well armed, and moved like a hunting cat in her prime.

I’d made love to her repeatedly only hours before. “Nailah…”

She was crying now, tears glimmering in the crepuscular gloom.

She took her stance. “Yield, Fihr; don’t be a fool. Yield now, and come back to bed. Say the word.”

Say the word, and be the most favored among them all.

Say the word, and know the comfort of a woman’s sheathe. I will let her have you, and give you men to fight your battles, and women to do your bidding. She is but the jewel in the crown I offer you.

“YIELD!” she screamed.

I saw the soldiers around us gaping in disbelief at my hesitation, saw the silver -white stars begin dotting the cobalt sky. Those eyes from the throne…

I heard the wind soughing among the trees.

Saw the last of the red sun’s rays reflected in the water on her cheeks, making them look bloody.

The memory of her scent, her arms, her kiss, and the things she did with her lips and hands flooded back into my mind.

It was so simple to say, and no one would know.

“Yield, please.” She sobbed this time, not wanting to kill me.

He was behind it, I knew, as surely as I knew my name.

“Yield.” Her voice was lowering with resignation as I hesitated.

Drop the sword, and all is forgiven…

“Yield, my darling. Please.”

My own tears hot against my cheeks, I shook my head, and took my final stance.

Her cry of rage at my rejection tore my heart, and with all the last- stand vengeance of the defeated firing her eyes with hate, she charged.

A Choice of Poisons

July 4, 2017July 4, 2017 by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

They came in vast numbers to slaughter what remained of us.
For too long we harried them on every front, and every time they stepped on our necks, we seemed to grow new heads: here, a smashing of their flank as we split to take the vanguard and the rear; there, an explosion that killed them by the hundreds.
We were as children splashing away at the tide.
It all served to stir them to a frothing, raving mass of bloodthirsty vengeance seekers; they were as relentless in their desire to kill us as we were to survive.
In time, they resorted to other means: a dark magic where venom and blood combined to make them practically invincible.
The problem was they had the venom, and we had the blood. They plundered it from us and stored it for themselves, until their magicians could sustain its combined power and keep it from fading. They worked at it day and night.
From my high vantage inside the fortress, I could see the serpent army, the Ormarr, as we called them, spread out across the fields below, their bodies glowing with a faint, eldritch light.
The sword at my side brought no comfort, but there was another way.
“Stand aside,” I told the gatekeeper.
“Are you daft, boy? You want us to open the gates and throw flowers in their path?”
I looked at General Sarris, his craggy face mapped with scars and an old black eye patch over his left socket, a testimony to his many fierce and bloody campaigns.
“No, General. That was not my request. I said, ‘Stand aside.’
Seeing my calm demeanor, he considered me. In the silence between us I could hear the faint clank of weapons as men shifted, the crackling sizzle of nearby torches, and the dull murmurs of the dull creatures below us, bobbing and rocking like lanterns on a ship.
“I’m all that stands between these men and death,” I said. “The longer you wait, the stronger they grow.”
“Ator, have you forgotten your first night here?”
“I remember all too well, Sarris.”
****************
The camp fires were dying, and little by little the sounds of snores and released gas joined the night creatures’ cacophony, drowning out the small, crackling flames.
A seasoned soldier eyed me openly, not challenging, merely assessing.
   “Do I pass your examination, sir?”
   He chortled, and came toward me, hands out. “Not looking to fight, boy, just want to give you some advice.”
   I nodded, but kept him in view.
   “When you’re out here, boy, waiting for demons to fight, no one in the rich towns cares that you don’t sleep at all, as long as they sleep through the night.
   “They don’t care that you can’t comfort your daughter after a nightmare, as long as they don’t have to face the living ones they created.
   “They don’t care if you have to die, as long as they get to live. You remember that, boy, and you’ll be all right out here.”
*******************
“You shouldn’t fight them alone,” Sarris said.
“I’m the only one who can take the venom.”
“You’re immune to the venom, true; not to being torn apart.
“I’ll be all right.”
“Well that much is true, boy, because you’re not going out there.”
I sighed, looked back out at the animated field of unnatural blasphemy, and again entreated them.
“Stand aside.”

Illusions of Childhood

July 1, 2017April 8, 2021 by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

I kissed Melinda good night after the bedtime story, and closed the door.
On my way to my own room, I heard her talking. I thought she was talking to herself, but she wasn’t.
I ran back when I heard her cry out. Not a scream exactly, but the sound wasn’t pleasant.
The door was locked; she never did that.
I went to smash it down when the lock clicked, and it opened. I wanted to rush in, but it was quiet now. Perhaps she had a nightmare, but I’d only just finished the story. She couldn’t have gone to sleep that fast.
Her nightlight was on the opposite wall by the door, not by her bedside where it would disturb her sleep.
When I entered the room, I could see eyes glowing in the dark, the green of early spring leaves.
“That was a nice story.” It spoke with Melinda’s voice, but there was a deeper tone that raised the hair on my neck and arms. Fear began to close me in a fist, but I couldn’t afford to let it.
“Who are you?”
It laughed my daughter’s laugh.
“I’m the fairy in the book.”
“What? Look, I don’t know what’s going on…”
It tilted my daughter’s head, regarding me sideways. “You don’t?”
I shook my head, forgetting it was dark, but apparently whatever it was could see.
“She called me.”
“What?”
It sighed the way she sighed when Melinda grew impatient with me.
“When you were reading, she wished she was a fairy. I answered her wish.”
“All girls wish they were fairies and princesses; nothing happens when the book ends.”
It laughed. “Especially where they live happily ever after. You know about that, don’t you?”
I said nothing.
It sat up, and I stepped back, cursing myself as I did, speaking to cover up the fact that I’d flinched.
“Why don’t you leave her alone? She’s just a kid.”
“No, she isn’t.” It turned on the light. The thing in the bed was not my daughter, though it was her size. “She never was.”
“Look, I—“
“Shhh.” It put its fingers to her lips, and I couldn’t speak.
“She is a portal, father. That’s why her mother died; she was the gateway, but Melinda is the key. “Allow me to explain. We ruled these lands before the Age of Men, and we waited and watched, made ourselves no threat to you because we saw the destruction you cause. That it’s of your own choosing means you’re incapable of helping yourselves, so you’re unfit to keep it.”
“You can’t have it back; we’ll fight.”
It laughed again. “You can fight other men. Not this.”
“And what is this?”
“A comeback, of sorts. Portals have been placed throughout the world. Girls and boys.”
“What are you planning to do?”
It smiled. “In time, father. In time.”
“And Melinda?”
“Her name is Shaylee. And as you know, I’m Alysia.”
In the book, fairy names were linked to abilities, locations, and powers; that might prove to be the key to breaking the hold.
“What happens to these children, Alysia? What are you going to do with my child?”
“We use them to make things happen. Things that further our ends.”
“Like what?”
It smiled again, shaking a finger at me.
I straightened as best I could. “Stop with the riddles, and let go of my daughter.”
“She’s not your daughter, but my time here is at an end. I’ll return her illusion to you.”
The glow faded, and Melinda sat there, catatonic at first.
I ran to her, put my arms around her, and she snapped out of it.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, princess. You’re all right.”
“I had a bad dream. Something kept looking at me. It had scary eyes.” She was trembling with fear, and me with suppressed anger at myself for being afraid too.
“Daddy’s here. I’ll stay here with you until you go back to sleep, okay?”
“Okay.” Her voice was muffled by my arms. I let her go, tucked her back in and kissed her cheek again.
“I’ll be right here.” I patted her knee, and left my hand there to anchor both of us back in reality.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, Melinda.”
“Could you read me another story?”
…the illusion of her…

Lyra’s Harp

July 1, 2017July 1, 2017 by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

The manacles were tight, chafing my wrists, my flesh lined like dried beach mud, blood pooling on their rusted edges before making red rivulets down.
Flies still drank from the wounds, surely infecting me.
Things sloshed and grated inside where they’d broken me.
My tongue kept running over what was left of my teeth.
The guards carried me drooping between them like a prize buck.
Broken indeed.
I tried to gain my balance so I could walk and they let me go and tripped me; I fell on my face, hurting my already swollen jaw, deciding at that moment to stop struggling.
They dragged me now, pulling me up by the chain between the manacles, making me pump my legs to get my feet under me, but they pulled too fast.
The cool marble slithered against my kneecaps as the draft in the high-ceilinged hall chilled my sweat.
I shivered.
“Where are you taking me?” I slurred, my voice little more than a raspy, gravelly whisper.
They didn’t answer.

*************
Decked in opulent gold and white, the Hall was festive in appearance, full of light and color.
After the drear of the dungeon it hurt my eyes, so I averted them.
The sound of laughter mocked even as the guests moved away from the stench and appearance of me, lest the vermin that burrowed into my rags leap onto new, expensive sources of nourishment.
On the raised dais was Lyra, the royal harpist, with skin of honey wrapped in cloth of gold, with a single thick, raven plait of hair adorning her left shoulder like an ebony laurel.
A delicate, intricate armband of gold and rubies rested on her bicep, the jewels refracting the candlelight into sanguine embers.
Her slender arms seemed to ripple the very air itself as she played the large, gleaming harp crafted specially for her skill.
I knew not the song, but its melody was high and clear, sweet and haunting.
I knew not if I cried through swollen eyes, knew not if her beauty inspired the song, or the song enhanced her beauty.
A guard’s rough fingers burrowed into the lice-laden scruff on my chin and tugged my head down.
“Avert your eyes, you craven cur. She is not for such as you.”
I tried to speak. “We were—“
A fist hammered my right cheek and another warm streamer of blood dribbled down my lips to my chin to spatter the immaculate tile beneath me.
I dimly saw her react, infinitesimal though it was; a small hitch of breath, a quick sideways glance of alarm, covered as quickly as it came.
I didn’t know if anyone saw it other than me, but for me it was water in the desert.
Betrothed…we were betrothed.

************
2)

The king’s priest held up a staying hand, and they hit me no more.
The chief councilor standing on the king’s right smirked as the guard grabbed my hair and made me look up.
“That is enough,” the priest said.
Lyra had ceased playing, but would not look at me; I couldn’t blame her, though I wanted her to more than anything.
The guests were watching too, curious, having no context of what came before this bizarre turn of events.
I was bearing the scrutiny of the entire hall in a defeated state not knowing, or caring, what happened to me now.
Finally the king spoke. “It is my understanding the two of you were to be wed? Is that right?”
I dared not speak; somehow I found the strength to nod though a shooting pain seemed to set my head on fire. I knew brains could swell from beatings. I wondered if that happened to me. I had some time to figure that if Lyra wasn’t looking at me, it was more than she could bear.
I am grotesque.
“Is that something you still desire?”
“Yes, your Majesty.” It took more effort than it should have just to speak; my broken teeth were mangling my words.
“Why? You do know I had your harpist in my bed?”
I hadn’t known, and I guess I showed it.
Lyra…she had no choice. He made her do it.
“She was not a willing participant, but eventually she relented. At least physically. Not that it mattered.”
He leaned forward on his throne, for some reason studying my broken face intently.
“Do you still want her now?”
If I said no he would kill her without a second thought, and I couldn’t live with that more than the fact that he’d dishonored her.
“With all my heart.”
He sat back, smiling. “Fool.”
He said something in the priest’s ear, and I saw his brows arch and his eyes widen.
“Are you sure, majesty?”
“Have you known me to ask you anything twice?”
The priest swallowed, shook his head, and turned to the guards still holding me up by the manacles.
“Bring him.”
Lyra’s face was dawning with a realization that I was still too stunned to see.
The king turned toward her. “To me, harpist.”
Her eyes downcast, she stood, smoothed her skirts and approached the throne, doing obeisance.
“Look upon him.”
Fighting everything in her telling her not to, she did, her eyes glimmering.
The king steepled his fingers under his chin. “She loves you, yet. I wanted to see if she would hesitate, or shut her eyes, or look away. As battered and bloody as you are, she yet looks upon you.”
It was as if the hall had emptied and a storm cloud gathered inside.
He turned to the priest. “Marry them.”
Murmurs of shocked surprise and even some protest rippled outward among the guests.
This was not seemly, by any standards, for a king to do, but the sycophants among them applauded what they thought to be his mercy and generosity.
The priest opened his mouth to protest.
“MARRY THEM!” The king’s long knife was in his hand; anything further would spill the priest’s own blood.
What smattering of applause there’d been came to a dead stop.
The priest flinched back, and his shoulders drooped as he reached for Lyra’s hand.
Squaring her own shoulders, knowing now her fate was sealed to mine, she took it as the guards once again dragged me by the chains, now coated with flesh as well as blood, before the throne. They grunted with effort now as my weight had borne them down but they’d not been told to let me stand.
The priest babbled, droned, incanted.
I heard nothing, saw nothing, and somewhere in the midst of my shame, Lyra’s gentle, calloused hand touched my swollen cheek.
I smelled the sandalwood on her palm, and saw the deep rich red of her painted nails.
In my periphery I saw her profile, head up, eyes front, soldiering for both of us through the humiliation that marked our union. She would not bend before this king, nor break before this court.
“You may kiss the bride.”
The guards looked to the king, who nodded.
They helped me gain my feet, balance me, and the priest put Lyra’s hands in the middle of my flattened palm and broken fingers.
He nodded at me once, then stepped out of the way.
Lyra wiped my mouth with her sleeve, and gave me a light but lingering kiss on the lips.
The king roared at them in rage to execute me, even as my heart seemed transported, even as they snatched me away and dragged me off to butcher me.
Lyra had thought to heal me, and would now be a widow on her wedding day.
Her screaming for them to stop and pleading with the king for mercy he would not grant were the last notes I heard from her in this world.

Children No More

June 30, 2017December 7, 2017 by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

In the late evening light, when shadows lengthened and the realization of what they’d just done began to sink in, the strongest among them laid the logs for the pyre.
By the time they were done, a deep yellow moon filled the sky and the stars played hide and seek among the gold-limned night clouds.
“You’ll light the fire, Elari.”
“Angelus, I can’t.” Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears.
“They’re dead; they’re not coming back.”
“We don’t know that!” She turned her back on him, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her dress.
Angelus almost slapped her, but that had been the Old Way; they’d have been there to stop him from harming, and killing.
Without them, he would have to be better. He wanted to be better.
Indeed, he needed to be, to lead them into this new age they’d so violently embraced.
Elari turned back to him, brave and sadly defiant, like a wilting flower refusing to accept the inevitability that there’d be no rain.
“They were our parents, Angelus. They protected us. Provided for us. Loved us. And this—“ her sweeping arm took in the high pile, “is how we repay them?”
Angelus was not one easily surprised, but Elari’s standing up to him now, speaking as she did, was a new thing. He had the wry thought that things were already improving for her, and she didn’t know it yet.
It was good to see her do this; he would need someone to rule at his side. She was beautiful, and smart. This new fire kindled in her only added to his attraction; he admitted, to his delight, that he was secretly pleased, but this was no time to indulge it.
“They threw your little brother on the fire, Elari. You wept in my arms for hours. Did you forget?”
His quiet words checked her rising fear; she’d opened her mouth to protest, and found no argument.
***************
Her emotions were raw, her eyes sore from weeping, her voice hoarse from pleading, her knees hurt from kneeling, but her father did not relent.
   “The gods call, and we must answer. It is the Old Way, and we honor the gods and our ancestors.”
“A god that calls for the new lives he created to be consumed in such a horrid way? You and mother lay together, and made him. He is only just growing, and he deserves –“
   Her father wheeled on her, and just for an instant, she saw the inner struggle; he buried it with an ease that shocked her, and straightened to his full height, her little brother fidgeting in the tightening embrace.
   “You are out of place, child. Don’t presume to speak to me in such a manner. I will hand you over to the Elders Council, and gladly, if you say another word.”
   The thought came to her, oh-so-tempting, that she would bare her ass to the Council.    The old fools would be so shocked and get so randy they wouldn’t know what to do; she’d seen their surreptitious glances in her direction.
   She stood up, and looked at her father; her words had almost cracked the anvil of his heart, but she’d entreated and abased herself long enough. She simply couldn’t go on.
   Coming toward him, she pried her baby brother from his arms, soothed him, andd took him into the room they shared.
   “I’ll give him back to you for killing,” she said, “when the time comes.”
   When the time came they hunted her with dogs, surrounded her with weapons, anthe squalling infant from her arms.
   She stayed in the forest that night, not caring what happened to her.
   The smell of smoke was faint in the air, the evil god they served making sure she got a whiff of that little body writhing and screaming in the flames.
   She hated her father with all her heart, but there was that moment he almost broke.
   Almost.
*****************
She turned away again, looking at the dark tree line. “No, Angelus. I remember everything.”
“Then you’ll light the fire?” He came to her, put his strong hands on her shoulders; in spite of herself, she leaned against him.
The word was a weight in her throat, and her heart warred with her mind.
Angelus was patient; she had to decide for herself, and then he would know what to do with her.
She nodded.
“Say it, Elari.” He flexed his hands on her shoulders, lending her strength, and pushing her over the edge to the New Way.
She drew a deep, shuddery breath, trembling under his hands.
“Yes.”

Maker

June 30, 2017June 30, 2017 by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

They say nights are quiet, silent even, but that really isn’t so.

It makes noises of its own.

Even the seemingly silent glide of the hunting owl whistles keen as wings slice wind, and prey screams before talons crack it open, spilling red life like the contents of a leaky whiskey barrel.

A late autumn cricket chirped in vain, born too late for mating. It too, will freeze and die in the grass on cooling mornings, no progeny for spring.

I stared at the wheeling moon and stars, thinking I would stay here. Believing, for a moment, I could.

“I’ll leave tomorrow.”

The freezing breeze seized and shattered my breath’s vapor.

My worn cloak had thinned into little more than a long rag full of holes where the cold poked at my legs like children’s fingers.

I looked all around the cemetery; everyone I knew was here.

The slaughter of my neighbors and family was swift and thorough.

Did they know that I was now among them?

Could they hear my heart, see my breath, and hear the lonely cricket’s solo above the blowing, rustling leaves clattering against the tilted, faded headstones?

Did their wandering ghosts find it as beautiful as I did?

I shuddered in anticipation of the change to come when I heard the voice behind me, as if the very air itself had spoken:

“Are you ready?”

The anticipation turned to fright, the fright to something I couldn’t name.

I half turned, seeing him over my shoulder, smelling the loamy earth on my cloak.

The stink of him was overwhelming; his beauty, unparalleled by anything I would call such.

I used the headstone I’d sat against to pull myself up, not trusting my legs, then brushed off what autumn detritus didn’t fall on its own, as if appearance mattered now. I wanted to run screaming, to call him vile things, to spit in his bloody face after I beheaded him.

No doubt he knew what I was thinking, but he said nothing.

I fell into the power of his silent, evil presence, quiet and feral; he was an old snake full of intelligent insanity.

As he watched me struggle with myself, I sensed his patience start to crumble before the slow rise of his anger.

His deep voice pierced my ears, a spike coated in honey, lethal and sweet, challenging me to defy him, laced with desire to punish me if I did.

“Are you sure?”

In the silence of my trembling, looking into the jade and gold of his gleaming eyes, the tatters of my will fell to the cold, hard ground along with my bedraggled cloak.

“Yes.”

It slipped from my shoulders with the cares of this world trapped in its filthy folds, and the cricket’s song abruptly ceased.

My maker held out his hand.

I went to him.

Melchora’s Revenge

June 28, 2017July 15, 2017 by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

I was almost at the end of the King’s Woods, my bloody satchel of rabbits trailing flies and banging against my back as I fled the wardens’ horses.
The men were good riders, and chased fast and hard, their horses well trained and responsive, but I knew the woods well, having skulked about it for years. I ran toward the only place I knew would provide temporary solace.
Melchora’s cottage was on its own land, where she settled after the Purging, just outside the boundary of the King’s Wood proper. She all but dared them to try to move her. She was a dark beauty with a grace, elegance, and maturity that belied the malevolence of her craft, and from what I was told, her cravings.
As much as I wanted to skirt the area entirely, being subject to a witch’s whims was better than throwing myself on the king’s mercy and his warden’s justice.
A choice of poisons, as they say.
Realizing where I was headed, and that they weren’t going to catch me, they turned aside and cursed my lineage, promising the next time would be the last.
They tried to move her, but she’d move the house to different locations, or hide it, or duplicate it as they ran from place to place looking for the real one. After some time, she tired of the sport, and they tired of the spooking, and came to an uneasy understanding; if she didn’t attack anything, they’d leave her in peace.
As they rode away, I sat down in the grass and put the satchel next to me; the flies were gone, but the smell of blood seemed stronger, wafting in the otherwise pleasant breeze.
A small house of dark stones appeared in front of me, surrounded by a dreary fog, and the sky seemed to darken even though the sun was high. The hairs on my neck were standing, and a flash of fear brought me to my feet.
Silence filled the air, not so much as a bird, and the wind itself seemed to stop in mid-motion.
The door opened, and Melchora appeared; she didn’t walk into it, she appeared.
I stood there gaping like a child at a magic show.
She looked at the satchel. “You’re on my land, poacher. That’ll cost you two rabbits.”
Her voice snapped me out of my ogling reverie, but I had to swallow a few times before I could finally speak. “Fair enough. You want I should cook them too?”
She smirked. “If you’re offering…”
I went toward the cottage, fighting my very bones to move as they resisted.
She took the satchel and sauntered in ahead of me, letting me have a good look at her, and not caring.
*****************
We ate in an oddly companionable silence.
The wine she poured was good but not heady, not that I knew much about them. I was an ale man.
A fire crackled and hissed pleasantly as we sipped out of plain goblets until she broke the silence.
“I remember you.”
“From where?”
“From the Purging.”
Her gaze was assessing, measuring.
I put down the goblet.
“I—“
“You were there. I remember. “
“I was under orders…”
“You laughed. All of you. You ran us down and slaughtered us as you laughed. You pissed on our burning corpses, and laughed.”
I stood. “Melchora…”
“You shouldn’t have come here.”
My skin grew tight. “Melchora!” My voice was higher, lighter than even when I was a boy.
My body changed.
*****************
Brown hair, lank and damp, kept falling into my eyes as I ran, gulping air as the horses bore down on me.
A large heavy fist grabbed some and lifted me off my feet as another cut off my path with his horse.
Whoever grabbed me let me go, and I fell into the dirty mud.
“You’re not going nowhere, witchy-bitch.”
A hand covered my mouth, and two grabbed my kicking legs…
*******************
I woke up hurting, bleeding, coughing blood, my lungs burning, my eyes stinging from the smoke that surrounded me, flames licking at my bloody legs. I reeked of urine, realized it wasn’t mine.
The sound of cheers, the glow of the moon, the heated, fetid breeze brought me to a sharp realization.
They were burning me alive.
“Melchora!”
You shared your life with me, witch hunter; I’ll share my death with you.
Through the darkness, the sound of a soft and evil laugh reached me.
I’d never felt so alone…

Midnight Son 2: Paying the Bride Price

June 25, 2017September 3, 2017 by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

Semele was too small to reach much of anything, so I had her climb the ladder and let her preoccupy herself with distractions while I looked for what was needed.
I had an idea where to go, but it wasn’t a good place for her to be, so I left her essentially playing among the shelves.
As I searched, it all came back to me…
**************
They had the advantage of high ground, wagons circled, fires struck.
The woman who faced my father was stunning, proud, and fire all but crackled from her eyes as she looked at him.

Formidable in his own right, he stood with her toe to toe.
I could only hang my head in shame at the dishonor I’d brought to our family, at the same time remembering the feel of her daughter in my arms, writhing beneath me, moaning encouragement as her virgin blood coated me and spilled onto the sheets.
Her climax was loud, full of delighted wonder, and I spasmed as I spent into her, ruining her for anyone else by their code.
There was the sweet afterglow, and now, this bitter aftermath.
“My child cannot marry now, because of your son.” She said it softly enough, but it still somehow sounded like she spat at his feet.
“I will pay the bride price.”
Her laugh was scornful. “You can’t afford that price, my friend, but I will exact one all the same.”
She looked at my mother, holding my sister in her arms, and moved toward her.
All chaos broke loose as my father lunged for the woman, tearing her blouse, exposing her.
Her men sprang on him like a pack of wolves; one of them tripped me, planting my cheek into the dirt as I tried to run to my father’s side. In a moment of inspired cruelty, he pulled me to my feet and gripped me by the hair, pinning my arms behind me as her men worked on their butchering, my dad’s cries of anguish cut abruptly.
With a look of triumph, the woman walked over to my mother, and pried my sister from her arms, putting no more effort into it than taking a stick from a baby’s hand.
I cursed and screamed until the man holding me beckoned another to punch me in the stomach to shut me up. I went to my knees, the wind and the fight knocked out of me.
“Leave her alone, please…” I gasped between breaths.
My mother was paralyzed, eyes glazed with fear and shock.
I heard my father hit the ground. Not understanding what was going to happen, I saw them drop to their knees, ripped him open like a grain sack, and began to stuff his insides into their mouths. I could only stare in silent, unbelieving horror, unable to scream or move.
The men holding me looked on, hunger flaring in their own eyes.
Through the swarm of bodies, my father was a red, wet mass of guts and nothingness.
I looked over at the leader, my vision blurred, my eyes hot.
Her appearance changing to something feral and ugly, a beastly demon with rotting skin beneath her sultry human veneer, she leered at me. Her smiling mouth revealed sharp, serrated teeth as she put Semele to her breast.
Semele pulled softly on the foreign nipple, made a face and pulled away, until the woman soothed her and she took it again.
I tried with the last of my strength to throw off the man that was holding me, screaming my pleas with the last of my voice.
“I did it! I ruined your daughter! Harm me instead! She’s just a baby…”
My cries fell on deaf ears as another gut punch made me buckle and vomit, as something hit me on the back of the head. The last thing I saw was the two men walking away from me, going to take their share of my father’s flesh.
******************
I woke to the light of false dawn, my neck hurting.
My father’s body covered in crows, my mother, her back against a tree, babbling incoherently.
My sister, crawling through the grass toward her, attracted by the sound.
Stumbling and limping as I ran, I caught her, picked her up, and nascent claws scratched my arm.
The pain was mind-numbing, and where she touched me seemed to freeze; I dropped her, but she wasn’t harmed.
As if I hadn’t interrupted her, she began crawling toward our mother again.
“Semele?” No, that’s not Semele…
I looked around, not knowing what I was looking for until I saw it; in the fighting, such as it was, one of them dropped a knife. Not wanting to, but desperate, I took it and ran back, standing over Semele, ready to do the unthinkable. Steeling myself, I plunged the blade down. It turned sideways, scraped her back and twisted my wrist on the follow through, but didn’t penetrate.
Instead, the back of my shirt grew warm with blood, and my back raged with pain. I stumbled and fell, almost on top of her. Aside from a bruise that colored from the force of my blow, Semele was unharmed, turning to look at me with inhuman eyes.
She snarled, little teeth in her mouth that weren’t supposed to be there.
“No…o gods, no!” On my stomach, my back on fire and coated with blood, I could only watch as she clawed her way up our mother’s torso, puncturing flesh with tiny, scimitar nails, and began to bite.
My mother looked down at her, starting to smile until she saw, blinking as she tried to make sense of it. As the realization hit, she looked at the sky, and there was nothing in her eyes. Seeing her daughter turned, she deflated with surrender as Semele began her bloody burrowing.
********************
“Ingrum?”
I didn’t hear her walk up on me, and dropped the book at the sound of her voice.
Her smile was rueful. “You were remembering that night, weren’t you?”
I nodded. “I was.”
“How could you not want to kill me? You tried to do it then; why not now?”
“You were a baby then. You couldn’t…”
“Defend myself? That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is. She made you invulnerable to cutting; if it weren’t for that, you’d be in the field with Father.”
“Thanks to you?”
“It would have been.”
“And now?”
“You’re more…developed. Strength. Skill. Cunning. When it comes down to survival, you’ll defend yourself again. You might even kill me, and I’m your last hope.”
“Then you have to prevail, Ingrum. That’s all there is to it.”
“I wish that were true.”
“Make it true.”
“Did you come to help me, or issue more commands?”
“Can’t I do both?” She smiled.
“Up you go.” I put her on a high rung, and she climbed up in jerky motions, like a squirrel.
If we can’t find a way to cure me, then you must find a way to kill me. Swear it…
Knowing she was so stealthy, so assured even though she was little, so precocious even though she was so young, for a moment I imagined the monster she could grow into, and I wasn’t sure which one I wanted to do: help her, or kill her.
No, she wants you to help her die. There’s a difference.
Father had put the more arcane, forbidden, and dangerous volumes on a high shelf up in the rafters; for all I knew it was rotted through with the dust of the ages, and likely to crumble in my hands.
I sighed, and went up the ladder.
I was closing on my quarry as another memory came.
Mother never screamed…not even once.
I kept climbing,

Midnight Son: Chapter 1 Cure for a Curse

June 24, 2017May 2, 2019 by smithaw50, posted in BLOGGING 101, Uncategorized

I wake to the whispering silence of tombs, and the darkness broken by a somnambulant moonbeam through the stained- glass window laced with the rank scent of the long dead; I can almost see their faces floating in its serpentine tendrils.
The black candles are not burning.
I sat up, my eyes adjusting, my ears picking up the subtle sound of slurps.
My little sister was below the dais, feeding on the temple attendant, her mouth and cheeks beslimed with blood and not a little gore.
I groaned.
“Semele, why?”
She didn’t stop eating as she began to cry.
I got up, watched her.
The man was still twitching when she reached in for more.
“Finish it.”
She stopped eating then, wiped her mouth on the hem of her dress, streaking the blood across her face rather than cleaning it. Swallowing what she had left, she looked at me with such helplessness that I wished I could do what she asked me next.
“Kill me. I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to do this…” She began to cry full out.
“Semele, you know—”
“I don’t believe you can’t, I believe you won’t!” She threw herself at me, little bloody fists flailing.
I hugged her against me, taking a few taps on my chest and shoulders as she sobbed.
“Kill me, Ingrum. If you love me, kill me.”
Her breath reeked of the blood of deep organs.
“The curse…”
“The curse be damned.”
I chuckled, low against her ear, and when she realized what she said, began to laugh with me.
Wiping her tears, I still held her hand. “I don’t know how.”
She let go of my hand and left the dais before she turned around to face me.
“Then let’s find out. We’ve this vast library, full of dusty old books. There must be something in it somewhere.”
The desperation of her small voice touched me.
I thought about it.
The library was, in fact, vast, stocked floor to ceiling with all manner of literature; my ancestors had been studious men, almost to a fault, and I hadn’t used it in a long time. How it hadn’t been ruined in the enemy’s sprees of looting and burning, I honestly don’t know.
Perhaps it was for this moment.
“Come then, since you’ve eaten.” I held my hand out to her, and she came to me.
“But you haven’t fed.”
“I am older, dear sister; the appetite doesn’t burn nearly as hot as it once did.”
The curse had turned her into a savage hybrid; no longer satisfied with blood, she craved human meat besides, rending rather than drinking, though she was still fanged.
It had to be awful for her, but the curse bound me as well; if I helped her, I would die.
It came down to whether I’d be willing to sacrifice myself, or not.
I’m older, dear sister…
And it was true.
The nightly hunting no longer brought a rushing sense of conquest, a thrill of seeing the quarry frightened, unbelieving, gasping as I seized and sundered them. It was no more satisfying than eating a steak when you’re hungry, and had become about as exciting as hunting rabbits.
She deserved better, since our parents couldn’t protect us.
There’d be one less of us in the world, and I could make a contribution to life not as repentance, but for the purely selfish reason that I wanted my sister to live the life she wanted, and I couldn’t do that if I killed her.
At least not as a first option.
As if she read my mind, as we left the temple she said to me, “Promise me something.”
“If I can.”
“You will make this promise, Ingrum, and fulfill it.”
I stopped, and we faced each other; the fire of determination in her eyes transfixed me.
“Swear it in blood.”
“Semele…”
“Swear it!”
I nodded, defeated by the onslaught of her frantic will to be free of this.
“I swear.”
“If we can’t find a way to cure me, then you must find a way to kill me.”
The silence in the dank tomb seemed to thicken; a blood promise was irrevocable, and the price was high beyond damnation.
“Ingrum…”
“I swear, by blood.”
“Seal it.”
I bit my wrist, sipped, and offered it; I admit I felt no small fear of what she might do, but she restrained herself from biting me, and merely drank.
She offered hers to me, and I sipped. It tasted of gore, thick and meaty like gelid soup, foul and corrupt with mortality.
I didn’t gag, but I must have made a face.
Her smile was grim. “It’s like sludge moving within me all the time.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Just help me.”
I nodded again, still recovering from the strength of her ugly blood.
“The sooner the better.”
The moonlight left the window, the black candles stayed unlit, and the attendant finally stopped breathing.