GhoulsGalore: Damnation

This week's entry to Lady Antimony's GhoulsGalore challenge.

Clawed fingers caressed the black rock; it was alive, heat emanating from the red veins. Fire ran through the walls, floor and the arching roof. The blue sky was unknown here in the chthonic realm.

He could hear the damned begging for mercy while his servants shepherded them onwards. Their pleas would quickly change into the beautiful music of screaming. He hurried on, eager to witness his loyal minions at work.

Slowly he walked past the pits were the sinners burned, and the sight he most enjoyed watching: his favourite demon hunting down and eating the damned. The demon would later regurgitate the poor souls and eat them again.

Yes, life was good in Hell.

Before he fell there had been Hell, but none to rule it. Demons fought each other while sinners ran amok. He cast the sinners down. He defeated the droves of demons. He became the overlord of the underworld. He might have fallen, but he rose as a master.

“What does God have but wisps of air, placid happiness and feeble servants?” Lucifer folded his leathery wings around himself. Loud snoring filled the air.

GhoulsGalore: Presence

This is my first entry to Lady Antimony's GhoulsGalore challenge. For every week in October, there's a word and a being, and you write a story of 250 words. This week the word was 'boustrophedonic' and the being a poltergeist.

The slender fingers ran across the words written in boustrophedonic fashion. From right to left, then left to right, the archaeologist read them in her mind. The site had an otherworldly feel; it belonged to another era, its inhabitants long gone. She could almost imagine whispers on the faint wind.

Speak. Speak the words, it seemed to say. A rock rolled to her feet. She whispered one of the words, a tremor of excitement running through her. They had deciphered some of the meanings. It seemed to be a guide or a map, but a symbolic one; it spoke of stars, darkness and signs left by the gods.

Speak the words. I need to find a way out.

Another rock rolled down into the ruins. Were her comrades playing a joke on her?

Please don’t leave me here!

She walked back out into the humid air and tangle of strange plants, but the chill of the shadow cast by the wall clung to her. One of her colleagues ran up to her, his face distorted by disbelief and anger.

“The bloody idiots cut off our funding! We’ll leave in a couple of weeks.”

“Maybe it’s best,” she whispered. Upon entering the site she had felt dread. With every day, the feeling had grown deeper. There was something amiss in this place, something stamped its presence here.

Friday Flash: The Two Dragons

This is the end of Fain and Nuria's tale, a series of seven Friday Flash stories that began with The Hands of the Healer. Unfortunately, the story is getting close to the events of the book I'm writing, so I can't continue with Fain any further. Instead I'm going to write about what happens to Nuria, who has only a minor role in my first book. After a little break, that is.

The sun’s warmth settled on Fain’s back and shoulders as he nibbled on a piece of cured meat. The flavour and the warmth were lost on him; his mind was elsewhere. Just as he and the other shapeshifters were leaving for the Nesting grounds, Stiv, one of the elders had shoved a bound and gagged shapeshifter in front of them. He’d burst into laughter: the shapeshifter was Jark.

“Jark revealed the Queen your route to the dragon’s nesting grounds. Luckily all virras are greedy little blabbermouths, and the virra he sent betrayed him.” The Elder looked at the now silent Fain. “Seems like he wanted to sell you to the Queen.”

They took an alternative route through a gorge in the Argent Mountains. The terrain was rougher and the going slower, but safer; the only dangers were huge birds that roosted in the mountains and at night lesser demons, remnants of the wars. Neither were a match for a healthy, adult shapeshifter.

The party settled down to rest and to give their prisoner his dose of poison, the only way of keeping him weak enough not change his shape.

Fain finished his meal, took a wooden cup, a waterskin and pouch of crushed leaves out of a bag. Just a pinch of the leaves was enough, too much and Jark would have to be carried or worse, die.

He poured the water on the leaves, mixing the liquid with a twig. Carefully he carried the cup to Jark and removed his gag. Lifting the cup to his mouth Fain whispered: “I am sorry.”

Jark didn’t answer. He drank the liquid slowly, while staring at Fain; hate, colder than the permafrost of the north, glinted in his blue eyes.

“They’re going to give you to the dragons. They’ll likely eat you. I could give you an overdose if you prefer a quick and painless—”

“I would rather be eaten alive by dragons than killed by you.”

Fain opened his mouth to speak, when he heard shouting: a dragon was circling overhead. He looked upwards; the dragon was dark in colour and too bulky to be a female. Jark had noticed as well. “One of yours?”

Fain swallowed, the dragon had stopped circling and dropped downwards, disappearing from view. As the scrape of claws drew closer, the other shapeshifters changed into their battle forms. He followed suit, changing into a fool’s dragon. The dragon was met by a drake, a huge wolf with large teeth protruding from its snout, and other forms too weak to defeat a dragon. They could only hope that the dragon had mistaken them for prey.

A massive head appeared above the gorge, the tips of black wings swaying on each side as the dragon balanced.

“I am Rhorat, son of Garroth,” it bellowed. “The Queen beckons me to bring her the one called Fain.”

Fear washed over Fain, while next to him Jark smiled.

“Go back south, Rhorat!” Ragh shouted upwards; the dragon snorted.

“A drake commanding a dragon?” Rhorat’s nostrils flared as it drew a deep breath. “You cannot hide him. I know Fain is part dragon, I can smell him amidst you.”

The blunt snout came down into the gorge, black forked tongue sliding against white teeth as the nostrils opened and closed in rhythm to the sniffing. Fain shrank against the cliff-face. The dragon scoffed, a belch of sulphurous breath encased the shapeshifters.

“Come with me, Fain, and I will not eat your friends.” The dragon’s voice was quiet and soft. Fain stepped forwards from the cliff face; he wouldn’t surrender but neither would he endanger his friends.

Wings spread he flew past the maw of the dragon and into the sky. Roaring with fury, Rhorat followed, fire erupting from its maw. With ease, the dragon caught him, claws encasing the shapeshifter in fool’s dragon form. He struggled, but the claws held him firm.

An angered cry pierced the sky. The claws retracted, leaving Fain floating for a moment. Wings cast wide, he glided on the ground and looked up to see a big red dragon entangled in battle with Rhorat.

Flames burst from Alhena’s jaws, charring Rhorat’s wing. The black dragon struck its claws into Alhena’s wings and pulled downwards, leaving tears in their wake. Both began to lose altitude as their wounded wings failed to carry them.

Fain watched in horror as the dragons fought, still entwined, scratching and biting as the ground neared.

“Alhena!”

The red dragon spread its wings wide, the air caught in the folds pushed her upwards. Rhorat released his grip, wings expanding from his sides, but the ground hit him before his wings could unfold. Alhena slammed onto the ground. Slowly she rolled onto her feet and ran shakily to the shapeshifter.

“Change into something small!” Fain obeyed, shrinking into a mouse. Alhena’s scaly foot came down, stopping a few inches above him. Beneath him the earth trembled as the black dragon got up.

“Queen Yassa needs the shapeshifter they call Fain. She will find him sooner or later.” Rhorat hissed.

Alhena didn’t answer; she stood still, teeth bared until the dragon slunk away to nurse its wounds. She lifted her foot, allowing Fain to change.

“Scarla is coming, she will take care of your friends. I will take you back to the village—”

“No.” He stood silent for a moment. He couldn’t go back the village, Queen Yassa would send Rhorat and others. He couldn’t risk Nuria getting hurt because of him. Why did she want him bad enough to send a dragon?

He didn’t ask Alhena, but instead said: “Take me to the Weeping Woods, there are shapeshifters there who fight the Queen. Perhaps they can help.”

Alhena nodded slowly. She lay flat as Fain climbed on to her wide back. Alhena stood up and folded her wounded wings. Tired and beaten, they began their journey south.

DiceGames: The Queen of the Vrildrias

My last entry to Lady Antimony's DiceGames challenge. For this week, I rolled number four: “Make a deal with the Devil.” I know, it's late but here it is anyway :)

The thick stone walls failed to keep the warmth of the fireplace from fleeing, but they trapped the chanting and the screams inside the room. Neither would have been needed if her daughter had been able to summon the greater demons. The mingling smells of incense and sulphur assaulted Queen Yassa’s nose; lesser demons often tried to impress their summoners with smells, sounds and a frightful appearance, but they fooled no one.

“No luck, Luerra?” Yassa, Queen of the vrildrias, growled to her daughter. Luerra shook her head, clawed fingers clutching a black staff. The whelp couldn’t even perform magic without a tool.

“I have not found one suitable, mother.” Luerra’s maw opened into a wicked grin, baring rows of tiny sharp teeth. “They all want to tear their victim to pieces. An assassin could create a seemingly natural death.”

Yassa toyed with the idea for a moment; it would be easier. She already had assassins at her beckoning. “And when the mages find that he was poisoned? No, we need magic stronger than theirs, one of the greater demons.”

Luerra spat on to the rough stones, the vile sound echoing as she cursed: “Stupid humans and our stupid ancestors. Peace with the humans is not worth sharing power.”

“The King of Humans wants to decide what to do with the virra-birds spying on the meetings.” The vrildria Queen placed a hand on a statue of their god, claws clicking against the smooth surface. “Such a trivial matter. If I were the sole ruler the Kingdom would prosper. Instead we toil at these petty issues.”

“Queen of vrildrias and humans.” The flicker of excitement in Luerra’s eyes made her skin crawl. “If not in your time mother, maybe in mine…”

“Do not think of using my tricks on me, daughter.” Wrinkling her sharp snout, Yassa lifted her head. “I can smell betrayal.”

Can you smell opportunity as well?

Yassa froze; her daughter had betrayed her. She wasn’t as stupid as she’d seemed, but had managed to summon one of the greater demons and had commanded it to kill her. She would make such a good ruler.

No, no, no. I am not a demon, but more.

“Vixi.” Luerra breathed the name into the heavy air. Silence fell; both could feel the cold presence of the deity, the smell of death and decay lingering, mixing with the sulphur and incense.

“Oh, our deity speaks to us.” Yassa’s hand gently caressed the statue of the god of death, a winged snake arched into an S-shape. “Don’t we usually pray for 17 days, months or years?”

I have need of a loyal servant.

“I am no one’s servant.”

Forgive me. I am in need of someone loyal who can wield power on my behest.

“Better.” She watched as her daughter poked the statue with the black staff. Her thought returned to the source of the voice. “What can you offer me?”

A god can offer you anything.

“The King’s death would be most satisfactory.” She swiped the black staff away; her daughter recoiled, hissing and baring her teeth. A glance was enough to defuse the whelp’s anger.

He will die.

“I need to stay in power if I am to be of use.”

Yes. There will be demons running amok and you are the only one who can keep them out of the city.

“Queen Yassa, the only one between annihilation and survival.” Her musings were abruptly disrupted by a scoff. She turned to her daughter; a stupid grin graced her long face.

“Your magic is weaker than mine and everyone knows it.” Luerra leaned on her staff. She muttered a word; sparks shot out of from the tip of the staff. “I may need a staff for my spells, but you can’t wield a simple flash spell.”

“True.” Yassa scratched her throat thoughtfully. Her daughter was weak of will and could practise magic, a good pawn.

Call forth my minions 17 days after the King is dead. It is the beginning of my work. Once finished, you shall rule unchallenged.

Yassa smiled as she left her daughters chambers, reveries of her reign filling her with dark joy.

Alone now, Luerra listened as the god spoke, only to her.

Your mother’s reign will be short; do not cry when it is over. I shall need you then.

She’d always known her mother reign would not be long. The humans tolerated a vrildria queen; it was the only way for the two species to coexist peacefully. But as the sole ruler? No, there would be a revolt, demons at their doorstep or not.

“Thank you for answering my prayers,” she whispered, bowing her head. She would kill her mother herself if the deity asked for it.

Friday Flash: Ashes and Embers

Second to last. Continuation to The Trap.

The shapeshifter child sat huddled against a corner, the only thing left of the burnt house. Ashes and the smell of sulphur floated in the surrounding air. Somewhere a woman laughed: a shrill sound, cutting through the heavy silence. His hands lifted to shield his ears, but he could still hear her.

A flicker of movement caught his eye. Something was circling the corner and him. Claws scraped against wood behind him. Before he could bolt, something heavy hit his back, pinning him down against the sooty earth.

“Please don’t kill me.” He whispered, he could feel the breath of the creature upon his face.

“Is death the worst you can think of?” The creature’s claws slipped beneath his skin. His sense of self began to slip away as the demon imposed it’s will upon his. He screamed in fear and agony.

A sharp jab to his side woke him.

“If I can’t sleep, why should you?” His partner Nuria stood beside him, her foot nudging him. “Awake, are we?”

“I wasn’t sleeping, I was having a nightmare.” Fain lifted himself into a sitting position. He could still feel the demon’s claws beneath his skin. “Thank you for waking me up.”

“You’re welcome.” She sat down next to him, placing a dusky hand on his pale arm. “The burning houses again?”

“They were burnt down this time and I heard a woman laughing.” He shivered at the memory. “And one of the demons possessed me.”

She gently pulled him close, running her fingers through his hair as she whispered comforting words. Yet they weren’t enough to calm him.

“I am afraid.” He looked up into her eyes, wrought with worry. “I’ve began to jump when I see my own shadow. I can’t protect the dragons if I am terrified all of the time.”

“I’m worried about you, dear. Not just your nightmares.” He tried to turn his gaze away, but her hands cupped his chin, holding his face to hers. “Jark’s words shouldn’t have angered you so—”

“He called the black dragons evil!” He wrenched himself free from her arms, grabbed some clothes and walked into the other room, dressing quickly.

She followed on his heels. “He angered you on purpose! He wants you exiled because he hates you!”

“I know, I ran headfirst in to his trap.” Fully dressed now, Fain was headed for the door. His hands were about to pull it open when Nuria’s arms wrapped around his waist. She lifted him off his feet and proceeded to half drag, half carry him back into the bedroom.

“You are not going anywhere. We wait for the Elders’ decision here!” She dropped him on the furs that acted as a bed. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for your temper.”

”Forget about Jark the Jerk, for a moment.” Fain stood up, black scales covered his throat and his teeth had grown in to fangs. “What if I’m remembering my past? How can I stop it? If my childhood was demons and torture I do not want to know. Please help me forget somehow!”

Nuria stepped forwards, one hand held his cheek while the other trailed the black scales. He saw her flinch at the heat emanating from the scales; there was some of the fire of the dragons in him. His eyes closed, the fangs retracted into stubby human teeth and the scales began to fade.

“If they do exile me, we’ll just go to my village.” He opened his eyes slowly, pondering his next words. “You are still coming with me?”

“How do you dare?” She gently slapped his cheek. “Of course I am coming with you! I love you, you rarfnigan.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but Fain placed a finger on her lips.

“I do not want to dwell on it or my nightmares any more than necessary, my love.” He gazed for a moment into her dark brown eyes, then kissed her. Her arms curled around him so tightly that he gasped; “Can’t breathe dear.”

A knock on the door interrupted their moment. Nuria broke the embrace and walked to the door, while Fain waited in the shadow of a corner.

Lizell stood there; she’d donned a tall human’s form, but with a rainbow of feathers instead of hair.

“Fain of the Leatherwing Tribe, the Elders have decided your punishment. You are forbidden to take the fool’s dragon form within the village unless it is under attack.” She rolled her yellow eyes up, then back to Fain. ”If you do not comply, you will be exiled.” The shapeshifter grinned a wicked smile. “Don’t worry, Jark got punished as well. He’ll be cleaning the dragon nests.”

“He should’ve been sent to the black dragons’ nesting grounds.” He ran a dark claw along his throat, leaving behind a white scar, which healed as he drew it. “They would have had fun with him.”

“Fain, keep you darker side in check.” Lizell shook her head. ”Most of us care for you. We don’t want to see you exiled.”

Jark held the little brown bird close to his mouth as he whispered his message.

“Tell this to the Queen and she will reward you, little virra.”

“Double what you gave me?” The bird squeaked.

“Even more, but do not gossip, though it is your second nature. The Queen does not like her plans spilled.” The bird flew off into the dark sky, disappearing without a trace.

The Elders wouldn’t exile Fain, but he had another plan. The Queen had sent virras to shapeshifter villages, requesting strong shapeshifters for her studies; if the rumours were true they included demons. He was only glad to oblige.

Once Fain and the others set for the nesting grounds, the Queen’s men would intercept them and capture him, and only him.

Silent as a shadow he sneaked back into the village.

DiceGames: Death on the Doorstep

A bit late, but here it is: my third entry to Lady Antimony's DiceGames challenge. Again, I rolled number one: "Death just knocked at your door - convince him why you shouldn't die yet."

Silence had fallen, the world outside held its breath waiting for the knock to be answered. The door opened with a loud creak, a round face peeked through. “Yes?”

A solitary hooded figure stood still in the doorway. Behind it thunderheads rolled in front of the sun, enveloping the world in twilight.

“My name is Reaper, Grim Reaper.” The air grew cooler with the words, frost gathering in the doorframe. “Jason Thorne, I have come for you.”

“Are you sure?” Jason furrowed his brow; his lifestyle was unhealthy, but this was ridiculous.

A white skeletal hand appeared from the folds of the black robe, fingers clutching an old parchment. A thin finger ran across the list of names before settling on one.

“Yes. The gates of hell lie open before you…”

Behind Jason the clock struck five.

“Oh, it’s tea time.” The Grim Reaper walked past, straight to the rickety table. “Pour me a cup will you, dearie.”

Jason rummaged the top shelf for his roommate’s mother’s tea set. They were pink and with lilac flowers; The Reaper seemed delighted.

“Oh, I love flowers; they die ever so quickly, mind you.” Jason watched as the bony fingers grasped the handle of the teapot and poured the brown liquid into a small cup. “So, how’s life been treating you?”

He stared for a moment as the Reaper poured tea into his mouth, all of it ending up on the front of his robe. The Reaper cocked its skull inquisitively. “Up to now, well. I have a roof on top my head, my health—”

The Reaper scoffed at this.

“Why did you come for me?” Jason hadn’t touched his tea. The Reaper snatched Jason’s cup and drank it, before pouring himself another.

“That’s simple. You’re dying.” A manic cackling borne from the depth of the robe echoed in the room.

“But I can’t be! I haven’t lived yet.” Jason stood up sending his chair on the floor with a loud thud. “You’ve opened my eyes, I must see more of the world, experience it in all of its glory. I want to give up this fruitless effort at life and really live. See the green of the woods, smell the salt of the sea and look upon on a sunset with a loved one!”

The Reaper listened, enthralled.

“I have never even been truly in love. I have felt a woman’s touch, but no one who could gaze upon me lovingly. They were all meaningless, but now I see that life is not meant to be lived alone. Please, I beg of you Reaper, give me another shot at life!”

“Well— Oomph!” The Reaper crumbled into a heap of black fabric and bones, behind stood a lanky young man holding a bent crowbar. Jason stared at his roommate, then at the unmoving mass of black and white. When the grim reaper failed to show any signs of life, they both erupted into laughter.

“Nice, we killed Death!” Ben slapped his forehead. “Should’ve been done a long time ago!”

“We killed Death, so are we immortal now?” Jason poked The Reaper with a toe.

“Guess so.” Ben scratched his back with the crowbar. “What should we do about that?”

Jason reflected on the situation for a moment. He didn’t want to do anything stupid like jump off a cliff to test their newfound immortality. Then he knew; “Wanna go rob a bank?”

“Sure!”

An ominous rumble filled the room. Lightning stuck through the dark grey sky, sending the neighbour’s cat flying off the fence. Birds fell silent once more, lighting struck again.

The Reaper rose, a scythe in one hand, the other holding the back of his head. A low moan emanated from his bony jaws, shaking the foundations of the house.

“You fools fractured my beautiful skull!” The scythe rose. “Prepare to pay!”

The blunt end of the scythe struck Jason in the face; then the Reaper turned and struck Ben in the back of his head. Both died instantly, falling prey to the dark magic of the scythe.

The Grim Reaper crossed his arms, threw back his head and laughed heartily. No one messed with the bringer of death. Then, to his horror, he realised that the roommate wasn’t on the list. He was supposed to live a long and healthy life.

“Darn!” The Reaper struck the end of the scythe into the floor, which rotted and collapsed under the wasting touch. “HQ is going to be furious!”

The Grim Reaper gazed upon the two dead bodies; their souls were already headed towards a warmer place. He truly needed to learn how to control his temper.