And the wind said to me:
want to change,”
The wind said to me:
And float the same way
Til the day that I flutter
And the wind said to me:
want to change,”
The wind said to me:
And float the same way
Til the day that I flutter
But not just any stone in hand
A rough and jagged one
It breaks your bones when thrown to wake
Your troubled mind from sleep
It skids across your cheek and sings
Its dirge digs through the depths of you
It shatters figurative windows and brings,
Wherever they lie in your head,
Behind your eyes or
The touch of dirt beneath your fingers
The scent of scum
Rise and begin that hated thing
The thing you fought to escape
Back to light within your heart
Back against the nape
Of your neck-
The cold steel of that knife
Tears you free of your dreams
You jolt once and awake
To the present
Hangs the thread of innocent
Fingering that pendant,
Pondering the past
You think of a time, long ago,
©2013 Sam Oliver (Eris)
Hey. Poetry today. Written with a few other story/microfiction pieces I might post some other time.
News post and then the next story. IN THAT ORDER. That’s right, I’m giving news more priority than MY NEXT SHORT STORY. TREMBLE.
Keep your head, Summer.
Summer breaks into a run the moment she has her bearings.
Jane… Winter whispers weakly. Here too?
Summer’s hands burn with heat. The ground underfoot- stone- smokes where her feet land, and power, gathered from a hundred waiting Servants, hums through Summer’s body as she closes the gap between herself and Autumn. A bolt of power slams into her shoulder. Autumn’s finger glows, His hand remains outstretched.
It doesn’t faze her. She lets the pain sink in and keeps running. He’s three yards away when He takes one step back. Two when His expression changes to anger from boredom. One when He throws up his other arm slowly, too slowly.
Summer slams into Him, the full force of her fury burning the air. She watches Him tumble away from her, watches Him pull himself to his feet.
Autumn reaches for His long sword, draws it from His scabbard. He holds it left-handed, leaving His right hand empty.
If Summer were thinking, she’d be cautious.
“You bastard!” She screams instead, throwing up both hands and shouting an Eldritch Word: Burst.
Power floods her arms, streams out of her fingertips and leaps outward, striking snake-like in a long, red line towards Autumn. He slashes it, deflects it with His blade, struggling for a moment before sending it soaring away. It hits the far left wall- stone ripples, then explodes outwards in a brilliant wave of heat. It melts through the solid rock and leaves a smoking crater. The shockwave shakes the cavern and the wall of wind that flees the explosion blows Summer’s long hair back.
Autumn’s face twists in anger.
His blade is steaming now, flashing brilliantly, and His eyes are wide.
“Why?” Summer growls, her hands low again, crackling with barely restrained energy. “What the hell has she done to you? She wasn’t even involved yet, you monster! Have you gone completely insane?”
She can see Autumn’s eyes narrow, see Him open His mouth to respond.
“Vanish,” He says, and does, disappearing in a crack and a puff of brimstone.
She has just enough time to wonder where He went when she hears the clack of His hooves on the stone of the room. They pause after a moment. From behind her, near the entrance and only exit, she hears “I need no reason for doing what’s right, Sister. Enjoy cradling your dead pet-”
She whirls and points at the exit. “Wall!” She snaps. Immediately a wall of pure fire splashes upwards and ignites on the ceiling, filling the arch by which she’d entered completely, and casting red, eerie light all over the dim room.
Silence from her brother. Either He’s left, or He’s waiting to strike now, Summer thinks.
Why did He kill her again? What had Jane done? Why did she have to see it again? It’s so much easier, in Winter’s head, it’s so much easier when you’re shielded from it. Summer trembles with fury. Tears evaporate on her cheeks, leaving salt. Jane had been her friend for so long. To meet an end like this without knowing why…
“Hiding now, brother?” She snarls. “What a difference from the last time we fought! Have you weakened so much now that you fear me?”
She searches the room, one green eye, one blue eye, staring into corners, into shadows.
Suddenly, a click behind her, and a white lash of pain draws itself over the back of her thigh. Something slippery drips down her leg, and she stumbles forward for a moment. There’s a clatter. She whirls again, sees the long sword- edge half-melted and glowing cherry red- drop from thin air. She throws up one hand.
“Strike!” She hisses. Again the power streams into her from the slumbering Servants. It gathers in her hand and jumps forth in the blink of an eye- this time taking the form of a whip, a tendril of energy, thin and crackling. It sweeps out and catches her brother directly. The glow illuminates him in an outline before he’s flung by the force. The invisibility Word fades.
His thin, tall frame flies away, slamming into the stone floor several feet away once, and again after striking a pillar. The sound reaches her next, a thunderclap that shakes the ancient dust from the ceiling.
It’s too much to hope that he’s dead. He rolls over and then slowly gathers himself.
He pushes himself to His feet, glaring at her, one hand clutching His midsection- His clothes are torn and burned, and blueish red drips from his lips and runs down his middle.
“I cannot fight you here,” He growls, spitting the strange blood. “But mark my words, you both will meet your end. Quite. Soon.”
He reaches out, fingers curled, and peels reality open as if tearing through paper. Summer’s legs feel heavy as she watches Him step through the gate. It snaps shut behind Him, leaving her alone in the gloom. In the distance, the screeching noise is growing louder. In her head, she can hear Winter sobbing.
Summer’s recently regenerated left hand aches horribly. Her shoulder drips blood and the back of her leg bears a short, deep cut that flows slowly. Her bones ache and her head throbs.
She kneels down next to Jane’s body. After making sure her Servant is truly dead- the heads and serpentine form are both still and cold as marble- she tries again to understand where she is. The room is huge- and must be to contain even a young Goliath.
On the far, far southern wall there is an enormous dark mirror and a small raised dais before it. The dais bears a few strange stones on it, and she remembers now. It’s a Seeing Terminal. The old castle back in Season’s Refuge- well, Black Refuge right now- had one.
She only knows the combinations for her friends and family, of course. The sort of magic that runs in the old stones here is common enough, though she’d never seen it on quite this scale.
Why would he do this? Winter repeats. Why?
“He cut off our support early. He’s trying to make us waste our time,” Summer says softly, furiously.
She stalks over to the strange terminal and stares at it. The screen is made from a strange crystal- from within there can shine a light to illuminate images that dance across the mirror’s surface. She’s not really sure how it all works, but at the moment it doesn’t matter.
She takes a deep breath, shoving the corpse of her friend out of her mind, and depresses four stones on the dais.
The screen flashes a multitude of colors, light playing over the mirror and sending eerie shadows over Summer’s face as she stands near it and waits. There are two of them here. Will it focus on the future or the past?
The screen goes dark for a moment, and then shows her Fall.
Her brother stands there on a hill, shading his eyes as he looks out over the wall around Spiritfell and into the wastes of the Barrier. His expression is at peace, and its image contrasts sharply with the one of the enraged Autumn she’d fought. Similar, but far from the same. Past and present.
“Brother,” She says quietly. “Why?”
He starts, looks around. That’s right, Summer thinks. It transfers voice too!
“Summer?” He asks the open air. His voice can be heard, like a whisper, though it’s plain he’s speaking out loud. He’s all alone on the hill though.
“I’m talking to you through a screen,” She says plainly. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” comes the faint reply. “Is everything alright? What’s a screen?”
“Jane is dead. And there’s no time to explain.”
She watches Fall’s expression slide from anxious to grieved in a flash. “What?” He asks. “How?”
“Autumn was here waiting for me.”
“Cycle above. Are you hurt?”
Summer shakes her head and sighs. “Yes, but it’s nothing that won’t heal.”
“How about your uh. Your hand?”
“It regenerated before I left,” Summer replies dryly. “You were there for that, brother.”
“Right. What will you do now?”
“Bring Jane back.”
“How will you do that?” Fall asks, arching an eyebrow at nothing. “There’s no way to bring back the dead.”
“Goodbye, brother,” Summer replies quietly.
She slaps a hand against a stone, cutting the connection. The screen goes dark.
She finds that she’s trembling again. It’s hard to believe that Jane’s death would take her quite like this.
She walks back over to Jane’s corpse, taking another long, deep breath. Her Servant doesn’t stink, like a normal body would. There’s no mark on her, no sign that she died in pain.
We heard her before, Winter says grimly. While we were coming this way she was in pain.
“Yes,” Summer replies stonily. “I am Summer- I am responsible for life, like Spring is for renewal. I remember that.”
And I am for death, like Fall is for decay. I’ve figured out that much.
“Are you prepared for what we need to do?” Summer whispers to herself.
I will do whatever it takes. We need to do this twice in any case- now and in the future. Just show me the way. Winter sounds determined. She’s changed now- as Summer has. In so short a time, they’ve both changed, and Summer, while she doesn’t understand it, thinks she might enjoy the feeling. After so much time being a monster….
Summer looks around her for a stone or a knife, but all she can see are pebbles. But they’ll serve. She draws on the heat of the now silent Servants. She gathers a few pebbles in her hand and in a flash of heat, fuses them together into a mass. The heat tickles a little, and the smell of burning rock nauseates her.
“Sharpen this, Winter.” Her voice is emotionless. She moves back to stand over the still body of her friend “Hurry.”
It’s so clear to her, here. She’d done it. It had been done before. She’d never needed to think about it- she’d just known that she’d done it, that she’d brought back the dead. Winter will have to help, but she’s part of me, Summer thinks. She wants this as much as I do, even if she doesn’t know the way.
I know the way. I’ve known it since forever.
This will just be the first time I’ve done it, though I’ve done it before. Does that make sense? More importantly, will it work?
Why? Winter asks. But she wills the melted stone sharp with all her heart, and, as Summer’s grip tightens on it and it lengthens to a razor sharp tip, she realizes that was the vast majority of her energy.
Summer holds the makeshift knife out. She takes a deep breath, drawing on the life of the Servants above her and flooding herself with power again. Everything has a price…
Her vision flares, white and black. She is sheathed in white, her Servant sheathed in black, the shadows glowing and the very surface of the stone beneath her feet etched in her eyes when she closes them. She can see, she can feel everything, every little twitch of every little cave creature… Every hiss, squeak, squeal and click from the Servants above her, in the tunnels surrounding her.
Following memory, Summer grips the stone knife in white knuckles. She floods everything around her now with her power, eyes shut tight and heart pounding.
“Life for life,” Summer whispers. “Blood for blood.”
It’d be comforting if the words shimmered like she did, but they sink like stones in the dark, swallowed up. And the dark waits for her.
She jams the sharpened edge of the stone into her neck. The rock tip bites deep, thrust through bronze skin. With waning strength, she pulls it out again, lets the flood loose.
Blood washes out thought, and Winter’s scream is drowned out by the roar as it floods from her severed veins in a ruddy stream, soaking the hungry stone and splashing on her dead Servant’s scales. She slumps forward.