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A cry broke through her dreams, shattering the worlds of peace and joy which she so longed for. Her eyes opened, engulfing her in utter darkness. Gone were the fields of green and the clear blue skies, the memory of them fading with them.
The cry continued. In the silent night air, the cry, though faint, cut through the silence like a hot knife through butter.
Throwing off the white linen sheets, she got up and out of her warm, welcoming bed. As her bare feet touched the cold, wooden floor, she was jolted completely into wakeful alertness. She groped in the darkness until she found the window, covered with a curtain to block out any unwanted light. She drew back the material.
Cold white light seemed to flow into the room, casting all it touched in a silvery sheen. Her blond hair turned silver in the light. The two twin orbs in the night sky shone bright this night, their light shining twice as bright as normal.
The cry renewed its volume, bursting through her thoughts. A slight moan came from the bed. She turned and watched as her husband slowly lifted his head to look at her.
“What’s happening?” he mumbled sleepily. His dark brown hair fell over his face, covering his bright blue eyes.
“Listen. Do you hear it?” But there was nothing to hear. The silence of night had once again engulfed the household. Her husband looked at her curiously with a look that stated what?
“There was a cry, coming from somewhere in the house,” she explained.
“Prob’ly one of the kids,” he mumbled before falling back onto the pillow, sleep encompassing him again.
“But–,” she began, but stopped. Her husband was asleep and from past experience, she knew that only the burning gaze of the sun could wake him. He was most likely right. It probably was one of their two children, but still, she had to find out for sure.
She found her slippers and quickly put them on. The floor was cold, colder than usual. She wondered why. Brought up to see the causes of events, she pondered this phenomenon.
She found a candle. She reached towards the dresser and opened an elegantly carved box. She lifted out a ruby pyramid. It was the size of her hand but it had a weight that was beyond the regular weight of such an object.
She held the ruby in one hand and the candle in the other. Bringing the two together, she whispered the flowing words of magic. The pyramid began to glow softly. The candlewick burst into flame, and at the same time, the ruby’s glow extinguished.
She pocketed the ruby and held the candle high. Its warm light spewed from the flame, allowing her to see all that the light touched.
She walked to the door, opened it, and peered into the hall.
All was still. Even the crying had ceased. The hall, having no windows, was dark and seemed to devour the slight light of the candle.
She quickly strode the first door on her right hand side and slowly opened it just a crack. The light fell across the sleeping form of her five-year-old son, Aloysus. He lay spread eagle across the bed, his sheets thrown to one side. He was stocky, just like his father. As of now, he was still petite and adorable. Nevertheless, she knew that one day, he would be a large man, just like his dad. She hoped for this with all her heart, that he would grow into the man her husband was.
“As long as he’s more handsome,” she said with a sigh. She slowly and quietly closed the door.
The cry started up again. It pierced the silence like a spear, penetrating deep into its heart. She hurried over to the next door. Inside lay her son Iver, who in a few days would be turning three years old. He resembled his mother more than his father. He had her eyes, piercing, green eyes. Those eyes would get him attention, just as they did for her. If she had something to say, her eyes would command all attention.
The cry grew more insistent, rising in volume, until it approached a full scream. She turned and ran down the rest of the hall. Opening the last door on the left, she bolted into the living room. The fireplace was cold, having gone out hours before. This room was cold. With no fire or warm bodies to banish the cold, this room’s temperature was chilly.
The cry came from behind another door. This particular door led to the wraparound porch outside. By now, she knew that it was an infant, and being a mother herself, knew that the child had to be freezing.
She threw open the door and looked around, searching for the child. And she it, lying on the hard wooden planks of the porch at her feet wrapped only in a thin blanket.
It was crying loudly. Its face was red and tear streaked. She bent down, scooped the child up in her arms, and cradled the child until he fell asleep. Once the baby was asleep, she walked back indoors, no longer fearing that she might wake up her own children with a baby’s screams.
She did a quick inspection of the baby and discovered three things. The infant was a boy, and he was barely a day old, judging the fact that the umbilical cord was still attached to his belly button. Thirdly, she found a note that had been concealed in the folds of the blanket.
She was about to read the note when the baby in her arms began to cry again.
“You must be hungry,” she said. Opting not to read the note, she crossed the room and walked into the kitchen.
A large table sat in the center of the room and four chairs surrounded it. A pail of milk a day old was on the oaken table as well as a vase of flowers. The milk was to be thrown out the next morning, but, with nothing else to feed the child, became usable again. She searched for a saucer in the cupboards until finding one. She poured the milk in the saucer and walked back into the living room. She set the child and the milk down on a chair and pulled out her ruby pyramid and whispered the same words she had said to light the candle. This time however, the fire pit burst into flame.
Warmth spread out across the room and with it, came a dim, red glow. The cold night air was banished by the heat. Soon, the room was invitingly warm and comfortable.
She picked up the saucer and placed it over the hearth for it to warm up. Next, she picked the child up again and cradled him in her arms until the milk was warm enough.
She slowly poured the milk from the saucer into a bottle. She offered the milk to the baby and smiled with joy as the child gulped and slurped the milk. He must have been starving. He didn’t stop drinking until no milk was left. Realizing that all the milk had been drunk, he looked up at the woman.
She was ready for him to begin to scream again, still thirsty.
No cry came.
The baby was satisfied. Not only that, but he was tired too. With a full belly, a caring person to look after him, and warmth from the fire, he fell asleep.
 mage_justarius · Fri Mar 30, 2007 @ 02:23am · 3 Comments |
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Hounds snapped their jaws, their teeth glistening white in the light of the moons. Their eyes glowered, anticipating the kill. Their master had given them a command and they would accomplish it, no matter the obstacles.
The elf ran, and seeing a forest up ahead, ran into its depths. She looked back quickly. A vast open plain lay behind her, and on that plain, were the hounds, ferociously gnashing their teeth and barking in excitement, followed by a man riding a black charger. Not able to bear the sight of the hounds or man any longer, she looked forward and began to run again.
A branch snagged her cloak, and wasting no time, she ripped from her body, uncovering her ragged clothes and a small bundle she was holding. More twigs scratched her face, marring her elegant beauty. She didn’t care though. She had one goal on her mind, to live.
She stumbled on the rough, uneven ground. Though she didn’t fall, her slight loss of speed gave her pursuers time to close the gap between them. She kept on running, never looking back, for the fear of seeing those hideous beasts with their midnight black hide and menacing eyes.
A small cry came from the bundle in her arms. She removed the blanket, revealing an infant, not a day old, cold and frightened. The baby began to cry, softly at first, but gaining volume, as the howls of the hounds grew closer.
She had to save her child. It no longer mattered if she perished, but as long as her son survived, she would be happy.
Still running, she kissed her child on the forehead and looked fondly at his face. He was adorable. His pointed ears seemed too large for his tiny body. One of his small hands reached up at his mother and she took it in hers.
“I will always remember you, Kinsra,” she spoke softly. Then, in one swift move, she pulled a perfectly square cube of obsidian, about the size of her palm, from a pouch hanging at her waist tied to her belt. She glanced around at her surroundings. She was in a clearing. The moons shone down on her, reassuring her in some odd way.
She stopped and held the cube above her head. She quickly spoke a few words and the cube began to glow. Brighter and brighter, it glowed, until it seemed as if it were another sun, temporarily blinding her. Then the light vanished, as quickly as it had appeared.
She fell to her knees and prayed a last desperate prayer to any god who would listen, before the hounds were upon her. They tore her apart, her last scream echoing in the still night air.
A man rode up on a large, black stallion. He dismounted and calmly walked over to the growing pool of blood. The hounds, at their master’s command, backed away from the mangled corpse, their teeth stained red.
He searched the body for the child. He couldn’t find it. He searched again and again, but still, he couldn’t find the child. Then he spotted the cube. A flicker of recognition crossed his face. Magic, he thought. He clenched his hands and pounded them into the soft dirt.
“I was so close. I almost had him,” he whispered to himself. He looked off at the moons. The child was still out there, still a threat to him.
A howl of anger rose from clearing, joined by the hounds.
I know it sounds alot like Eragon, but I didn't mean for it to be like that. Please don't comment on that. Any constructive suggestions are welcome.
mage_justarius · Tue Feb 27, 2007 @ 05:19pm · 2 Comments |
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