From the Shadows, Light
This is a companion piece to this lovely bit of writing from Chry. chryseth.livejournal.com/53380.html
It was too late, the naga were everywhere, skittering across the Sapphire's decks in a vile swarm. The reek of them filled her nose and mouth, made her stomach churn. She couldn't move.
The cannons roared. The beast in the water howled its protest, a deafening screeching that still, somehow, failed to drown out the screams. Her feet refused to budge.
Beside her, Pyrce was shouting, commanding her to move, to fight, to do something, to do anything. Her body would not obey.
Tyr lay curled at her feet, back broken by one of the flailing tentacles. Crumpled across the steps, one hand stretched toward her, Ash lay still, eyes open, unblinking, empty. Why couldn't she move?
She watched them fall. One by one by one; Ilthus gutted on a naga's spear, Jessian caught by the beast, smashed into the mast in a crunch of bones, a spray of blood. Tiny chunks of ice and troll littered the decks, a witch's work. Help them..
The naga were fleeing back over the rails, dragging the pearl behind them. From inside it Chry screamed soundlessly, trapped, helpless, alone. Move, girl. Move!
The ship began to break apart, the sea rushing into her, filling her, washing everything away. Pyrce turned on the Captain, disgusted. "Worthless! Always were. Weak and worthless.." And there was nothing, not even tears.
And then came the light. A throbbing pulse, like darkness given it's own luminance. The face of the blind elf melted away as that light hit him like shadows before the torch. And beneath those shadows was a thing, a faceless horror, empty black eyes staring into hers, mirroring her fear back at her as it fled from the glow approaching. In its wake the ship, the beast, the naga, even the sea fell away, became a cluster of smaller horrors, cowering near the first. And Jelleneth found strength in her limbs again. Strength enough to turn, and face the source of the light.
He was exactly as she remembered. Tall, gaunt, robed and masked. The glow pulsed out from him, driving the creatures before it, chittering madly. His name came to her lips like a prayer. "Azhoul.."
In the shadows around her the horrors still moved, inching closer, bringing back that paralyzing cold, that dreadful susurration. The mage turned, moving toward and then past her, the same sound coming from him, but sharper, angrier. And again the beasts fell back. She could not understand the words, but she knew the tone, knew the meaning. "Mine.. this one.. is mine."
Screeching, the creatures melted into the darkness, taking the cold and numbness with them. She stepped toward her rescuer, hand outstretched, and as he turned, the mask and robes fell away. She saw him as she had seen him only once before, nude and vulnerable and somehow... off. Not an elf. His skin bulged where it should lay flat, was sunken where it should be full. Her eyes fell, as they had the first time, to the indentation in the center of his chest that made him seem.. hollow. Now, that spot was the source of the pulsing light. It drew her closer, feet moving of their own accord, hands reaching out to touch, that throbbing glow filling her vision until the withered, misshapen body fell away and the light was all that remained.
He was nothing but swirling, luminous, pulsing darkness given an elf's shape, as beautiful as he was terrifying. The glow of those empty eyes turned to lock on her, hungry, grasping. A tendril of shadow rose to meet her hand, to curl around her wrist, drawing her closer, and she felt the pulse.
As he had done so many times in the past, when he wished to feel pleasure through her, he sent the magic throbbing along her skin. She cried out, now as then. The sensation had not changed. Always there had been an edge to the arcane pulse, a trace of something she couldn't identify, and still could not, even as it wrapped itself around her. More tendrils rising to caress her face, to twine around her arms, her legs, her waist.
They tightened, pulling her into him, filling her senses with the rush of magic. The soft chittering began again, no longer angry, almost.. gentle. But the meaning was unchanged. "Mine.." The sound scraped across her skin like claws of ice.
"No." She began to pull away, the darkness releasing her the moment she resisted it, the eyes of the thing she once thought an elf looked at her in confusion. "Mine." She told it, pressing a hand to her chest. "Only mine. Ever. I can share my heart, Az.. but I'm the one who owns it. Always."
Recognition, and then anger, flashed across those eyes. He moved toward her, the chittering growing louder, more insistent. From her memory his voice floated up to her. The words he had said in the cave. "Fear, Jelleneth, is the one thing I never want to feel in you." She was afraid now. The shadows around her thickened, pushed back against her, made every step like fighting a current. And then he was in front of her, one tendril forming itself into a hand. "Mine." The hand thrust itself into her chest, grasping at her heart.
She woke with a cry, legs thrashing at the constricting blankets, hands scrabbling at her chest. Just for a moment, and then the smell and taste and cool breeze of the Tirisfal night flooded her senses and brought a wave of relief rushing in with them. A dream.
The dream mutterings and chitterings faded away and she became aware of Ash, lying beside her, facing her, murmuring low soothing sounds, "It's all right. I'm here. You're safe." But not touching. Not yet. He would wait, as always, for her to reach out for him. She rolled into him instead, arms still pulled tight against her chest, and waited for the shaking to stop.
She breathed in the smell of him, warm, safe, snuggled in with his arms around her, hestitant fingers kneading her back. "Shh, shh, it was just a dream." An odd note of tension crept into his voice, but she could find none on his face when she glanced up, his attention fully on her, poor little bird.
"Just a dream." She whispered back, shifting her arms to pull the blankets back around them. She was cold, a good cold, born of a damp night, nothing more. She winced as she resettled. Though her heart was no longer hammering so, the place where the dream hand had plunged in still hurt.
Ash drew away a bit, ears flicking back as he ran his hand along her shoulder and chest. "Hurt?" he asked, and his fingertips settled featherlight on her tender skin where a bruise was just forming. "I c'n heal it." Hunger flickered in his eyes, but it wasn't the hunger of the not-elf thing from her dream, not lust or a desire to claim her. There was no threat in this.
Most nights, she would have waved the offer away; a waste of magic, for so small a hurt. Tonight, she just nodded, laying her hand on his. "Please."
On other nights, woken by other dreams, she had stolen peace from the simpler minds of her beasts, losing herself in the pull of muscles, the rush of blood, the roaring glory of a kill. Tonight, she closed her eyes and let the Light fill her. She curled up in the warmth of it, heart and breath sliding into rhythm with the healer's. She understood, in that moment, a hundred little things. About him, about herself, about the Light and their dreams, on that night and for the future. She wanted to tell him all of it, but by the time the flood receded, leaving only the warmth to linger, she had already slipped back into peaceful, dreamless, sleep.
It was too late, the naga were everywhere, skittering across the Sapphire's decks in a vile swarm. The reek of them filled her nose and mouth, made her stomach churn. She couldn't move.
The cannons roared. The beast in the water howled its protest, a deafening screeching that still, somehow, failed to drown out the screams. Her feet refused to budge.
Beside her, Pyrce was shouting, commanding her to move, to fight, to do something, to do anything. Her body would not obey.
Tyr lay curled at her feet, back broken by one of the flailing tentacles. Crumpled across the steps, one hand stretched toward her, Ash lay still, eyes open, unblinking, empty. Why couldn't she move?
She watched them fall. One by one by one; Ilthus gutted on a naga's spear, Jessian caught by the beast, smashed into the mast in a crunch of bones, a spray of blood. Tiny chunks of ice and troll littered the decks, a witch's work. Help them..
The naga were fleeing back over the rails, dragging the pearl behind them. From inside it Chry screamed soundlessly, trapped, helpless, alone. Move, girl. Move!
The ship began to break apart, the sea rushing into her, filling her, washing everything away. Pyrce turned on the Captain, disgusted. "Worthless! Always were. Weak and worthless.." And there was nothing, not even tears.
And then came the light. A throbbing pulse, like darkness given it's own luminance. The face of the blind elf melted away as that light hit him like shadows before the torch. And beneath those shadows was a thing, a faceless horror, empty black eyes staring into hers, mirroring her fear back at her as it fled from the glow approaching. In its wake the ship, the beast, the naga, even the sea fell away, became a cluster of smaller horrors, cowering near the first. And Jelleneth found strength in her limbs again. Strength enough to turn, and face the source of the light.
He was exactly as she remembered. Tall, gaunt, robed and masked. The glow pulsed out from him, driving the creatures before it, chittering madly. His name came to her lips like a prayer. "Azhoul.."
In the shadows around her the horrors still moved, inching closer, bringing back that paralyzing cold, that dreadful susurration. The mage turned, moving toward and then past her, the same sound coming from him, but sharper, angrier. And again the beasts fell back. She could not understand the words, but she knew the tone, knew the meaning. "Mine.. this one.. is mine."
Screeching, the creatures melted into the darkness, taking the cold and numbness with them. She stepped toward her rescuer, hand outstretched, and as he turned, the mask and robes fell away. She saw him as she had seen him only once before, nude and vulnerable and somehow... off. Not an elf. His skin bulged where it should lay flat, was sunken where it should be full. Her eyes fell, as they had the first time, to the indentation in the center of his chest that made him seem.. hollow. Now, that spot was the source of the pulsing light. It drew her closer, feet moving of their own accord, hands reaching out to touch, that throbbing glow filling her vision until the withered, misshapen body fell away and the light was all that remained.
He was nothing but swirling, luminous, pulsing darkness given an elf's shape, as beautiful as he was terrifying. The glow of those empty eyes turned to lock on her, hungry, grasping. A tendril of shadow rose to meet her hand, to curl around her wrist, drawing her closer, and she felt the pulse.
As he had done so many times in the past, when he wished to feel pleasure through her, he sent the magic throbbing along her skin. She cried out, now as then. The sensation had not changed. Always there had been an edge to the arcane pulse, a trace of something she couldn't identify, and still could not, even as it wrapped itself around her. More tendrils rising to caress her face, to twine around her arms, her legs, her waist.
They tightened, pulling her into him, filling her senses with the rush of magic. The soft chittering began again, no longer angry, almost.. gentle. But the meaning was unchanged. "Mine.." The sound scraped across her skin like claws of ice.
"No." She began to pull away, the darkness releasing her the moment she resisted it, the eyes of the thing she once thought an elf looked at her in confusion. "Mine." She told it, pressing a hand to her chest. "Only mine. Ever. I can share my heart, Az.. but I'm the one who owns it. Always."
Recognition, and then anger, flashed across those eyes. He moved toward her, the chittering growing louder, more insistent. From her memory his voice floated up to her. The words he had said in the cave. "Fear, Jelleneth, is the one thing I never want to feel in you." She was afraid now. The shadows around her thickened, pushed back against her, made every step like fighting a current. And then he was in front of her, one tendril forming itself into a hand. "Mine." The hand thrust itself into her chest, grasping at her heart.
She woke with a cry, legs thrashing at the constricting blankets, hands scrabbling at her chest. Just for a moment, and then the smell and taste and cool breeze of the Tirisfal night flooded her senses and brought a wave of relief rushing in with them. A dream.
The dream mutterings and chitterings faded away and she became aware of Ash, lying beside her, facing her, murmuring low soothing sounds, "It's all right. I'm here. You're safe." But not touching. Not yet. He would wait, as always, for her to reach out for him. She rolled into him instead, arms still pulled tight against her chest, and waited for the shaking to stop.
She breathed in the smell of him, warm, safe, snuggled in with his arms around her, hestitant fingers kneading her back. "Shh, shh, it was just a dream." An odd note of tension crept into his voice, but she could find none on his face when she glanced up, his attention fully on her, poor little bird.
"Just a dream." She whispered back, shifting her arms to pull the blankets back around them. She was cold, a good cold, born of a damp night, nothing more. She winced as she resettled. Though her heart was no longer hammering so, the place where the dream hand had plunged in still hurt.
Ash drew away a bit, ears flicking back as he ran his hand along her shoulder and chest. "Hurt?" he asked, and his fingertips settled featherlight on her tender skin where a bruise was just forming. "I c'n heal it." Hunger flickered in his eyes, but it wasn't the hunger of the not-elf thing from her dream, not lust or a desire to claim her. There was no threat in this.
Most nights, she would have waved the offer away; a waste of magic, for so small a hurt. Tonight, she just nodded, laying her hand on his. "Please."
On other nights, woken by other dreams, she had stolen peace from the simpler minds of her beasts, losing herself in the pull of muscles, the rush of blood, the roaring glory of a kill. Tonight, she closed her eyes and let the Light fill her. She curled up in the warmth of it, heart and breath sliding into rhythm with the healer's. She understood, in that moment, a hundred little things. About him, about herself, about the Light and their dreams, on that night and for the future. She wanted to tell him all of it, but by the time the flood receded, leaving only the warmth to linger, she had already slipped back into peaceful, dreamless, sleep.