Friday, December 30, 2011

Witches

"Alarik look at that," Edwyn said as he pointed up the muck street that went through the center of the small village they just arrived at. They hadn't even found an inn yet.

Alarik turned sharp, sapphire eyes to follow the extended finger and then narrowed them at what he saw. A young woman was huddled up under a dirty, torn blanket propped up by broken and splinter filled posts. It wasn't such an unusual scene, but what was angering the blonde was the kingdom guard that had just sauntered over.

"I bet you think you have it so bad," said the guard, oblivious that Alarik, a full head taller than him and built much more sturdy, was looming up behind him. "Oh woe is me being punished. You deserve it you witch! Trying to tempt decent folk and-"

"-and?" Alarik inquired, cutting the guard off, as he summoned a ball of fire into his hand. "Do go on, or shall I explain to you what makes everything you said so very wrong and why she can't even understand you?"

"Alarik," Edwyn said calmly, but didn't try to stop his companion as the blonde knocked the guard across the street. Instead, he focused his dark eyes to the bound witch and knelt down next to her, resting his hands on hers.

She panicked, making desperate grunts in her chest and trying to recoil away. Edwyn simply held her hands, stroking her palms with the tips of his fingers as blue wisp-like mist rolled out from his hands and over hers. It took a moment, but she settled, though she was still trembling.

"You see," Alarik said, holding the dripping ball of fire over the prone form of the guard to keep his attention. "When a witch is discovered, they are given two choices. Be bound, or go to the Academy and be trained for the king of this land, to be a slave. You even get a pretty collar to show it. Now, if you decide to be bound, you truly are bound. You see those glasses pierced into her nose? Those blind her, so she cannot See. Those fancy earrings with the emerald looking gems stuck in her ears? Those make her deaf, so she cannot Hear. And that fancy, expensive looking necklace that locks up tight to her throat? Those silence her, so she cannot Chant. She can barely breathe and can only eat mash and liquids."

Edwyn ran his fingers over the collar worked with ebony. Though dirty, he could see her skin was naturally pale. Each swallow made her throat struggle to pulse to follow the motion. He had yet to see a design like this, and the girl did seem just past the cusp of womanhood. It was often when a woman became eligible for marriage, she began to show signs of being fertile, that the Gift manifested.

"Why?" said Alarik, still standing over the guard. "Because she was born with a gift that was shared by all the ancient folk. Lied about that she is a threat, and she is, but only because of the treatment that sends the powers raging at those who would so cruelly treat their children. I can feel fire urging me to kill you, to burn you from the inside out with a fire so hot you don't even have time to realize you're on fire."

"Alarik," said Edwyn. The guard was a simpering mess. "You are making a scene. Leave the poor ignorant fool be and help me with this girl."

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

This May Sound Weird...

The bar seems strangely welcoming, its large windows spilling light onto the snow covered street. The idea of going to an empty home on Christmas Eve doesn't appeal to me, even though I've accepted that I'm an introvert. It's still early in the evening, actually, if it was Spring the sun would still be up. I hurry to cross the street despite there being no cars coming and enter the completely empty bar. Empty except for two people, the bartender, and a tall, elegant looking woman sitting at the bar and talking with him as he took stock of the top shelf liquors.

The woman's attention shifted the instant that the door opened and a small bell jingled above my head. She had a distanced smile on her features, but something changed when her blue eyes looked me over. Her smile seemed to open to me.

"Welcome, dear," she said, her voice warming me from the inside out. Her lips barely moved as she spoke. "Here, come sit by me, you do not look like someone who frequents these kinds of establishments." She patted the stool next to her and rose to her feet to take my wet winter jacket and scarf.

Her clothing startled me, because I didn't expect someone with such a gentle expression to be wearing something like that. She wore a leotard with a high collar, and a bustle at the back that swept over the floor. It was in a deep red with cream colored accents, and she had ankle high boots of the same color scheme.

"Angelos will help you," she said to me as she walked off place my things near the high fire near the back of the bar.

"Uhm," I mumbled, peeking up at Angelos from over my glasses.

He had an intense stare, but the slight smile on his lips looked to be an attempt to not intimidate me. He was built slender, with broad shoulders. He had slicked back blond hair, and vivid green eyes that gazed out from strong features with sharp cheek bones and jaw line. To me, he was very beautiful - no, not handsome - and I couldn't find my tongue.

"Sypha is often right when she pegs a none drinker," he said. His lips also barely moved, though I could hear him quite clearly. "Feeling lonely? I see you walk by the bar every night. You walk with your head down."

"Oh, do I?" I stuttered, playing with my fingers nervously. Why did I even come in here? I peeked up at him when he pushed a martini glass between my fingers. It had an opaque off-white liquid. "What's this?" When had he made it?

"Banshee cocktail," he replied. He leaned on his forearms on the counter, smiling small so not much of his teeth were exposed. "It's a sweeter, fruity cocktail."

"Be sure to sip it," said Sypha, already in her seat next to me again.

I jumped and nearly spilled the drink if it wasn't for Angelos snapping his hand out and catching the glass. The movement was so fast that I couldn't even catch it. One second the glass was tipping and the next he was cradling it in the palm of his hand with the stem between her fingers.

"H-how did you get back so fast?" I squeaked. "I'm sorry I'm very skittish I just, I didn't mean to-"

Sypha rested her hand on my lower back, which made me reflexively straighten my posture and take a deep breath. Both of them were smiling at me, those small smiles that didn't show teeth. Still, there was something in them that made my stomach flutter. These people were strange.

"Don't worry, dear," Sypha said as she drew her hand back and folded them together on the bar counter. "Angelos has to deal with spilled drinks all the time."

"Though typically the ones doing the spilling aren't so cute, or sober."

I felt my cheeks burn and stared into the palms of my hands. I chewed on my lower lip even as soft chuckling reached my flushed ears and the martini glass clinked lightly on the bar.

"Try it," Angelos said, pushing it over. "And tell us about yourself."

"Oh, u-uhm," I mumbled. Neither Sypha nor Angelos leaned in to hear me better, as I was used to from people. It startled me a little. "I-I'm Sonia."

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Yoga Vent Control

Sophia's left heel caught on a seam of one of the vent sections, and her head nearly slammed into the metal side if she hadn't reacted quickly enough to throw her forearm against it. She came to a complete stop, ignoring the smarting of her forearm. The crash echoed through the ventilation system, but other than that she couldn't hear a thing.

The air smelt acrid, and it burned at the back of her throat. She couldn't tell if it was something actually in the air or if it was the strange, broken chords that resonated in her head from violins and tubular bells. There was a single flute piping out high notes of panic that were staccato and painful. Sophia felt like there were hands on her chest and back, pushing against her when she attempted to inhale.

"You're the smallest," she said, in a mocking imitation of Alexander. "And the most flexible, you should be able to get through easy."

Sophia snorted and lowered herself down onto a slanted section of vent, using the incline to control her progress more easily than the vertical chute she had just came out of.

"Never mind that I'm a ballerina," she added to no one. "Not a fucking spy. I'm going to get killed in here, and then who will they get to break the seals, huh?"

The flute suddenly let out a blast that it would make if the flutist pushed as much air into it as possible. It was high and rough. Sophia looked down to a grate that was half a foot in front of her, and then reached out and grabbed it, pulling herself above it to look through. This must be where the strange music was coming from. It had haunted under the usual song of the town, making Sophia feel nauseated and unbalanced.

She pulled the grate up, wondering how far underground she was at this point. The air was damp - Maxwell had cut off the air conditioning before Sophia went into the ducts. She remembered he told her that the underground structures were close to a natural underwater spring. That must be why the air was so wet. At least she wasn't thirsty anymore.

Gripping the edge of the grate opening, Sophia rolled out and lowered her legs down slowly while holding herself in chin-up position. At this point she was thankful for the control yoga gave her over isolated parts of her body, as she had to quickly lift her legs back up and slide into the vent when she heard a door screech open.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Panic

"Fuck!" Sophia gasped, slipping on wet moss that clung tightly to rock floor. She caught herself with her hand, which then promptly slid forward on the moss as well, sending her onto her side on the ground.

"Now, now," said Bates, stepping up to her. He leaned down and caught her elbow, his shot gun held idly at his side, pointing at the ground. "Don't much such a fuss about it, you are not a child."

"Let me go you creep," Sophia spat, turning around sharply to try and pull her elbow away, but his grip was too tight. Sharp toned horns were playing low, creating chords of tension that Sophia could feel in her back.

Bates was gazing at her evenly with amethyst eyes that appeared to glow in the dim lighting. There was a pleasant smile on his face, but Sophia had yet to see him without one. His fingers dug into the collection of nerves on her elbow, and she let out a staggered yelp as she lost feeling in her forearm and hand.

"You see," he said as he hauled her up to her feet with no apparent effort on his part. "You are quite fun to chase, very willful. However, that time is--"

"Sophia," yelled Conrad, who had just found a way around the cave in that Sophia still thought Bates triggered. He had his broadsword drawn now, which, despite Sophia being used to the idea of him having it, still looked strange to her since he was wearing casual office attire. "Damnit Bates, let her go."

A vibrating fanfare of higher horns took over in Sophia's mind.

"You're a bit late, dog," Bates answered, sneering through his smile. "You're simply using her like everyone else."

"It's her choice," Conrad said, before he took one step and chucked the broadsword. It shot forward, the blade slicing the air with a high whistle that rang above the fanfare.

Bates was forced to disperse into shadows, not having the time to take Sophia into the maneuver. The blade sank into the stone wall right beside her head right over her shoulder. It nearly sliced her pigtail off.

In a single blink Bates was back, behind Conrad, the barrel of his gun hovering only a half foot away from his back. Conrad was mid-turn when the blast resounded through the cavern, and Sophia covered her eyes with her forearm. Half to defend against the flash from the gun, half to not have to see Conrad's torso blown out.

"Shadow bullets," said Conrad. "Clever, won't leave any kind of bullet or shot to find. Eats away at the flesh to hide weapon type, and even if the victim survives, you can find them again."

Sophia looked up quickly to see Conrad standing with his hand held flat out at Bates, palm facing the black coated man. The skin was smoking, but Sophia could barely see gold flecks woven into the veins in a runic circle. She rested a hand on her shoulder, where she remembered Bates cutting her with that black edged blade.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Soldier of Rome

Gisila tripped. A cruel tree had its root lifted to snag unsuspecting victims. There was a shout behind her in a language she could not understand. Her clothing - rough spun cloth, covered by a wolf pelt tunic, bracers, and greaves all tied on by thick leather chords - was half torn, the only saving grace being the strong wolf pelts that required those men dressed in blood cloth to retrieve their weapons.

Her knees stung and she felt her ankle was bruised, but she pushed herself back up as quickly as she could. A war-calloused hand seized her wrist and she was yanked backward, catching the lifted root again and falling with a hoarse cry. A powerful arm curled around her waist, locking her against the hardened leather breastplate. She could feel the details of his muscles through the wolf pelt, pressing right into her soft stomach.

A shiver and a drop of heat fell into a growing pool at the base of her stomach, and Gisila could feel heat race over her cheeks and nose. Laughter erupted around her, and the man holding her grabbed her wrist to pull her arm behind her while two others, also dressed in blood cloth with hard leather, walked around in front. Gisila whimpered, mumbling out pleas that she knew they couldn't understand and wouldn't answer. She cried out as her ankles were seized and then went rigid as a sharp, cold slab of metal slid against her neck.

"Silentium," hissed the man behind her. He had pinned her arm between her back and his chest, and now held the sword to her neck.

Gisila's voice faded into the stars above them, fleeing for fear of being the cause of death. Her limbs trembled, her stomach churned as she felt hands explore up her legs. Sobs came out staccato, trapped behind pinched lips so they had to escape through her nose. She shut her eyes tight, and another hand fell on her breast, pinching. It forced a yelp out of her that she would've rather remained inside, and her lower back tightened in an arch as she reflexively kicked one of her legs.

Laughter. The man behind her pushed his hips into her back as he pulled her waist back against him. Foreign faces, foreign bodies, and foreign words surrounded her, about to fill her.

"Desino!" said a sudden, new voice from behind. From where she had run from.

Gisila was dropped ungraciously with another wail as her ankle tried to accommodate her weight and she collapsed to her knees. She lifted her head to see another man, taller, with broad shoulders stepping rather calmly toward them. The three men with her had lined up quickly and now stood with backs straight and shoulders pulled back. The new man wore blood cloth too, but his armor was shiny. It reminded Gisila of the sun.

The sun bearer had a powerful jaw line, and strict cheekbones. His eyes were the color of the earth, though darker, and his hair was left in longer strands that were tousled. Gisila could see the muscles on his arms and legs, and they were chiseled and pulled tight.

He spoke in a voice that made Gisila quiver. She watched as the deep, harsh tones made the men attacking her flinch, their faces turning red then going pale. Her body still felt hot, while at the same time sick. She ached from the inside out. In a moment, the three men had run off behind the sun bearer, who turned to look at Gisila. Her throat tensed, she couldn't look away.

The sun bearer stepped up to her and curled his hand under her elbow. She instinctively cried out again and tried to pull away. Fear and a sensation of heat collected in her, spreading from her chest right down to her groin. He was stronger than the other men, he grabbed both her wrists and held them still while his arm locked her waist down.

"Sedere," he said. His voice had changed. It was smoother, lighter. "Sedere!"

Gisila gulped for air, and she shook against his powerful frame. He held her still, and she could feel his breath even under the hard, metal colored like the sun. It was steady, just like his gaze. The metal felt pleasantly cool against the heated expanse of her skin.

"Semper idem," the sun bearer said, heaving a sigh once Gisila had finally calmed down and stared up at him.

She blinked at him, frowning in confusion. He released her hands, and she curled them to her chest defensively.

"Scisne latine?" he asked. He sat with her beside him, their legs extending in opposite directions. He let his hand rest on the ground on the other side of her hip, and he gazed into her scared face. "I didn't think so, I didn't really expect it either."

Gisila visibly jumped when she suddenly understood what he said. It was stilted, with a strange tonality on the words, but she could understand him. He laughed, and patted her thigh with a heavy hand.