»
Main Forums
»
Passions in Prose
»
The Offering (an excerpt from my very own novel-in-progress!) :o)
»
Main Forums
»
Passions in Prose
»
The Offering (an excerpt from my very own novel-in-progress!) :o)
| Passions in Prose |
|
The Offering (an excerpt from my very own novel-in-progress!) :o) |
|
|
Skyfyre Senior Member
since 1999-08-15
Posts 1906Sitting in Michael's Lap 
|
Lorian watched through a haze of pain as Mynara stepped from the shadows, a mask of grim determination on her face. He felt the subtle tug on the web as she gathered her powers, invoking a scattering pattern to hide her thoughts from her enemy. He saw her glance flit over his crumpled form, and then a slight nod – she was going to try to distract his opponent long enough for him to recover and attack. Child, no! He pleaded silently with her, knowing that she could not hear him. She was, after all, a human, and the Goddess had not blessed her kind with mindspeech. His magical reserves were drained, and he wasn't too well off physically either – he was not wounded, but neither could he find the strength to move. He was helpless as a rag doll, and Mynara was about to throw her life away in order to give him a chance to save himself. To save us both. Goddess help me, there is nothing ... A vicious chuckle floated from the unnatural darkness which cloaked the rogue mage's form. It carried with it a note of insanity – apparently, this man had not been careful to limit his exposure to the chaos that was the essence of his craft. Extending his senses, he could see the rapidly shifting colors of his assailant's aura, a sure indication that the disorder of chaos had eroded his brain. Which makes him even more deadly. He has no stable sense of fear, and his concepts of life and death are undoubtedly warped. There is no predicting what he will do, or to what extremes he will take this confrontation. The only sure way to end it will be his death – or ours. As though on cue, Mynara launched her attack. At first sight, it appeared that she was calling a weather spell – rain, specifically – and Lorian's heart nearly stopped. Rain?? She must have misspoken, he thought, his gut wrenching. Tried to call lightning, or fire perhaps, but could not summon enough power. The magic gave her the closest thing to what she asked for ... sweet Goddess, she is only a child – have mercy! The mage's chuckle turned to laughter outright as he realized what she had done – the sound was poison in Lorian's ears. Closing his eyes and mouthing a silent prayer, he readied himself for the one thing left in his arsenal. Goodbye, child ... Just then, he was startled by a sound he never again expected to hear. Mynara was laughing. It was mirthless – even cruel, but it was laughter nonetheless. He raised his gaze to her, certain that he would find her touched by chaos, insane – or worse. But her aura was strong and pure, a shimmer of her familiar greens and golds. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding – she is still there – and then he looked to the mage. Mynara's rain was falling silently now, charged with its own inner light. The chaos-aura could be seen shrinking from it, distorting the sphere into a misshapen lump. Power still flowed from Mynara's mind, infusing with grim precision each drop. Suddenly, the mage's laughter turned to a scream of rage – she was washing away his darkness. Each drop that touched the oily cloud of shadow that their enemy had wrapped about him left a gleaming swath in its wake. Lorian watched in horror as the shroud was finally stripped away, to reveal the work that chaos had wrought on this once-human form. The mage's flesh was shifting as swiftly as was his aura, but never did he take on any recognizable form. He was a mass of tentacles and deformed limbs, glazed eyes and gaping mouths, each of which turned in on itself only to sprout another horror. Rank fluids oozed out of numerous pulsing orifices, sometimes bubbling as the monster screamed. Denuded, it shuffled toward Mynara in a rage, leaving behind puddles of gore and detached flesh in its haste. Startled, Mynara lost her grip on the power for an instant – but it was enough. Her scattering field dissipated long enough for Lorian to feel the terror coming off of her in waves, and apparently the mutant did as well – he saw tendrils of chaos seep like insipid fingers through her relaxed defenses. "NOOOOOO!" Lorian was on his feet before he realized he had tried to stand – his scream issued from a throat ragged with despair. The monster turned – or rather, its mockery of a face sprouted in his direction – and ravaged lips stretched in a sadistic grin. Desperate, Lorian grabbed hold of the only power he had at hand; the chaos that seethed about the mage's thrashing shapelessness. He was violently ill as he fought to tame the raw blackness – it writhed in his grasp, threatening to overwhelm his mind and disfigure his body. Mynara screamed, her wizard-shields crumbling as the chaos warped her hold on the power. Defenseless. With an agonized yell, Lorian launched the bound chaos-stuff at the monster with deadly force, watching in a sort of slow-motion as it sped toward its target ... a spot of roiling shadow backlit by Mynara's flickering aura. Still grinning, the mage lifted a wetly gleaming tentacle – and touched her. It was like a nightmare – Mynara's face went blank and she fell backwards just as the chaos-bolt struck the shambling atrocity, sending it pieces of it flying in all directions. Retching, Lorian dragged himself to her still form, clawing through mounds of demon-flesh to reveal her deathly face. The oily tip of the tentacle was still writhing on her forehead like a mutant leech – he could see the chaos-colors spreading like a virus through her own, originating from a gaping hole punched in her aura where the creature had touched her. He wrapped his hand about the piece of flesh, focusing on it all his rage and pain and despair – it withered to ash in his fingers. With trembling fingers, he pried open Mynara's eyelids, looking for any hint that she had some shred left of her mind. At least she still lives, he thought bitterly, if you can call it that. He shuddered as he thought of his gentle Nara transformed into such a beast as he had just slain. It was too early for the physical effects to show, but a slight mental touch revealed the chaos coiled like a snake around her consciousness, choking away the last vestiges of her identity. Once the mind is gone, the rest will swiftly follow. He vowed to kill her, for mercy's sake, if he couldn't save her from that fate. If only she weren't human! Desperate, he delved into her mind, knowing that there was really no hope of reaching her. Humans were a telepathically disabled race, helplessly trapped within their own skulls – they could neither send nor receive thoughts. Thus, when their sanity went astray, it was nearly always irrevocably lost. There was simply no connection, no channel through which the drifting spirit might be led back to its rightful place. Chaos-stuff oozed about Lorian's consciousness like a disease as he searched desperately for the familiar gold-and-green spark that would be Nara, if there was anything left to find. He felt black fingers probing at his link, but he seared them away with a depthless anger which crackled like blue lightning over his thoughts. You will not have her! he screamed, slashing at the retreating shadows with razor-edged rage. As the darkness parted reluctantly before him, he saw a fading flicker of green that made his breath catch in his throat. Nara! He surged forward, willing the spark to burn at least until he could reach it. The lightning of his fury preceded him, burning away the tendrils of nothingness that threatened Mynara's dying ember. At last, he was there, scooping her gently into ephemeral "hands" and curling his consciousness protectively about her fragile soul. When he saw her safely shielded, he gathered his thoughts into a concentrated pinpoint of raw power and emotion. When released, it exploded outward, burning the last of the writhing blackness to ash, and then incinerating even the ashes. Carefully, he checked to see if there were any physical effects of the attack or the cleansing, but Nara's brain seemed sound, if empty. Breathing a mental "sigh," he turned his attention to the wisp that was Mynara. Lorian probed her gently, waiting for some sign of recognition – but there was nothing. No gleam, no change in the pinpoint of light; it hovered before him, so close that he could touch it and yet so far beyond his reach. He could feel bitter tears coursing down his cheeks as his psyche cried in anguish – had he come so far, only to lose the one he loved because she could not hear his call..? No path. he despaired, no connection ... No connection. Connection! The realization hit him in a rush. There was one way -- one connection that he could make -- one channel through which he might be able to touch her tattered mind. It had power even over the blindness of human thought; the one way by which any Goddess-made creature's mind could be shared, at least with one other person. The Offering. Her own blessing – the joining of two minds forever by the Goddess' own hand. Yes, I can reach her ... A tangle of doubts assailed him, in the form of centuries of tradition. "You carry the blood of the throne, " he heard his father say, "and the blessing of the Goddess. None since the Prophet has held Her grace. You must choose your partner well, for our future depends on your choice." He saw Celyinne's majestic face, smiling at him in friendly acceptance of her position as his intended – yes, perhaps he could learn to love her, at least after a fashion. Her line was empowered as well, and she would make an excellent mate. He imagined his father's outrage at his soul's Offering being "wasted" on this scrap of a human girl – what could she possibly offer to the advancement of Varynkind? Human cruelty? A crippled mind? The Offering is once, and forever. Torn, Lorian hesitated. But only for an instant. Nara, he whispered, curling his soul about hers tenderly, I am here. Full fathom five thy father lies, Of his bones are coral made, Those are pearls that were his eyes; Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange... --William Shakespeare, from The Tempest |
||
| © Copyright 2000 Linda Anderson - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
Skyfyre Senior Member
since 1999-08-15
Posts 1906Sitting in Michael's Lap |
Um -- could I at least get a "don't quit your day job" from someone on this...?  --Kess |
||
LoveBug
Moderator
Member Elite
since 2000-01-08
Posts 4697 |
Great job! QUIT your day job!  "To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world" |
||
|
Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187St. Paul, MN |
I agree! QUIT your day job! Wonderful, wonderful writing! Very descriptive, wtih incredible imagery. I loved the paragraph where the true form of the rogue mage was revealed. Talk about horrid! I enjoyed this piece much, hooked right from the start In flames I shall not be consumed, but reborn. -- Abrahm Simons |
||
|
Asparagus Junior Member
since 2000-01-20
Posts 10Australia |
hey, great story. I am very interested in reading the rest of the 'novel-in-progress'! keep us updated ok? thanx Em [This message has been edited by Asparagus (edited 01-23-2000).] |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
»
Main Forums
»
Passions in Prose
»
The Offering (an excerpt from my very own novel-in-progress!) :o)
