Tag: magic

Ravella’s Bounty

by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

She walked the night forest, sky blue light on her fingertips lighting the dark, twisted paths through the primeval woods she saw grow from the beginning.

She moved now in silence, embracing the quiet, but the night creatures grew still in abject terror and reverent fear at her passing; she’d culled their souls to her purposes before, and they hide, though she finds them all the same when they’re needed.

It was said of her that she desired to be among humanity once more.

As I tracked her she’d circled me, finding me before I saw her.

“You seek to kill me?”

“Yes, Ravella.”

“To what purpose?”

“Gold and lands. No more hunting. No more fighting.”

She considered me as I regarded the blue flame on her fingers. “Lower your weapon.”

“Will you compel me if I don’t?”

“No. Lower it.”

I will never be able to say why, but I did.

“Serve me, hunter, and I’ll see that you have all you desire.”

“The king has proclaimed you a blight on the land to be removed.”

“And what do you say?”

“I do the king’s bidding.”

“But there’s no reason to; I’ve harmed no one.”

“Even so, he lives in fear of you and your kind.”

She stepped closer: “Fear is crippling; you’re not afraid. You’re standing here before me, seeking my life, regarding this light. Is it to light my way, or is it, in fact, a soul I balance between realms?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Follow me, and find out.”

“The king—”

She put a finger to my lips; the scent of honeysuckle wafted under my nose. “He is not as powerful as he believes. There are things all around us, even now, that don’t even know his name.”

The finger left my lips as she continued, and they were cold where she’d touched them.

“You understand this. There’s blood on your hands, and a man’s plans follow him into the dust of his birth.”  The realization and answer to her question came at once; she’d already taken the king’s life, his soul shining in her hand.

I found myself growing sad. “Give me the light; let me restore him.”

“You know who this is, then?”

“I do.”

“Then why restore him, after what he did to you, sending you here to risk your life?”

“He was my king. You had no right.”

“Hear me well, hunter: neither did you, to anyone’s. To rob a man of his life is a profane thing, no matter the hand that does it, no matter the method used.”

“There are reasons.”

“The reasons are as varied as the methods, hunter. The end is the same.”

Her words poured like cold water in my ears, and gave me pause.

She walked past me, pressing deeper into the forest, and like a vassal, I followed.

 

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

The crypt was underground, awash with oracular illumination.

I thought to throw my blade at her back, now unwilling to face her, but she’d know, and what would become of me then?

“You keep them here?”

“I don’t keep them, hunter. They choose to stay. I could no more bind them here than I could love them.”

“And what of me?”

“You, I have bound.”

“Though you don’t love me?”

She stopped, turned to face me. “I wouldn’t bind what I loved.”

“You speak in riddles.”

“No, hunter. You are true to your nature, that’s all. I didn’t compel you to come here. You were free to let me go, and free to go, were you not?”

I realized she was right; I’d felt no magic bring me here.

We were in a chapel of sorts, the ceilings lost in shadow, black candles burning with that spectral blue light.

“Where am I? What is this place?” I asked.

She smiled, cupping the blue flame in her hands as she lifted them to her mouth.

“Home.”

“Ravella! Don’t–!”

She blew out the light, and I felt myself dissolve into the darkness, her soft laughter revealing that I’d become the hunted, and fallen prey.

She desired to be among humanity once more, but on her own terms.

No more hunting.

No more fighting.

No more.

A Dragon’s Courage

by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

From the time they were children, Akia hunted with her brother and his friend, Jakra: they fought, wrestled, swam, fought some more, fished, camped out, made fires, made trouble, and her brother noticed that Akia and Jakra eventually began to make eyes.

Jakra loved Akia’s fierceness, but only from a distance. Up close, her eyes bore too deep into his soul.

She knew he loved her, and would often fix him within her slate gray stare to watch him shift and blush, and she would smile, and try to go to him, but he would always find an excuse to rise, to run without running.

But she would have no other, and his fate was sealed.

She’d seen the rough ways of men; Jakra was indeed different, and sometimes they teased him for it, sometimes, not good-naturedly. That was fine; what he lacked in experience, she would see that he made up for in enthusiasm, and as he gained love’s knowledge, she would reap the benefits.

She would bear him many fine, strong children.

He disappeared into the trees, and she, being a superb huntress in her own right, decided he’d run long enough. She would chase him like a wounded stag, and have her prize.

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

“She loves me, I know, but I’m afraid.”

“Of what, boy?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know. She’s like…”

“She’s like nothing, boy, she is, a warrior born. And you…?”

“I’m not. Not like her.”

“Your wish then, boy. Out with it.”

“I would have the courage of…of a dragon.”

The crone, removing her supplies, hesitated at his words. “Are you sure? If I bind you to her, that is what remains.”

Jakra nodded, too surprised at his own words to say more, not willing to risk losing his chance.

Akia waited, watching, to see what would be done.

The crone chanted, and crimson tendrils of light slid up Jakra’s body like baby snakes; before Akia’s eyes, his limbs lengthened, changed, grew claws and scales.

“NO!” She ran toward them.

He turned at the sound, his serpentine eyes growing dull; he didn’t recognize her, and that, she couldn’t bear. The rest of his face was beginning to change, elongate, and before his lips disappeared,          she kissed him.

“No, you fool!” the crone shrieked.

Fire arced from Jakra’s lips, and Akia fell, writhing in pain.

The crone hissed and cursed, packing her bag.

The pain receded. “What…happened…to me? My f-f-face…feels so…strange.” Akia sat up.

Now the old woman cackled, phlegmy and raw. “You got what you wanted, dear, and so did he.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

The crone bent, took the girl’s hand, and guided it to her cheek, where something scaly writhed beneath her fingers.

“You tricked him!” Akia gasped.

The crone’s wretched smile held no amusement. “And now you have him; this is the only way you will ever kiss him now.”

“I’m going to kill you, you old bitch.” Akia was shaking, her voice seething between clenched teeth.

The crone straightened. “That may be, child. But not today.”

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

The forest was gone now, as was her brother.

She was a lady in a foreign land, no less fierce, but had long ago traded her hunting leathers for silver necklaces, blood-red gems, and fine dark dresses, though they were of no value to her.

Jakra the Red Dragon, now branded to her cheek, now living under her skin, uncoiled himself, and stared into her slate gray eyes with his slitted green ones, with the courage of a dragon. His love was now a primal, feral thing, but his heart, hot within his glowing chest, was now beating for her, and her alone.

She picked up the knife, and turned to where the crone lay bound to the altar.

“Today,” she whispered in the old woman’s ear.
 

Circle of Blood (2) Friend or Foe

by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

We returned to Sharrika’s cottage.

They left me outside while they argued, and at first, I couldn’t hear, but they got louder when Tafari opened a window as Sharrika began to make a fire.

“I stopped him, Mama.”

Sharrika’s laugh was another new layer to her personality, something she’d seldom indulged. “Did you really think that was you, Tafari? You haven’t the skill. Not yet.”

Good to know.

There was a brief silence, then Tafari’s voice. “Why is he here?”

The light from the hearth fire crept up the wall, its glow pulsating in the window panes as it cast their shadows; they were standing close, as mother and daughter should be. I didn’t belong here, but I let the feeling go before it took me over. I was tired, and the shock of the sights I’d just witnessed were still being processed. I was prone to do or say something stupid that I’d regret.

Like backhanding your daughter in the mouth? I shook my head, a small mirthless smile on my lips. Yes, something like that.

“I don’t really know,” Sharrika said, “but he may be able to help us.”

“Do you really not remember him?”

“No, I don’t. But I know the Order. They’re warriors as well as priests; he may be able to help.”

“Or if they get to him first, they’ll use him to stop us.”

More silence; Sharrika hadn’t considered that. Tafari was young, but jaded. She’s surrounded by rotting bodies, threw a knife into a man’s chest, not without force, spit on my robe, and threatened to cut my throat. ‘Jaded’ might be an understatement.

I’d have to watch her.

“Bring him inside,” Sharrika said. “We’ll get him dry, and maybe drunk. He’ll talk to us then.”

I was fine with both, and given it was said so openly, I had to wonder if the window staging was also for my benefit. There were few times I felt I was in over my head, but dealing with witches, good or bad, whatever the strata between those categories, was always risky.

Tafari opened the door, heat still behind her eyes. She’d hold that slap against me though she was the initiator.

I hoped it wouldn’t come to killing her, but if being my child meant nothing to her, it had to mean nothing to me if I was to survive. That would be hard to do, but I would do it.

 

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

The hearth fire and wine warmed me.

Tafari sulked on her bed as Sharikka tended the fire, keeping the poker handy.

I smiled inwardly; the fact that they trusted steel over spells was a bit ironic. I didn’t point it out.

“Why did you come back? Your Order was exiled, and none of you were to return.”

I took a sip of the dark wine, found it to my liking. “We were exiled, but not disbanded. We went elsewhere to settle, but the momentum of what we were trying to do was lost. We agreed to take leave, and come back to try again in a year’s time.”

“Why a year?”

“Some had families to tend, others needed to replenish their magic. The magic we waged here took a great toll.” I drank more wine, trying to fend off the memories of the screams and sights. No one, it seemed, bothered to clean up. “Why would you stay in the midst of…this?”

“Where would we go, that wouldn’t be attacked again? The invaders have already moved on. These clouds full of lightning bind us in place. It strikes those who try to leave. We can’t figure out a way to break it.”

“And you thought I might be able to help you with that?”

“I do, but only because we want to leave. We’re not going to fight again. Some went ahead to try to stop them, but the ranks are only thinning.”

“And the knight hung by his hands?”

“An example. A display of power to show the futility of steel against magic; they hung him in full armor, and left him to the crows, flies, and the elements. He was tough, and lasted awhile.”

“Tafari killed him.”

“I granted him a mercy we didn’t get,” she said.

“Indeed,” I said. “And the circle of blood?”

Tafari sat up and answered. “Their signature; they cut you, and draw a circle of your own blood around you, with different killing spells that discourage rescuers. Some of them are painfully cruel, and quite gory.”

“But nothing happened to you.”

“I didn’t try to rescue him.” Her tone was mocking, but I ignored it.

“You want me to break the clouds, and you gain your freedom. Are you the only two left alive?”

“The only two that matter,” Sharrika said.

“Seems a waste of binding, since you don’t pose a threat.”

“Who said we didn’t?” Tafari asked.

“Sharrika just told me you weren’t going to fight anymore.”

“They didn’t know that. Truth be told, neither do we.”

Sharrika looked at her; I couldn’t read her expression, but she didn’t refute the statement.

My patience and sense of caution were at an end. “I’m done. I’ll leave in the morning. This war isn’t over, and whatever you two want to do, or not do, doesn’t affect me. There’s no reason for me to free you at cost to myself.”

“Why did you return, then?” Sharrika asked.

“I came back to live out my days, and die in peace. I didn’t know the slaughtered were left to rot, and I didn’t know you were still here until Tafari told me.”

“And now?”

“That’s for you to answer.” I finished the wine.

“You said you’d tell me how we met.”

“I will, but not tonight.” I couldn’t suppress a yawn. My bones felt like warm butter.

Sharrika stood. “You’ve traveled far. Sleep. We’ll revisit this in the morning. Let the fire die.” She headed for her bedroom.

I nodded, already feeling the effects of the wine. I heard the lock click on her door, and Tafari lay back down, humming tunelessly as she turned her back on me. I sensed the guard spell around her.

With the pattering rain, the crackling fire, and the scent of wet lavender laced through with the nightmarish stench of putrefying bodies, my own flesh gave way to exhaustion. I folded my robe for a pillow, and stretching out on the rough hearthside rug, I slept, dreaming of circles of blood floating toward my eyes, and the knight staring at me with empty sockets, his red tears shining in the flashes of silent lightning.

Circle of Blood

by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

I stood looking at the carnage, blinking from the sudden, searing flashes of lightning streaking across roiling black clouds.

There was no thunder, which gave the scene an eldritch air.

Swarms of rats moved en masse over the mounds of corpses, taking such treasures as they could find.

The torrential rain cut the edge off the stench, but didn’t stop it.

An armored knight, his bare hands pierced with spikes, hung in the center of the palace door, a circle of blood painted around him. I didn’t know how long he was there, but the crows had taken his eyes.

It’s already started. I’m too late.

A short, hooded figure approached from under a pile of smoldering wood, stealthy, heading for the doomed knight. As he was hung with his weapons, they were going to loot him.

With his hands spiked, there was nothing he could do to stop them.  I think more than anything else it was the cowardice of the pending deed that rankled and made me call out.

“Leave him alone!”

The figure jumped; they hadn’t seen me through the downpour.

They scampered back into their hiding place. The urchins knew this backwater warren better than me. I lived here once, but never called it home.

The man turned his head in my direction, and I worked through the mounds of bodies to take him down.

“I’ll get you out of here.”

“No!”

I stopped, taken aback by his refusal.

“No. They’ll know it was you, and they’ll find you. I’ve nothing to go back to. Better I die here. Leave! Leave while you still can, while there’s still a chance you can—”

The serrated blade of a knife buried itself in his chest with such force that his body jerked, making a muffled thump against the door, and he went still.

A different hooded urchin stood there, smiling at its handiwork.

That could’ve been me.

I sighed, still looking at the knight, but speaking to the urchin. “What do you want?”

They answered me, retrieving the knife. “I remember you. You should leave, priest. There’ve been changes since you were exiled, and your Order is no longer welcome here.”

“Where do I know you from?”

They removed the hood: a girl with smooth brown skin, large, dark brown doe -shaped eyes that held an intelligence beyond her years, her form on the cusp of womanhood, but hidden beneath the soaked black cloak she wore.

“I’m your daughter; you took my mother, Sharrika, against her will.”

“Sharrika…?”

She came toward me. “I see you remember her name.”

“She was supposed to kill me.”

“Yes, and you did something to make her stop. She fell in love with you instead. What did you do, father?” She spat the word out like snake venom. “Rape her with a spell?”

I had no answer she would find acceptable.

“What became of Sharrika? What is your name?”

She spat on my robe, and I reacted, backhanding her across the face.

She sprawled over some bodies, sending the rats scurrying, then pushed off the pile, running back to me with the knife in her hand.

I didn’t want to hurt her, but I didn’t know what she was going to do; I tried casting, and felt a jolt to my own body that almost made me lose my footing.

She has powers. The bloody knife was at my throat, tilting my chin up.

Her breathing was raspy and harsh. “If you ever hit me again—!”

    “Tafari!”

The rain had intensified, but the figure that approached was only in a long red dress, clinging to the very curves my hands explored in better times.

Tafari took the knife from my throat. “This isn’t over, priest.”

Sharrika walked up to her, took the knife, and apologized, her eyes downcast. “Please forgive my daughter, sir. She isn’t married, and so has not yet been–“

“That’s none of his concern, mother!”

I was surprised at Sharrika’s candor; it wasn’t her way.

“Sharrika.”

She gave me a blank stare, tilted her head. “Do I know you? Have we met before?”

Emotions warred within me, but I nodded. “We have. I’ll tell you later. Let’s get out of the rain.”

A crow had landed on the knight’s soaked corpse, looking for fresh pickings. The rats persisted in their foraging among the mounds of rotting flesh.

She nodded and beckoned me to follow.

The rain fell harder, but she and Tafari took their time; it was a moment before I realized the rain was falling around them, not on them.

“Witches.”

I don’t know whether Tafari heard me, but she turned to give me a mirthless smile.

I ignored the threat, put my head down to keep the rain out of my eyes, and walked back into the eye of the malevolent hurricane that would shake my life to its core. It would have been easier if I’d turned and walked back through the broken gates, as Tafari commanded, never to return.

When all was said and done, I was glad I didn’t, but I wished I had.

 

 

World Without End (4) What’s in the Windsong

by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

There was a rush of giddy exhilaration at the prospect of starting over as a new creation.
There was never a sense of being frozen, or dizziness, or even being in motion. It was as if someone put hands on my shoulders to keep me from moving.
I opened my eyes to watch the silver-blue snow and silent lightning swirl and writhe in the air. My new moonlight shadow color was also cascading over me, now down to my thighs, heading toward my knees. I was filling in like a flipped hourglass.
The brightness was like being inside of a star flinging its light into space.
My body trembled from the power of it, but I could hear my heartbeat, and it wasn’t rapid; I sensed the process would soon be finished.
A growing restlessness made me want to stand, to break free, but I knew the storm would stop when it should. Eager to see my new form, and what it could do, I wondered if there’d be anything left in the world to use it on.
My excitement tempered for the moment with those implications, my memories purged, I merely listened to the wind, heard the snowflakes patter against each other, and gave myself over to what the storm was doing to me.
I felt heavier, but my body wasn’t growing, at least that I felt. My senses were sharper, but there was nothing to see yet. My hair moved of its own volition, arranging itself. My skin kept getting little bursts of pleasure, and a sensual, primal languor washed over me. I wanted to take my pleasure, but my hands couldn’t move.
I was finally going to sleep, my thoughts perhaps too restless for the magic that was sluicing over me.
See it done, then.

Midnight Son (5) The World Through Haunted Eyes

by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

Indeed, the songbirds were singing again, likely celebrating our departure; the carrion birds would be a different story.
I said nothing of the distinction; if she wanted to enjoy the songbirds, so be it. She had her elbows on her knees and her eyes closed, listening.
Looking at the sky, I saw the stars already fading as we left our childhood home. Like them, something faded within us too. Perhaps it was the illusion that we could somehow salvage ourselves from a parasitic existence and come out whole, with some lingering trace of humanity.
I looked over again at my little sister. Such an innocent pose, a little smile on her face, as if only hours ago that smiling mouth hadn’t been devouring the meaty guts of our oldest family servant.
Semele didn’t seem innocent to the fact that what she did was monstrous; it was her ability to somehow shut it off, or out, when the killing was over. She’d be like a normal girl her age again, just that quick, as if nothing happened at all, even to her remorse wanting to bury Cassis, sounding for all the world like he only slipped and fell.
There was yet within her then a sense of remorse, of connecting with empathy for the results of her actions.
Connection.
The ghoul that infected Semele had nursed her, however briefly, and a connection between mother and child was yet possible. I had to get her to try to find it, if it existed, but I was willing to wait.
Before I went to sleep, I decided to draw her out on the matter.
“Semele, I have to ask you, what happens to you when…?”
She opened her eyes; they held a heavy, melancholy wisdom of life beyond her years.
“I get cold, Ingrum. I feel my heart slow, and my senses heighten to foul things. I smell rank water and corpses, and blood, and I start salivating, sometimes to the point where it drips from my chin.
“I grow stronger too; you saw what I did to Cassis. My nails sharpen, and all of my teeth, not just the incisors, like yours.”
She looked off, scanning the woods. “And I have to feed. There are corpses in the forest that I made, bones now. Bones of people and animals.”
“And Cassis?”
She sighed. “He was right there when I woke up.”
“Wrong place, wrong time.”
“Yes.”
“I want you to try something.”
“Alright.”
“That creature nursed you to make you what you are; there could be a connection of some sort, a bond you can feel.”
“I’ve tried. This is a goose-chase. If I could feel her presence, I’d tell you.”
A desperate anger began rising in me; I’d gone out of my way to make her aware of the cost, we weren’t an hour on the road, and she was practically giving up before we started.
“Maybe it works in proximity. I want you to keep trying. If you don’t, or can’t, we can turn around now, and you can just keep adding to your pile of corpses!”
She flinched, and her eyes welled. She tried to answer, but she only sobbed, and started to cry.
“I’m sorry. Just trying to make you realize that even if we find her, she’ll be difficult to kill. You’re one of them, and we’re not familiar with them. We found the book, now we have to use what it told us. If you would really be free of this, you have to be committed to seeing it through all the way.
“I need to be sure that you are.
“Don’t answer me now; think about it while you drive. The sun’s almost up, and I need sleep. If you turn back home, we never bring this up again, and we find another way.”
She wiped her eyes and nose on the hem of her dress, and nodded.
I handed her the reins; she took them without looking at me.
“Sleep well.” Her voice was clipped. That bothered me, but I knew she’d think on it. When I woke, she’d have an answer.
I really didn’t know what it might be, but I’d be lying if I said part of me hoped she’d say no. We were isolated and remote enough. We could hunt together, and feed, and no one would know…
I shook my head free of that illusion. If enough people went missing long enough, and frequently enough, we’d be first on the list. They’d burn the forest if they wanted to get us, of that I had no doubt.
On its face, the idea wasn’t unappealing; we’d both get the peace we wanted.
But if there was a chance we could be free, and live, we owed it to ourselves to take it.

 

 

Reflections of the Heart

by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

Finally, the end of the day; I’d anticipated it since this morning, knowing the schedule ahead of me. I didn’t want to do the presentation, because I didn’t think I could. But I did.
The accolades seemed sincere enough,  but I never could determine what was really in people’s hearts. Since no one stabbed me in mine when it was over, I took the praise at face value.
Trust issues are sort of a thing with me, so I keep a small circle of acquaintances; I don’t think I ever let anyone in far enough to call a friend.
At the end, the boss was smiling. The steely-eyed men of our top client seemed pleased as well. I filed it away for the annual raise groveling when my review came, but tonight was deemed  a special occasion.
One of those steely-eyed men asked me out, and because I didn’t know how to politely decline after winning a hard-earned victory (and not being willing to endanger it, to be honest), I said yes.

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

As I got ready, I checked my reflection using gran’s old mirror, an antique she left to me in passing, telling me it was enchanted. She’d been something of a wiccan or psychic, or some combination thereof; I loved the old dear but I thought she was a little crazy.
Still, she loved me even though I scoffed, and it was nice to know that if the need for cash grew urgent, I could get a good price.
I fussed with my neckline til I had enough teaser cleavage, dreading every passing second toward him picking me up. When the whole look was girly-girl enough not to make him feel threatened, on impulse I took a flower from the vase and placed it just-so in my hair for an exotic touch. It bordered on trying too hard, but I decided to risk it.
“Faint heart never won rich businessman.” As soon as I said it, I winced.
Was I that shallow, that money was the first thing to occur to me? I was disappointed in myself. That took more reflection than I was willing to commit right now.
As I’d been getting ready, the temperature in the room had dropped to the point where I hugged myself for warmth. I checked the thermostat, but it was where I always left it.
Someone called my name, faint and distant, almost too low to hear.
Maurelle.  I chalked it up to date jitters, but then I heard it again, distinctly behind me. Maurelle.
I turned just as a soft, pale light suffused the room, but from the other side of gran’s mirror. A reflection not my own, twin but for the malevolence in her eyes, beckoned me to her.
“How…?” I backed into the wall, staring at myself getting angry with me for being scared.
Sister…come here.

I could feel myself trembling as I walked toward her, my roiling thoughts trying to label and organize, and failing. There was no analysis to be made of this.
Place your hand in mine; I have a gift for you. From Gran.
“This is a dream…”

She chuckled. It is not, but you may call it that if you like.
“No! I know what this is! You…you need me to escape.”
I do. Let me take your place. I know what’s in this man’s heart. And yours. I will get it for you.
“But you’re not me. I can feel the evil on you, even through the glass.”
I’ll not deny it, sister.
“What’s your name?”
Her eyes widened with mock innocence and hurt. The same as yours.
“Liar!”
She smiled, and I swear my skin crawled.
Let me in.
I wanted to back away, but couldn’t.
Touch the glass, Maurelle.
“Not until you tell me your name.”
She was casting a spell on me; my shoulders grew heavy, and I could feel my body weakening.
I am called Magena. Touch the glass, before you succumb.
I don’t remember touching it, but my hand suddenly felt dipped in ice, and I saw the blood when the glass broke. Magena gripped my wrist, pulled my hand to her chest, and smeared the blood on her cold, pale skin, on her quickening heart. She threw her head back, her voice chanting as fleeting dark images flooded my mind, visions of the place where she’d emerged.
The faces of those underworld beings would have driven me insane; if she’d been around them, she already was. If I was the gateway, what did it say of me? Of Gran?
The world spun in delirious circles, and I shouted something out, a word of incantation I didn’t know I knew, something that completed the spell.  Magena was beside me, translucent, but solidifying quickly.
I wanted to stop her, but I was fainting. She caught me as I fell, and gently laid me on the floor, my head in her lap, stroking my cheek, the air rife with the coppery tang of my blood on her chest.

Rest now, sister. I will take care of you.
Her voice was soothing, condescendingly patient, like you’d speak to a wayward child spinning out of control. They comforted me like a blazing hearth in high winter, and the darkness covered me like a mother’s love.
Don’t worry, Maurelle. I will see to your steely-eyed man. I will see to your whole life, now. I am your gift from Gran; in her heart, she hated you for mocking her.

She took the flower from my hair, put it in hers, and the last thing I saw was the vibrant pink turning black.

Magena’s sultry laughter rang in my ears, as my sight faded with my hopes of ever waking up again.

She was right: this was no dream.

My heart…

Head of the Pack (A Liar Fire Story)

by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

It was Debra’s third night out with what the locals called, ‘The Pack,’ young delinquents preying on those who came through after their lecherous festivities in the Town Proper, as the Pack called it.
Touristy and ripe with rich foreigners, it was a pick-pockets playground, but the law was vigilant there.
The Pack stayed on the outskirts, waiting for stragglers and strays.
Omni threw the old woman to the ground, and yanked her purse from her feeble hands. Debra heard a bone snap, and winced as the old woman screamed, but she didn’t dare stop Omni; he’d do worse to her if she interfered, like he did the first time she took pity on a mark.
This mark didn’t go quietly, cursing him roundly; Debra found herself surprised, and wondered if the woman was younger that she wouldn’t give Omni a run for his money.
“Shut up, ya decrepit ol’ bitch!”
He kicked the old woman in the face and knocked her out, left her there with a bloody mouth as he walked away, Debra trotting behind him.
He mentored her while rifling through the old woman’s belongings: “Cash is cash, little thief. Young, old, don’t matter, as long as what comes out of ‘em is green. If that don’t happen, then what comes out is red.” His phlegmy laugh haunted her dreams that night, and she cried, afraid for her own fate, but there was nowhere left to go.

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

Tonight, they did more of the same, but this time he was warming to retelling the tale of that night. She was listening to him now, his speaking voice an echo of his laugh, raspy with impending cancer and callous living, bragging, holding court outside the alley in front of the rest of them.
“She wouldn’t let go of her purse, so I swung her around by it ‘til she let go. I never meant to break her arm or nothin’.
“It were an accident.”
“Yeah, okay, Omni. But even after, you kicked her lights out.”
He lowered his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Things got the better ‘a me, thas’ all.”
“Broke her up, pretty good, Omni.”
“Forgot you was a fighter?”
“No, I didn’t forget, ya moron! Like I said, it got the better ‘a me. She was callin’ me names and screamin, then the darkness came, and I didn’t send it away. This time, I didn’ send it away.”
A tall man in a dark suit was coming toward them; they spared him a wary, cursory glance, until Jim spoke again.
“She had no chance against you.”
“Well, like I said, I didn’ mean t’do it. Lay off it, Jimmy.”
Jimmy laid off, looked at the stranger, who’d stopped just outside the circle, a bit too close.
“Anyone got a light?”
They looked him up and down; he wore a well-tailored suit, understated ring that they knew to be worth something. His watch, too.
The cigarette was black; not sold here, then. An import.
Mark all over him, in fluorescent neon green.
Cal took his lighter and lit the smoke.
“Thanks.” He looked at Omni. “You’re Omni, right?”
Omni gave him a crocodile’s grin. “I know you?”
The stranger shook his head. “Heard of you. Why do they call you Omni? Is that your real name?”
Omni pushed his way through his small crowd of sycophants and stood before Nefarion.
“You got yer light. Best be on yer way, Mr. Suit.”
The man made no move to go away. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Omni pushed the man’s shoulder with a small jab. “Don’ have to, n’ not goin’ to. Move along, fer fuck’s sake. Ain’t gonna tell you again.”
As he spoke, his entourage slowly circled the man.
“I’ll tell you why,” the man said. “They call you that because you provide everything these losers need.” His arm swept out to include the gathering. Debra shrank back as Omni took the bait.
“Well, la-de-da, fellas. Th’ fancy’s callin’ ya losers. While he ain’t ‘xactly wrong, he’s outta line, talkin’ to us like that.” He turned from the man to look at them all, making sure they were with him.
“Wouldn’t ya say?”
His sycophants looked the man over, and he looked back, his own gaze carrying a calm confidence that gave them pause. “This isn’t your fight, guys.”
“It is if I say so.” Omni took another step forward, and jabbed the man’s shoulder again.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Nefarion looked them over as they tentatively shuffled forward; their hearts weren’t in it. “For the last time, my fight’s not with you. What you do with that information now is up to you.”
“Hit this fucker, boys.”
No one moved.
“Ain’t this some kinda chickenshit business…” Omni’s fists were on his hips.
“You’re the one he wants,” Cal said. “Seein’ as how yer a leader n’ all, pushin’ grannies around and breakin’ their arms, let’s see what y’ really got.”
The others nodded, murmured agreements, and stepped back; Omni found himself alone, if not isolated.
The stranger still seemed at ease, which made Omni uneasy.
“Go to it, Omni.” Jim said.
The stranger waited.
Omni waited.
The stranger arched a brow. “Nothing?”
They waited some more, saw Omni shift and shuffle, but his heart wasn’t in it either.
The Pack drift began to drift away.
“Hey…where ya goin?”
Cal stopped, and they all turned; in that moment he became the de facto leader of the group, if Omni wouldn’t act.
“Last chance, Omni.”
Omni looked back at the stranger, who held out his arms in a welcoming gesture.
Backed into a complex corner, Omni rushed at the stranger, who never moved. To his credit, he didn’t hesitate, landing some blows that seemed to do damage.
He messed up the stranger’s suit, and had his lip bleeding; his small cadre got back into it, except Cal.
He’s being suckered, and he’s too stupid to know it. Cal started walking.
“Look, Cal! Don’t go! Omni’s winning!”
He’s gonna die, the dumb shit. Fuck it. I’ll watch him go…
Omni had the man’s arm behind his back, his forearm locked around the man’s neck, pressing hard; in their excitement, none of the others had seen the man’s expression hadn’t changed at all, though his jaw was swollen and his mouth bled.
He ain’t human. Cal wasn’t surprised as the revelation hit him. The devil came a – calling.
The stranger relaxed in the hold, and his suit began to smolder.
At first, they thought the cigarette had set the suit on fire, but as the stranger’s eyes began to glow, they stepped back. Their expressions alerted Omni to the fact that something wasn’t right.
He pushed the stranger away, but just as quickly found himself grappling face to face as the stranger turned and wrapped his hands in Omni’s jacket sleeve, pulling him close.
Omni tried to shove him, but the strangers skin was hot. “What the–?”
Omni fanned his hands trying to cool them, backpedaling. He began to turn away, but the stranger pulled him off balance by his right sleeve, dangling him like a fruit, a punched him twice in the face,
Omni was on the edge of consciousness; the stranger tightened his grip and twisted, breaking off Omni’s right arm at the shoulder, and set it on fire, blood spurting onto his left pants leg.
The others broke, but there was an unseen barrier.
Panicked screams and pleadings rent the heating air, and they began to cry as well as sweat.
One by one, they burst into flame, except for Cal. He only looked at Nefarion as those around him burned. Nefarion stuck his chin out, indicating Debra, standing outside the circle, her eyes wide and her mouth open.
Cal nodded; he’d look after her.
“Go, then.”
Cal walked through the firewall to stand beside Debra, and they both stared at the spectacle of immolation; the crackling, sizzling fire, made the air wavy with heat. Human bodies twitched and dripped bloody fat as they melted away like Nero’s living torches, unrecognizable as human anymore.
“Let’s go,” Cal said. He put his arm around her shoulders, guiding her away.
Still standing in the center of the carnage, Nefarion could see Debra turn back for one more look, and smile.

 

Spellbound

by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

Chapter 1: Exiled to Freedom
There was a fierce wildness to her beauty, something in the eyes that would catch you like a kite and fling you end over end into the clouds, only to rip tear the heart asunder and dash it back to the unyielding earth.
I found myself in a perpetual state of tension between exhilaration and desolation, never knowing which was next, or for how long it would last once manifest; I only knew that when she summoned, I must go; that was as constant as the tide.
That we would wind up killing each other one day was as certain as sunrise.
For now, I was on his way, sweaty in the desert sun, trying not to fall asleep; to keep my mind occupied, I gave sway to the memory that kept nudging me like a horse’s nose.
*********************
“I don’t understand,” she said.
The sweet scent of the garden flowers now seemed to him like a cloying fog, and I fought the urge to gag.
“You don’t need to understand; you need to let me go. Take off the spell, Nira, and I’ll be on my way.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll find a way to leave anyway.”
She smiled, still not understanding. “What are you going to do, kill me?”
I neither moved nor replied, and in the protracted silence, it finally took hold.
“You would!” She stood up. “You will!”
“We had our time, Nira. Now, I would be free. You can’t hold me hostage. If you don’t break the spell, I’ll find a way, but if killing you is the only way to make that happen, I’ll do that too, if I must.”
She started to cry.
“You can’t have my freedom.”
“You can’t be with someone—”
“You bound me to you, Nira! This whole thing is a farce!”
Her hands were covering her face; when she took them away, her mascara was smeared. The fire in her eyes told me I was closer to dying than ever before.
Her voice rasping with hurt pride, her rage seethed through gritted teeth: “I release you from my service. You’ll be paid, and your passage from the land secured. But as penalty, you shall be branded with an ‘O’, now that you’ve forsworn your oath.
“Your return from exile, in any form, to this land, now carries a death sentence.”
“I expected no less.”
“You have until sunset.”
“Thank you, Nira.”
Her eyes flashed again, her voice stronger with venom this time. “Do not speak my name again, you oath breaking, traitorous bastard of a dog.”
I nodded, and turned on my heel, knowing before I felt something hit my back, making me stumble; I heard the crystal goblet that struck me shatter on the floor as I walked a gauntlet of hostile stares, pushes, shoves, spit, and slaps from her servants and councilors, who also went out of their way to trip me.
Nira watching, said nothing. Did nothing.
I was bleeding and bruised, my face filthy, my cheeks stinging.  The pain of the spell breaking left me too weak to fight back. The guards lifted me like a sack of grain, and took me to the torturer for branding. I remember the smell of smoking steel, and starting to scream. When I woke up, I was outside the city gate.
Sunset was imminent, and despite the pain in my cheek, I ran, even after the dirty sweat on my face burned it more.
I made it out alive, only to be called back when she needed me, unable to resist, though she used no magic. At least none that I could tell. Conditioned to serving her, it didn’t matter how far I roamed.
She said I would die if I returned.
She never said how long it would take.

Arch Enemies

by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

Jullandro closed and locked the door, a foolish gesture against those who were coming; it was more of an act of misplaced faith than protective.
“It’s Archmage Irhan and his men.They’re hunting you, Aleina.”
She only smiled. “Let them come.”
“You can’t defeat them.”
“How do you know?”
Jullandro swallowed, not wanting to say, though not saying it would mean the death of the only friend he ever made.
“Better than you have fought against them, and none survived.”
“Did any of them possess this sword?” She placed the blade under his neck and lifted his chin on the point, making it pucker.
Jullandro swallowed again, eyes fixed on the blade, making him almost cross-eyed.
It was a scarlet metal, rare, with a dark beauty to it that held the eyes. The name Soul Reaver was engraved into it in elegant script that belied bloody intentions.
“N-n-no.”
“Then we don’t know if I can’t defeat them.”
Jullandro allowed himself an angry breath as she lowered the blade, putting it back in its sheathe. To him, fighting with a sword full of power wasn’t the same as fighting with skills against other men.
To be fair, however, she wasn’t fighting men; they merely looked the part.
They were dark mages who dealt in summoning, arrogant in their abilities despite countless tales about those who’d lost control of the summoned.
As they grew in power, they stole land and wealth, snatched women and children for slavery, slaughtered by magic the men who could fight, and the old people who could do neither, they cut down like wheat and burned in pyres.
Her grandparents had been in one of those.
He shook his head. Her own arrogance may actually make the difference.
Outside he heard them say, “She’s in here.”
“Run, Aleina. They know you’re here.”
She tied her hair back, and went out to meet them.

*****************
The air was awash in power as she faced their assembly, and a small flash of doubt darted through her like a minnow in shallow surf.
The men before her had robes of red gold, tied with black silk; there were orbs of eldritch light full of arcane power around their hands.
Aleina took a deep breath to calm herself. She would give them no fear to feed on.
In the depth of his cruelty, Archmage Irhan appeared to her in the shape of her grandfather.
“What sick madness is this?” she hissed, charging the man, only to find him not there, and behind her.
He dropped the form, his alternative human shape standing there, chuckling.
“Are you so easily baited, child? Fortunately for you, we’re as ancient as we are. If we were so impetuous as to attack as soon as possible, we’d be extinct.”
He sighed, even though he didn’t breathe; the illusion was quite masterful. “But these are things you learn in time, with every foe you face.”
His broadsword cleared its sheathe. He lifted it as if it weighed no more than a feather.
“Sometimes, you learn too late.” With no further hesitation, he came at her, fast and swinging.
“Like when I twist this blade in your heart!” He lunged at her, almost knocking the parrying blade from her grip. He kept her backing away, and off balance, not allowing her to establish a rhythm of her own, or set up a counter.
She’d relied too much on the blade’s power, but didn’t know if they’d been able to counter it.
Speed was her only ally. His swings were wide and powerful, and if he connected, or knocked Soul Reaver from her hand, she was dead. As she struggled to find a way to sidestep him and get inside, she noticed the lights around the hands of the mages intensifying.
Their hands were raised toward the battle, and their eyes were closed in serene concentration, confident in Irhan’s ability to defeat the child.
Several thoughts flashed through her mind: they were countering her sword’s magic, or feeding him energy, or weakening her, or all three. Her arms were already beginning to tire, and her breathing was growing jagged. She trained hard, and knew that shouldn’t be this early in the fight.
With nothing to lose she made a desperate choice, ran toward the cluster of men.
Caught off guard, before he realized what she was going to do, the Archmage stood there as she closed the distance and severed the right hand off the nearest mage to them.
Blood spurted, and his scream of pain rent the air.
The lights around all their hands went out, and whatever link there’d been was severed too as the hand fell, twitching on the ground.
She ran back to the Archmage, and engaged him anew.
Her strikes proved too fast with his connection broken, and lifting the sword in his own strength became a task he wasn’t up for, backpedaling until he was against the wall of the house.
As the mages crashed from the broken link, they began to run toward her to physically kill her.
The point of Soul Reaver made the skin on the Archmage’s neck pucker.
“It’s a good thing I’m not as ancient as you; you see, there’s a place for impetuosity.”
He shuddered and thrashed as the sword pierced his throat, and his human form began to recede as he tried to escape.
The wave of mages cresting toward her crashed and collapsed inside their robes, piles of bone burning like embers, quickly crumbling to ash.
Aleina was overcome by how close she’d come to dying, and fell to her knees beside the dead demon.
Holding onto the pommel of the sword, she lifted her eyes as dim scarlet light emanated from the blade, and the blood she’d drawn seeped into it.
Did I imagine that? So tired…
Jullandro was there beside her, his hand on her shoulder, which he snatched away when she looked up.
“What’s wrong, Jullandro?” Her eyes felt hot, but not from tears. She used Soul Reaver’s pommel for support as she moved to stand.
“Come, let’s get inside.” He helped her to her feet, and kept his arm around her shoulder, taking the weight as she hobbled, weakened from the draining pace of the fight and the magic they used to attack her.
Reaching the house, he guided her to the looking glass. “Steady, now…”
Spots of blood dotted her flesh, and her hair drooped damp and lanky over her forehead, but her eyes were alight with a dull scarlet glow.
“What…?”
“I’m not sure, Aleina, but I think you’ve just become the Archmage.”
The sword fell from her grip, but her eyes were still shining.
    The sword…I didn’t know. The air around them grew charged with power.
All Jullandro could do was hold her as she turned from the mirror and cried.