Tags
(reposted for Fimnora…this was the other piece I posted back on November 19th)
* * * * *
Scene 17
In the inner sanctum of his granite tower, Ben Azeer Sikhar awoke with a start. The song of the orb filled the air. He hurried to the altar, his bedgown trailing after him. The water was agitated, churning gently. Outside he could hear the waves licking the cliffs in slow sensuous strokes. They had found the orb… Someone had roused it from its sleep again.
He closed his eyes, raised his arms over his head, and uttered a traveling spell imploring the dark powers to carry him on the air this night. The sleeves of his gown puddled around his shoulders as he closed his eyes and gave himself to the incantation. In his mind’s eye his vision began to fade from dark to light until suddenly he was there. He could see them. There were three standing around the table, bracing themselves against the wind. And there between them sat the chest with the orb. Despite the fire the room was chill. These spells were taking more and more out of him. His old bones ached with the cold and his apparition drifted closer to the hearth in search of warmth. He reached out with his spirit and caressed the golden orb on the table as the weyfs kept guard at each end.
In the back of his mind he could see his rider approaching the top of the mountain pass from the east. No, he roared in frustration. Where has he been all this time? It will take too long! He will be too late. Fool I am! Reckless fool! My greed has stolen all caution. I cannot sustain this spell. I should have bided until he was nearer.
The weyfs shivered in fear at his irritation. They cowered low on the table, not wishing to draw attention to themselves. He was still angry at them for leaving the dagger behind on the mountain.
No! It was not too late, he realized. They had not yet seen his specter standing there by the fire. He would simply wait for a more favorable moment after the rider had arrived. In his granite fortress his body began to grow weary. He could feel his strength ebbing.
With the sound of the rushing wind filling their ears, no one heard the clomp of the heavy shoes on the porch, nor the call of “What’s this then?” as the girl saw the darkened house with the wooden door thrown open to the night. On the threshold she stopped. There against the glow of the hearth fire she could see a shimmering outline of an old man, arms raised as if in petition. She began to scream.
In the tower, Ben Azeer’s attention wavered at Anya’s shriek. The wind began to die down. The cups and saucers, the cookies and teapot dropped where they were. Grace could hear them shatter as they hit the table and the floor. As one, the three turned to stare at Anya then followed her gaze to the hearth. They saw him. And he saw Anya. At the sight of her his focus deserted him. He began to lose his fragile grasp on the spell.
He would have known her anywhere. There was no mistaking the likeness to her mother. She was beautiful, with Linee’s long flowing black hair, pale skin, and ice-blue eyes. His pulse raced, his mind leapt to long dismissed possibilities. And so, he thought, in one fell swoop I have found both my heart’s desires! But for now his coupling with the spell was nearly broken. A glimpse of her was all he had to warm the stone-cold depths of his heart. Already she was fading from his sight.
Anya felt his gaze upon her, steady and searing. She recoiled in dread as his lifeless black eyes seemed to look through her to her very soul. She screamed again.
As the wind ceased, Fergus slammed the lid of the chest shut on the orb and threw himself atop it. Grace rushed to Anya, pulling her inside away from the door. Will drew his shortsword, and ran at the vision demanding to know who he was. “What is your business here?” he cried. But he was too late. Already the specter was growing dimmer.
At the top of the world Ben Azeer’s arms began to drop, his communion with the dark powers lessening. With fleeting words to the weyfs who had managed to avoid his temper, the apparition vanished leaving Will disgruntled and vexed.
On the table, the shadows did as they were bidden, then skulked across the floor and out the door.
Will took a reed from the tinder box on the mantel and lit a lamp. He crossed quickly to the table and lifted the lid of the chest to make sure the orb was still there. It was. But the dagger was gone.
Anya trembled in the circle of her mother’s arms. “I saw him! He looked right through me as if he could see into my heart, his mind sifting through my thoughts and memories as if he searched for something. I feel defiled.”
Grace held her tightly to her. Laying her hand atop Anya’s head as if to give a blessing, she closed her eyes and quietly recited a spell of unmindfulness. As the charm took hold, her daughter began to calm. Grace knew she would never forget the touch of evil in the old man’s look, but for now Anya’s mind would be numbed to the shock of his violation.
Grace’s thoughts raced as she tried to recall just what she had seen in those few moments before the spectre disappeared. Without doubt the apparition was an old man. His hair was gray as was his long beard. His hands veined as he held them above his head. His eyes, however, were sharp and eager. Of his attire she remembered little except that around his neck was an amulet with a likeness of a sea dragon, the same as the one on the locket. But it was the dawn of recognition in his eyes when he saw Anya that scared Grace. Though he was unknown to them, he most assuredly knew who Anya was. And somewhere inside her Grace knew her worst fears were true. Someone would be coming for her daughter.
“Wha’ the bloody hell WAS that thing? Fergus righted a chair and thumped himself down heavily, one end of his rusty-red mustache blown right up his nose. He sneezed and slicked the wiry hair back down with a spit-moistened thumb
“An apparition, a vision, who knows…” Will was sorely troubled. Magic was no longer commonly known or used on the mainland. And whoever this sorcerer was, they were poorly equipped to deal with him. He wondered about Grace’s friend Sylvanus. Perhaps a journey to see the old mage was in order.
Anya untangled herself from her mother’s arms. Her dark hair hung disheveled and snarled as it fell in disarray over her shoulders. Cautiously she went to the table and looked in the chest. Inside her she could feel something. It had started as a slight vibration when she stood at the door. The closer she had gotten to the chest, the stronger it had become. Now she felt as if a cat was purring beneath her rib cage.
The others watched as she reached out slowly and touched it. Her eyes grew wide. She stood quietly for some moments. Then turning to her mother she said, “I can hear it. It’s singing.”
Grace stifled a moan with the back of her hand. Will glanced at Fergus who clearly feared what all this meant.
Anya turned her full attention to her mother. “What is this?” she asked, a bit more sharply than she intended.
kimcoull said:
Hopefully we can all read it when it is published!!! Ahem….
LikeLike
Fimnora Westcaw said:
When you finish this, it will be fit for publishing! You can self-publish, like at Amazon. Truly, I’ve put away all my other books, when your posts come in. I want to just stay within this story! I want to ride the waves from start to finish. I hope that chance will come. Did you get my thoughts in the email?
I can so clearly see, as JMD said above. Your prose if so vivid! Your words are like a cinematic picture!
Thank you for sharing!
You’re right about our ‘voices,’ because they’re each different, and we all write our own stories, in our own ways. It’s what makes the world of reading such an all consuming addiction.
LikeLiked by 3 people
calensariel said:
Yes about the voices. I think JMD is worrying so much he may talk himself out of writing! I must have missed your email. I had a blue million notifications in there last night. I’ll go find it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
kimcoull said:
I agree Fimnora!! Vivid. Compulsive reading…
LikeLiked by 1 person
platosgroove said:
do you have this in a word file where I could read it from start to finish? I love the parts but I get lost.
LikeLiked by 2 people
calensariel said:
I have it in my Scriviner program, but I can import it and send it to you if you’d like. The second to the last scene I did I struggled with.
LikeLiked by 1 person
platosgroove said:
Yes please
LikeLiked by 1 person
JMD398 said:
I really love your descriptions it allows me to picture everything perfectly in my mind. They say an imagination is a dangerous thing to waste 🙂
LikeLiked by 2 people
calensariel said:
Well I wish I knew how to funnel mine into something productive! (And possibly profitable? LOL) I’m just glad it makes sense! I real S. Thomas Summers’ stuff and wish I had words at my command like he does for this kind of fantasy stuff. And you and Plato run rings around me with the depth of your stuff… I’m learning from the three of you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
JMD398 said:
Hey I am learning much from both of you as well. You both give me the encouragement needed to keep writing. I so appreciate that. And Plato has got me in thoughts of actually starting a book. I don’t have the structure or description to story tell like you though. I need to work on that.
LikeLiked by 1 person
calensariel said:
Well that’s MY voice. YOUR voice is totally different. I guess in a way that kind of dictates what type of book or story a person writes. I’m so drawn to your letters to your daughter. There’s something so appealing in that strength under control and allowed to be gentle. That’s what I feel from your writing to her. You’re passionate and it comes across in your writing, but you’re not afraid to allow your softer side to come out too. That can be an intoxicating combination. Do you feel like you know what your voice is? Can hear it when you’re writing in a way that’s comfortable to you?
LikeLiked by 1 person
JMD398 said:
I am still searching for my voice. Wish I knew what it was and how to use it. Really all I can hear/feel in my writing most times s honesty most things I write is real close to home so I guess if i didn’t fell that honesty there would be a problem.
LikeLiked by 1 person
JMD398 said:
ill have to take a closer look at my letters to Desiree though, maybe it will help reveal a few things about my voice.
LikeLiked by 1 person
calensariel said:
One of these days you’ll hear it and know. Your honesty is a strength. I was glad to see you back on your blog. I was afraid you’d gotten sidetracked and wouldn’t get back to it. You’re good.
LikeLiked by 1 person
JMD398 said:
Yeah I had to figure out some things with family, life, and sorts. Hopefully I got them all figured out. I was real ambitious in the beginning I wanted to post every day but just reading and gathering thoughts on the weekends have helped a lot and writing throughout the week. It feels good to have your words wanted 🙂 I hope I don’t let anyone down in this journey of finding my voice.
LikeLiked by 1 person
calensariel said:
You’re not going to let anyone down. We’re all just learning. This is supposed to be fun and it can be very helpful emotionally to get stuff out that way — cathartic. If you start fearing you’re going to let someone down you’ll get so up tight you’ll end up hating blogging. So don’t do that. When I talked to other people who have already taken the Writing 101 class, they said for most people blogging three days a week was a pretty common schedule. So maybe your expectations were a bit too much? It’s not set in stone. Do what feels most comfortable for you with your schedule.
LikeLiked by 1 person
JMD398 said:
yeah I am trying to write about anything that move me at any point in time. I read a post somewhere the writer was talking about wanting to write about something not just anything. I often from time to time feel that same anxiety. but hopefully what I write is worth while for some souls out there.
LikeLiked by 1 person
calensariel said:
J, I think a lot of people identify with your blog. You really do write beautifully. You just have to find your specific passion. The only way to do that is to write about a lot of different things. It’s just practice.
LikeLiked by 1 person
JMD398 said:
and write I shall. Thanks for that pick me up. I often wonder how what I write affects others.
LikeLiked by 1 person
calensariel said:
Sorry for the lag time. I just got a surprise call from Plato. He’s a hoot. But yes, if you don’t keep writing I will have to come after you with my whompin’ stick. (It’s really a Native American rain stick. Makes a great sound when you whomp someone with it! 🙂 )
LikeLiked by 1 person
JMD398 said:
haa haa I can imagine, can you record this sound and put it on your blog so we can all get a dose of what a whompin will sound like 🙂
LikeLike
calensariel said:
Wish I could but I’d have to pay the $99 upgrade to my blog first. Sucks… But it DOES sound like rain!
LikeLiked by 1 person
JMD398 said:
cool, I am going to have to invest in a whompin’ stick too!
LikeLiked by 1 person
calensariel said:
It’s actually a cactus branch and the seeds fall down through the spines inside when you turn in over and over. It’s quite a lovely rainy sound. Very soothing.
LikeLiked by 1 person