Where is the descent into the shadow?
Where the oddness of light?
This is the weirdness of morning,
the bleary-eyed stare into the middle distance.
A cacophony of uninteresting activity occupies the ears,
frustrating the brain’s attempt at lucidity.
Here is empty obedience to the body’s necessities,
and thank the Gods for that.
But then, the coffee is good, like confession and
screaming curses at the sky.
The drilling headache that follows is evidence of life,
and an opening to the news of the day.
So much for the shadow, forgotten; so much for soft light.
Bring the day’s fight! Open the Third Eye of burden!
I am awake, I am ready...
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The Eternal City, Parts 18 & 19
The King of the Dead stood within his ring of stones and gazed malevolently at the southern horizon. He awaited the arrival of his shadowy ally, this ruler of trolls. A towering rage inspired him, and he thought of the many punishments he would like to visit upon the creature. They would be painful, extensive, long, and eventually fatal. But, there was one punishment that fit above all, and he would find great satisfaction in inflicting it.
“I am here,” came the voice of the shadow from near and behind him. It was still full of confidence, of insolence. It suspected nothing, another sign of its inferiority.
The King of the Dead turned and held his arm out before him, his hand tracing a small, quick gesture. Instantly, the shadowy form of the creature claiming to be the Night Spirit was encased in a transparent sphere, preventing it from moving or affecting anything around it.
“You cannot be whom you claim to be,” said the King of the Dead, a triumphant smile playing at his lips. “The Night Spirit would not be captured so easily. Not even within the confines of my own sanctuary would I have been able to do this.”
He stepped nearer the shadow. “No, you are no Fomorian at all. Rather, you are simply an upstart little spirit, playing games too big for itself.”
The shadow remained silent. It simply glared at the King of the Dead. But, something had changed. The gold of its irises, those strange little circles that seemed so out of place in the shadow changed. They were replaced with the red, slit-irised eyes of a troll. Its pupils narrowed, as if it were frightened of its own transformation.
Something happened to the shadow itself, too. It seemed to become grainy, its darkness wavering, flowing from one part of itself to another. It tried to back away, but could only reach the side of the sphere.
The King of the Dead laughed a little. “You are in trouble,” he teased.
“Tell me,” he said, turning suddenly serious. “What would have possessed you to directly take the life of a mortal? Did you not think I would know?” He put his face right up to the edge of the sphere. “I am the King of the Dead! No spirit may kill but at my command. No Fomorian, and certainly no creature less than we! It is only these little mortals who are free to do so.” As he spoke this last, he found a regret in his voice he’d not heard in a long time.
This little creature was going to suffer, oh yes. But, it would still be no consolation for allowing the last one to get away with it. He knew who she was, what she had done, and why. And he had let her go. He had done nothing, though it would have been within his power and his rights to do anything, and he would still do nothing, unless she forced his hand. Even then, he was not sure.
“Come, my little friend,” The King of Death said, reaching out toward the sphere, “let us go see the Witch.”
The little shadow’s eyes grew wide, and the depth of its darkness seemed to waver even more.
19.
“What of the man’s concubine?” Maselin asked. “Where is she?”
Gils replied, “She was found in their tent. He neck was twisted around… -er, several times.”
“Gruesome,” Maselin said, eyebrows raised. “Do you suspect the Ghok slaves?”
“It occurred to me,” Gils answered. “But, I don’t think so. They would have fled, certainly. Also, it is my understanding that the Ghoks are honor-bound to serve their captors. Something about their own culture prevents them from revolting.”
“This I have heard, as well,” Maselin agreed. “A strange death, and we may never know the answer. Steadmeet wanes, and we haven’t the time or people to question everyone who might have done it.”
Steadmeet was full of many sorts of people, not all of them simple traders. Thieves, bandits and other unsavory characters were attracted to Steadmeet also. This was only natural. Also, merchants could be fiercely competitive. Perhaps one of them seized upon this chance to remove some of the competition completely.
The girl, Kira, had asked that the Maiden remain in their care for a little longer. The Ghoks were awaiting her outside. She’d gone to see them, and Maselin decided to follow. He was possessed of a curious mind, and this was getting the better of him. It was very exciting!
“I am here,” came the voice of the shadow from near and behind him. It was still full of confidence, of insolence. It suspected nothing, another sign of its inferiority.
The King of the Dead turned and held his arm out before him, his hand tracing a small, quick gesture. Instantly, the shadowy form of the creature claiming to be the Night Spirit was encased in a transparent sphere, preventing it from moving or affecting anything around it.
“You cannot be whom you claim to be,” said the King of the Dead, a triumphant smile playing at his lips. “The Night Spirit would not be captured so easily. Not even within the confines of my own sanctuary would I have been able to do this.”
He stepped nearer the shadow. “No, you are no Fomorian at all. Rather, you are simply an upstart little spirit, playing games too big for itself.”
The shadow remained silent. It simply glared at the King of the Dead. But, something had changed. The gold of its irises, those strange little circles that seemed so out of place in the shadow changed. They were replaced with the red, slit-irised eyes of a troll. Its pupils narrowed, as if it were frightened of its own transformation.
Something happened to the shadow itself, too. It seemed to become grainy, its darkness wavering, flowing from one part of itself to another. It tried to back away, but could only reach the side of the sphere.
The King of the Dead laughed a little. “You are in trouble,” he teased.
“Tell me,” he said, turning suddenly serious. “What would have possessed you to directly take the life of a mortal? Did you not think I would know?” He put his face right up to the edge of the sphere. “I am the King of the Dead! No spirit may kill but at my command. No Fomorian, and certainly no creature less than we! It is only these little mortals who are free to do so.” As he spoke this last, he found a regret in his voice he’d not heard in a long time.
This little creature was going to suffer, oh yes. But, it would still be no consolation for allowing the last one to get away with it. He knew who she was, what she had done, and why. And he had let her go. He had done nothing, though it would have been within his power and his rights to do anything, and he would still do nothing, unless she forced his hand. Even then, he was not sure.
“Come, my little friend,” The King of Death said, reaching out toward the sphere, “let us go see the Witch.”
The little shadow’s eyes grew wide, and the depth of its darkness seemed to waver even more.
19.
“What of the man’s concubine?” Maselin asked. “Where is she?”
Gils replied, “She was found in their tent. He neck was twisted around… -er, several times.”
“Gruesome,” Maselin said, eyebrows raised. “Do you suspect the Ghok slaves?”
“It occurred to me,” Gils answered. “But, I don’t think so. They would have fled, certainly. Also, it is my understanding that the Ghoks are honor-bound to serve their captors. Something about their own culture prevents them from revolting.”
“This I have heard, as well,” Maselin agreed. “A strange death, and we may never know the answer. Steadmeet wanes, and we haven’t the time or people to question everyone who might have done it.”
Steadmeet was full of many sorts of people, not all of them simple traders. Thieves, bandits and other unsavory characters were attracted to Steadmeet also. This was only natural. Also, merchants could be fiercely competitive. Perhaps one of them seized upon this chance to remove some of the competition completely.
The girl, Kira, had asked that the Maiden remain in their care for a little longer. The Ghoks were awaiting her outside. She’d gone to see them, and Maselin decided to follow. He was possessed of a curious mind, and this was getting the better of him. It was very exciting!
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