Brand New Story
Elderberry #10. Energy Flux
Story : Desert Flowers
Rating : R
Word Count : 772
Whole new world, new cast. Fantasy again, of course. I vow to go in somewhat chronological order with this one (I might go back and add to parts I've already passed, and I will likely do some whipped cream) no jumping to the end and back. So, I think I'll skip on much of an intro and just start feeling it out as I go. Anyway, meet my new MC, Narda. I swear to you, whatever the magic in this particular piece may look like, she is not some other-dimensional twin of Sethan's....
Narda spun, bare soles patting the hard-packed floor, sending clouds of dust to rise over flexing toes. Her robes danced with her, the gauzy strands that hung from her shoulders billowing in the wake of her motions, unfurling into great gossamer wings, flitting and floating through the air as though it was not the thick molasses it felt to her body.
Each step she executed with further difficulty as the atmosphere pulled harder against her limbs. A twist, a dip, one foot carefully laid in front of the other, swept to the rear, to the side. The jewel-crowned head of the sceptre bobbed in and out of her sight as her hands moved with the same practiced ease as her feet. Tight, precise, trying not to think about the body across the room that did the same.
The air beckoned. It pressed its way between her lips and snaked down her throat, syrupy vapors angling their way into her breast to wrench the breath from her lungs. She tightened her grip on the sceptre and quickened her step. One slow, measured breath out, no force or life to it, just air. Rhythm replaced sensation. The air around her grew lighter and she pulled at it.
The vapors thinned against her will, twisting and slipping away. Her feet drummed the floor. Dust churned up around her shins. She turned the staff from hand to hand, gold flashing against the dull sand and stone as it churned the air.
Lips wide, she drank. The air tasted of blood, felt like a scream. There was a whimper from across the room, a fumbling of steps in the dust, and Narda swallowed her breath and opened her mouth for another as the warmth of the first flooded her veins.
Her eyes met with those of the other, a flash of steel between them. The other girl’s fists clenched about her own staff. Her trembling legs carried on their own dance, the fragile wings of her cloak wafting about her.
The vapors rebounded and tore at Narda’s lungs. The warmth fled her body, a fierce, icy tingling replacing it in every limb, and her head throbbed. She grit her teeth and pushed it back. “No you won’t.”
Precision, mechanics, deep breaths in, shallow ones out. Another cry, another stuttering step across the way. Every ounce of heat she drew to herself she stole from the other, left her drowning in ice. Knuckles white around the staff, she edged closer, the steps of her dance never faltering.
The girl’s eyes flew wide. Her lips shook. One foot caught the other and she pitched to her knees. Narda blinked at the look of terror that came over her as she fell. She had to be cold, be functional, move in for the kill, not give space to feel that cold again. She closed the distance between them, feet striking the earth in rapid staccato slaps, throwing more force into the dance than it required, force enough to distract, to keep her resolve.
She came to a halt before the fallen girl. No longer drinking her in, she choked and fought not to turn away from the wide eyes, the shuddering jaw. The staff rose over her head and turned a slow spin in her hands, churning the heavy air. Heat pulsed through her until muscles felt like putty while the other’s lips turned blue.
“I…” The girl’s hands fell from her staff and it tumbled to the floor. “I…”
Narda brought the butt of her own staff to rest at her foot, swallowed hard and laid a palm to the cold, clammy skin of the other’s forehead.
The rush nearly knocked her from her feet. Her lungs felt as if they might burst as the breath of two vied for space within them, her heart raced and her vision swam. The body before her slumped to the ground, a puddle of limp arms and legs, ashen flesh, and gaping mouth and eyes.
A shudder ran up her spine as the new warmth lost its edge. The gray corpse piled on the temple floor might as easily have been her own, might very well be her own next time. Narda shook her head as if the motion might clear the thought.
Biting her lip, she reached a trembling hand for the fallen scepter. Numb fingers circled the shaft and she squeezed them tight to assure herself she truly had a proper grip on it. A staff balanced in each hand, she turned from the body and made her way for the door.
One down, at least a dozen to follow.
Story : Desert Flowers
Rating : R
Word Count : 772
Whole new world, new cast. Fantasy again, of course. I vow to go in somewhat chronological order with this one (I might go back and add to parts I've already passed, and I will likely do some whipped cream) no jumping to the end and back. So, I think I'll skip on much of an intro and just start feeling it out as I go. Anyway, meet my new MC, Narda. I swear to you, whatever the magic in this particular piece may look like, she is not some other-dimensional twin of Sethan's....
Narda spun, bare soles patting the hard-packed floor, sending clouds of dust to rise over flexing toes. Her robes danced with her, the gauzy strands that hung from her shoulders billowing in the wake of her motions, unfurling into great gossamer wings, flitting and floating through the air as though it was not the thick molasses it felt to her body.
Each step she executed with further difficulty as the atmosphere pulled harder against her limbs. A twist, a dip, one foot carefully laid in front of the other, swept to the rear, to the side. The jewel-crowned head of the sceptre bobbed in and out of her sight as her hands moved with the same practiced ease as her feet. Tight, precise, trying not to think about the body across the room that did the same.
The air beckoned. It pressed its way between her lips and snaked down her throat, syrupy vapors angling their way into her breast to wrench the breath from her lungs. She tightened her grip on the sceptre and quickened her step. One slow, measured breath out, no force or life to it, just air. Rhythm replaced sensation. The air around her grew lighter and she pulled at it.
The vapors thinned against her will, twisting and slipping away. Her feet drummed the floor. Dust churned up around her shins. She turned the staff from hand to hand, gold flashing against the dull sand and stone as it churned the air.
Lips wide, she drank. The air tasted of blood, felt like a scream. There was a whimper from across the room, a fumbling of steps in the dust, and Narda swallowed her breath and opened her mouth for another as the warmth of the first flooded her veins.
Her eyes met with those of the other, a flash of steel between them. The other girl’s fists clenched about her own staff. Her trembling legs carried on their own dance, the fragile wings of her cloak wafting about her.
The vapors rebounded and tore at Narda’s lungs. The warmth fled her body, a fierce, icy tingling replacing it in every limb, and her head throbbed. She grit her teeth and pushed it back. “No you won’t.”
Precision, mechanics, deep breaths in, shallow ones out. Another cry, another stuttering step across the way. Every ounce of heat she drew to herself she stole from the other, left her drowning in ice. Knuckles white around the staff, she edged closer, the steps of her dance never faltering.
The girl’s eyes flew wide. Her lips shook. One foot caught the other and she pitched to her knees. Narda blinked at the look of terror that came over her as she fell. She had to be cold, be functional, move in for the kill, not give space to feel that cold again. She closed the distance between them, feet striking the earth in rapid staccato slaps, throwing more force into the dance than it required, force enough to distract, to keep her resolve.
She came to a halt before the fallen girl. No longer drinking her in, she choked and fought not to turn away from the wide eyes, the shuddering jaw. The staff rose over her head and turned a slow spin in her hands, churning the heavy air. Heat pulsed through her until muscles felt like putty while the other’s lips turned blue.
“I…” The girl’s hands fell from her staff and it tumbled to the floor. “I…”
Narda brought the butt of her own staff to rest at her foot, swallowed hard and laid a palm to the cold, clammy skin of the other’s forehead.
The rush nearly knocked her from her feet. Her lungs felt as if they might burst as the breath of two vied for space within them, her heart raced and her vision swam. The body before her slumped to the ground, a puddle of limp arms and legs, ashen flesh, and gaping mouth and eyes.
A shudder ran up her spine as the new warmth lost its edge. The gray corpse piled on the temple floor might as easily have been her own, might very well be her own next time. Narda shook her head as if the motion might clear the thought.
Biting her lip, she reached a trembling hand for the fallen scepter. Numb fingers circled the shaft and she squeezed them tight to assure herself she truly had a proper grip on it. A staff balanced in each hand, she turned from the body and made her way for the door.
One down, at least a dozen to follow.