Midsummer Awakenings

 

night sky – barley lit by a thin crescent moon

ink black and alive with sound

a deep darkness hugged the ground under the thick canopy of full summer trees

mist lingered brushing the tips of tall rich grasses

 

grasses swayed – mist swirled

disturbed by the lone woman – clad in tattered layers

this was her time – night time – moon time – dark

the mist hung to her form as she appeared to float from the trees into the clearing

the boy laid near the centre – yet he was not there

 

his journey was in the inner realm

he would struggle

he would cry

he fought

she watched over his journey – a silent guardian

this was something he needed to face alone

 

a strangled sob escaped his form

sparks – dancing fae drew close

imps curious – drawn by the raw magic

they surrounded the boy – dancing on moon beams

the hag – noticing the father – ushered him away – sent him back to the shadows

 

somewhere a wolf howled – calling to his mate

as the thin moon circled low atop the tree line

night relinquished its hold upon the forest – a pink light grew in the sky

it was time for travellers to return from the inner realm

 

the boy stirred

the hag knelt by his side

offered him water – laced with herbs

he shook – he trembled – he cried

hung his head and wept – the painful truth laid naked

 

he killed the guardian did he not

my own father

the father of the guardian

as the sun rose early upon that midsummer morn

it lit the path before the boy

the guardian reborn

 

 

Anne Harrison 21.06.17

 

 

 

Intermission #4

The Pact

 

Ambition, no matter how carefully planned, can sometimes come with a high price and sometimes that ambition may cross lines, cost lives, divide family and turn best friends into bitter enemies.

Driven by desire a passionate lust to rule, to grasp the ultimate power of The Child of Prophecy. Fendor had killed and betrayed. He had turned against a King he had been loyal to for all of his life. He had faked alcoholism while planning assassinations. He had turned to black magic, got an innocent woman pregnant and then carelessly discarded her for another woman, stealing that child and raising her along side his new son.

A master manipulator who had taken some extreme measures to secure the throne. One such action was a Pact with a hell-spawn Demon many years ago to create this deception and guide him along his path to success.

The Beast with no name was a higher demon, reigning over several realms of chaos, powerful, magnificent, alluring, ancient. He was attracted to Fendor’s desire by his promise to deliver to the demon the Child of Prophecy. It was a high price to pay, the girl would need to be reincarnated into a pure virginal body and handed over to The Beast upon her thirteenth year.

When Fendor and his wife  conceived the boy he had desired and the little girl was a sweet six years old… The beast with no name attended the celebrations at Fenroux Palace.

Clad in a suit of sapphire coloured crushed velvet, tall and hansom, dark hair slicked back and clipped at the nape of his neck, his human persona caused heads to turn among the women (and some men) in the court. His eyes flared with a rich amber light, pupils horizontal, such as a goats. Behind his smile was hidden several rows of sharp needle pointed teeth. Fendor knew as soon as he sighted the stranger among the celebrants who he was as the beast drew closer to bid blessings upon the Prince.

By the crib the petite half sister, Ataraxia stood in a dainty dress, she also knew the true nature of The beast as he stepped forth and shuffled to hide herself behind her Step-Mothers legs, clinging to the layers of her dress, watching the stranger with fear and awe.

“What are you doing here?” Fendor whispered harshly under his breath.

“Your son, he is the final part of our pact.” The Demon reminded Fendor, speaking softly, so only The King could hear his words.

“You said thirteen years, it has been six!” Desperation crept into his tone.

“I am not here to collect any price Your Highness, not for another seven years. I am here with a humble request…” He purred softly.

“What is it?” Fendor spoke urgently.

“I want to name your son, he has breath because of my magic, your bride is well beyond child baring age, my power has granted you your Prince, I want to grant him his name.”

“How will I get my wife to accept that?”

“Not my problem, how you handle your woman is your business Fendor. I merely desire to name the boy.” The Demon handed over lavish gifts, as any other guest.

“What? What is his name to be?” The King graciously accepted the hamper.

“Ataxia.” The Beast replied, glancing at Ataraxia.

The tiny girl hid her face from the goat-like stare of the stranger in blue.

Reluctantly Fendor agreed…

The Beast with no Name bowed low, respectfully to the Royal Family and turned to merge into the celebrations, instantly surrounded by exotic curious ladies drawn to his beauty, giggling behind their fans. The Beast decided he was going to enjoy himself at this party, determined to make the most of his few hours upon the mortal realm…

 

Anne Harrison 24.05.17

 

Intermission #3

The day the Order was Issued…

 

Kane awoke with a start, roughly shaking the images of the nightmare from his mind… The loud hammering at his door was desperately urgent, it was still dark outside and the cat resting at the foot of his bed glared at having her rest disturbed, hopped down and slipped through the open french doors vanishing into the night as Kane pulled on garments in a rush… A thousand thoughts flooded his mind, panic, annoyance and curiosity… He flung open the door to be greeted by a nervous looking maid accompanied by two guards in Regal uniform.

“You are summoned to the Royal Palace.” The taller guard spoke firmly. “At Once.”

“Dad?” A young six year old lad rubbed sleep from his eyes, standing at his doorway down the hall… “What’s happening?”

Kane simply tilted his head to one side and the Guards parted to allow him to attend to the boy. “I need to work.” He knelt by the lad. “You need to guard your sister while I’m away…” Kane glanced at the awaiting soldiers “…You know what to do.” He added. The boy nodded, slipping back into his room silently pondering over the secret command.

***

At Fenroux Palace in the centre of the Capital City, known as the Northern Heart. The streets were filled with celebration and wonder. It was mid-morning by The time Kane arrived from the Clan Territories and the city was buzzing with a party spirit. Queen Roux had given birth to a healthy bright baby boy, a Royal Prince and Heir.

That news alone gave Kane the understanding of his summons, he wasn’t a fool and he knew this day would come. For near seven years he had held, in secret upon his estate three ‘guests’ three legal Royal Heirs who, in all intent and purpose were already dead publicly. They had only survived these last few years in seclusion upon the whim of Queen Roux, who had personally halted the death sentence upon her only son and two grandchildren. Now, with a new Prince born to the legal King… Jago, who should have been ruler, and his twins Kol and Indigo were insignificant. The traditional order of the throne had been manipulated to suit Fendor’s ambition.

Kane was kept waiting, while Nobles and Knights arrived in mass to congratulate the Royal couple and hope for a glimpse of the tiny Prince. Finally it was Lord Darkfire who greeted Kane in a silent side room. The giant barbarian leader eyed Kane distastefully, clad in traditional clan garb, a tan tunic and dark blue kilt, Kane had adopted the ways of the land he ruled instead of dressing like an outsider. To Lord Darkfire the kilt was offensive and he openly mocked the older, yet smaller man. Kane ignored the remarks.

“Are you going to get to the point?” He shrugged off any insult.

“The Order has been Issued…” Lord Darkfire confirmed Kane’s speculations.

“Very well.” Kane stood to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“Home, I have arrangements to make.”

“I shall be accompanying you!”

“Really?”

“Do you think the King trusts a lackey in a dress?”

Kane stepped right up to the Barbarian, standing chest to physically belly, as Lord Darkfire towered over him. “Do you want to try your luck?” Kane spoke softly, hand resting comfortably upon the hilt of his sword.

There was an uncomfortable silence until the larger man simply took a step backwards.

“You know it would have been easier to have simply sent the order with the Royal Guards instead of dragging me all the way here to the palace.” Kane sighed, bored with the waste of time.

Lord Darkfire grinned then half chuckled as he spoke “We needed you away from your home, to make some security arrangements. To ensure you go through with the order without any resistance.”

Kane kept his expression calm, his mind calculating the amount of time it would take to return home and a thousand more racing thoughts, yet he could not afford to dwell on the threat… “Do you doubt my loyalty to The King, one of my oldest, closest friends?” He spoke without hesitation. “I am perfectly aware of my duty when it was issued to me six years ago. My only concern is why it took so long to act?”

“For the Queen to conceive?” The Barbarian let slip what Kane had guessed.

“Ahhh… What do we know about the cycles of a ladies body?!” Kane grinned slapping the barbarian on the arm then… “Shall we go get this nasty business dealt with? I see no purpose in hesitation, it will be dusk by the time we return. We can get this done this day and break open some spiced wine to celebrate the babes birth.”

He marched past Lord Darkfire, causing the larger man to trot along to keep up. He was spluttering details of his orders as they headed to the courtyard and awaiting transportation. Kane was hardly listening, his mind was tumbling over the empty threat that hung in the air and he pondered over what could possibly await him at home…

 

Anne Harrison 24.05.17

Nightmare Memories

Who Holds These Memories?

 

There was never a clear view, he had no desire to move, so from where he sat in the damp cold mud there was never a clear view. Low leaves obscured his vision, the thick bark of the tree, which serves as his shelter were details that were firmly imprinted in his mind. A small bug ambled past, blue yet purple yet gold, the wing casing shimmered in the bright sunlight.

Voices… He looked up, his attention distracted away from the tiny critter. He knew the male voice and grinned, burying himself deeper into his bolt hole. An expert in this game, he could remain concealed for hours, stubborn and determined to win.

The second voice, he did not know, was also male and spoke with a thick accent, his words foreign to the child. He frowned and pulled away a few leaves of his camouflage curious, but still unable to glimpse the scene distinctly.

“Xunus dos talinth dos gumash veldri pholor l’shinduago mal’rak?”

The words haunted his memories.

What followed happened so swiftly, that it was over in just a few heartbeats, but would remain imprinted upon his mind forever.

A young woman entered the clearing carrying a crop of apples in her arms, her golden hair caught the sunlight, her voice softly singing, her step light, the shift she wore clung to her long legs as a cool breeze whipped through the trees.

The two men, near identical men, save for their garments turned to regard her arrival. The stranger growled angry words, with a tone of accusation. A sword leapt to his right hand so swiftly, the hidden one had to clasp a hand over his own mouth to prevent his gasp escaping.

“No One.” Came the reply to the foreigners’ harsh demands.

The stranger simply raised his left hand towards the woman, keeping the point of his sword aimed directly at the speaker.

All the apples tumbled freely across the soft grass, falling from her slack grip, though the woman still stood still on her feet. Before the last apple dropped to the ground, the foreigner had crossed the short distance to where she was rooted to the spot. He appeared to move impossibly fast. Sword re-sheathed as he stalked around her immobile form.

That all took just a few moments and there was never a clear view. The two, near identical men left together shortly afterwards, both chattering in the same alien tongue, neither glanced back to the maiden in the sunlight, captured immobile by a wicked spell.

It was dark by the time he crept from his favourite bolt hole, he was not sure if he had fell asleep or not, but tears stained his young cheeks, his clothes, muddy, wet and cold. His bare feet padded softly over the damp grass to where the woman stood still. He didn’t understand her motionlessness, he wrapped his tiny arms around her legs, burying his face into her thighs as he had countless times.

Her shift was drenched in cold, dark, sticky blood that pooled around her toes, it stained the child’s face as he clung to her, begged to her to move, to answer him, to cuddle him.

The vile spell exhausted its hold on the dead woman and she crumpled to the ground, her head slid away, released from the magical hold, discharging more gloopy gore. The child blanched as the head rolled away, a maliciously sharp barbed garrotte wire still entangled in her flesh and blood matted hair.

 

He woke up… The dream was always the same… There was never a clear view.

 

 

Anne Harrison.

Originally written December 17, 2015 – Added to the blog 18.05.17

Part 70

The Birth of Prophecy

 

Novana, shocked and stunned by recent events, the lies, betrayal, death… Six weeks before her due date and she went into labor. Her waters broke as she was restrained roughly by brutal guards, bound and dragged without a care for her nearing contractions. She was pulled towards the palace chapel, the peaceful sanctuary had been violated in the most horrific manner. Corpses hung limp from rusty chains, their blood gathered in brass bowls and used to decorate the walls and ceiling and floorboards in vile magical runes, corrupt language and morbid symbols.

Fear gripped her heart as the desire to push increased, pressure building within her tummy, a rancid goat, diseased and maggot ridden was draped over the alter like a sick trophy, its slick black blood used to strengthen wards in a circle upon the floor. Terrified, Novana was stripped and painted in blood. No chains were required to hold her now as the magic spell decorating her body held her immobile. No scream, either in fear or in pain, could escape her throat.

Nine robed men, or women, she couldn’t tell, entered the ruined chapel and stood circling the struggling pregnant woman, her body craving birth, but Novana was trapped within her body, in her mind, she could only see the terrible scene evolve around her. The hooded figures started to chant, to sway, repeating a strange arcane phrase in a rolling pattern.

Carrying a severed leg, totally naked save for blood stained hands, Fendor walked into the circle. Novana knew the boot and she tasted bitter bile at the back of her throat, yet the spell even prevented her vomiting from repulsion. He used the blood from the stump to draw upon her convulsing stomach, uttering the same chant as his fellow robed companions.

Her fear was overwhelming as Fendor stirred his seed into the blood, yet she could not even shed a tear. For at one point, Novana had loved Fendor, loved him enough to carry his child, the babe now struggling to breach free too early, too premature. To be born into this gore was devastating, she wanted nothing more than death, she silently prayed to die in childbirth, to save her soul from this evil magic which was suffocating. Yet that was selfish, she needed to protect her babe but how was that possible while immobile?

Her eyes were dry now, fear and shock overwhelmed her mind as Fendor cut his child free from her womb, her mind tipped on the edge of insanity. Only the sudden cry of her tiny daughters first breath drew her back from the verge of madness, the pain was unbearable and finally there was nothing more than blissful darkness and the dwindling cries of a new born babe…

 

Anne Harrison 19.04.17