Tag: death

Inspired Bye

by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

I couldn’t finish digging her grave.
Everything was sore: hands, legs, and my arms trembling from an adrenaline crash and the damp, rich, heavy soil.
I couldn’t stop crying, and my face was a mass of unpleasant liquids.
I couldn’t stop apologizing either, though she was already gone.
There’d be no cairn, for the land seemed devoid of stones, yet I would not leave her to the scavengers.
You don’t have to stay. The voice in my mind sounded muffled and far away, as if her spirit spoke through a thick veil.
“If I don’t stay,” I replied, “you don’t rest.”
I don’t want to rest.
That piqued my curiosity. “What do you want?”
For us to change places.
“You want me to die?
Yes.
“Why?”
So I might live.
“You’re the one who got sick on the journey.”
Yes, but you’re the reason. I traveled to look for you.
“To kill me?”
Yes. You shouldn’t have left me.
“You knew I wasn’t staying, Alisyn. You know I couldn’t.”
She said nothing for a while; she lay there, just looking up at me with those sightless eyes. I thought for sure I’d closed them, but I couldn’t honestly remember.
I tried to start covering her again, but the soil was so heavy. I couldn’t lift it to throw dirt on her face, to cover her eyes.
“I could still use my hands.” Scooping some soil, I began walking toward the top of the grave, and stumbled, as if something had pushed me from behind. The dirt flew, landing on her stomach, covering her hands.
Come rest with me.
“I don’t need rest.” I stayed on my knees, my hands resting on my thighs. “I need sleep.”
Come, then, and sleep.
“Not of that kind. You’re dead.”
Because of you.
“Stop saying that!”
She whispered it. Because of you. Come rest with me.
Something tugged at my sleeve. I snatched my arm away and swung at nothing, getting to my feet.
I tried to look away, and when I couldn’t, to walk away. I could do neither.
Rest. Rest, and start again.
“That’s not what you mean. You mean to have me in there with you!”
It’s peaceful here. When you leave, no one else will ever come here. You once said you loved me. Come here, if you do.
“You said you loved me too. If that were true, you wouldn’t ask me to do that.”
But that is why I’m asking. I want you with me forever.
Something shoved me from behind. I turned and wildly struck at nothing again, but the shove knocked me off balance; I was right at the edge of the grave, and reflexes made me lean the other way to regain my balance, which I did just in time.
What a willful man you are. A selfish man. I never knew.
“You did, Alisyn. You did, but you couldn’t accept it. It’s why…why I left.”
And now you’re here. I forgive you.
“I did nothing wrong. I didn’t ask you to come after me .” I was on the very edge of patience.
But you knew I would. You knew, but you couldn’t accept it. You can’t accept it even now.
I couldn’t pass up the opportunity for sarcasm: “And now you’re here.”
Sitting on the edge of the grave, I dangled my feet inside, over her body; I looked unafraid at the unseeing eyes that looked right through me.
I loved you. I love you still. Come, rest beside me.
I felt hands begin to rub my calves, finger spreading, massaging; as they moved, small wakes of pulsing light outlined them, leaving pieces of soil behind.
If I tried to stand, they would seize me; tears flowed afresh, and I didn’t bother trying to stop them.
“No. I want to live.”
What is life alone?
“Mine, to live as I please.”
Where’s the good in that? What’s the legacy of that?
The unseen hands moved to my shoulder; the ripples of light pulsed a bit slower, and dimmer. I closed my eyes as they spread a pleasant warmth through me.
“I know what you’re trying to do, Alisyn. Stop it.”
She laughed. You stop me.
Another surge of adrenaline came, and I slid back, fighting the languor that turned my bones to lead; I managed to make it to all fours, then fell on my side fighting for breath.
The hands took advantage, and rolled me, with no effort, into the grave to land on top of her.
Panicked, my eyes wide and darting, looking anywhere but into hers, I tried to find a purchase to stand up and climb out, but only managed to wriggle like a worm in the deadly fingers of a ten- year old.
“Alisyn, let me go.”
No, you selfish, willful man; I can’t trade life with you, but for once, I will be selfish and demanding:
You will stay with me.
As my vision darkened, I looked one last time into her face.
Her eyes were closed, and her dirt covered hands slipped into mine.

M is for Mortal

by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

I knocked, like I always do, respecting her privacy, but there was no answer.
“Baby? Kora? Are you there?” I went to check the bathroom, but heard no water, so I went back to the door and turned the knob.
He was there, holding her in his arms as she whimpered, answering with a soft snarling purr muffled by the tender flesh of my daughter’s neck. I don’t remember what happened next, but I do know that I smashed his head until it was pulped, and held my daughter as the blood pumped out of her.
She was a pallid bust of herself by the time it was over.
You’ve taken your revenge, Kharis. Now I will take mine.
****************
In the morning, I waited until the fire collapsed the house, and carried my daughter’s body to the old church cemetery. There were no tools to bury her, so I put her in a large toolbox, and locked it.
“I’ll come back for you, angel.”
The scent of her blood was on me, the scent of the lemon shampoo in her hair lingered with it, a coppery sweetness that jumbled my feelings, but not enough to wash them both away.
They would scent my child’s blood, and come after me.  I would smell her lemon shampoo, and remember who she’d been, and what she meant to me.
*******************
I found the lair just before the sun went down, and waited in the darkness, sword in hand.
I heard the slide of heavy stone and the creak of ancient hinges as various coffins and doors were opened.
Kharis’ widow approached. “You killed him.”
The sword was already in my hand, and made her stop. “I did. He claimed my daughter.”
“That is not our way.”
“I know, but now, blood cries out for blood.”
“I’m not giving you mine, priest.” She smiled in amusement when she said it; I’d fallen, not bothering to get back up.
“Someone has to.”
Her soft laughter reverberated. “I like your confidence.”
The others were behind her, eyes shining, skin translucent and white-veined in the thickening shadows; that would fill in as they fed, but they wouldn’t be feeding tonight, if I had my way.
She turned her back on me, and walked out while the others came toward me, baring fangs and laughing.

***************
I spent the night in their stink, lifting their cold guts in my fingers, trying on their gold, admiring their sprawled out, open-eyed, red-streaked beauty.
There would be no pyre; I would not have them in peace. I half wanted them to rise, so I could kill them again, but the sword had done its work; there would be no pursuit, and no second chance at revenge.
No one left to kill meant no reason to stay.
I only had one left to hunt.
Your turn, Narkissa.

*************
She’d set my daughter free, and the two of them looked at me as I entered.
“Hi, Daddy.”
I wiped the tears and sweat from my eyes, but they returned as if I hadn’t. “My daughter’s dead.”
She smiled. “Good. That will make this easier.”
She looked at Narkissa for approval.
“Go ahead, darling.”
She ran toward me.
My sword came up.
***************
Slumped against the wall, my hands held Kora’s hair like a bundle of flowers; it was almost over.
Narkissa was enjoying herself, sipping slow at my neck and wrists; my veins were on fire from the bites, even as my body shivered from the cold. I heard the crunch of fangs popping, and felt the coursing venom sting.
I don’t know how long she took, but a languor washed over me that sapped my strength.
She was granting me the final mocking mercy of smelling Kora’s lemon shampoo for the last time.
The stink of my corrupted blood pecked at it like crows on the battlefield.
My vision grew dark, and the scent of lemons faded.
Then it was gone.

 

Trial by Combat

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

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.”

Lyra’s Harp

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

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.”