LJ Idol-Open Topic
Another fiction piece that I revised for Idol. I'd posted an early version of this in my old journal, so I'm using the cut to spare those on my f/list who have read it before.
Danae, My Beloved Wife,
I am still alive. We’ve had to retreat to the Silver Mountains, and now the powers that be discuss tactics. I hold the lock of your hair in my fingers as I write, the only part of you I will be able to touch for now. Do you know it still has the scent of jasmine that you wear? It makes me ache inside at the memory of our last night together, but I welcome the pain. It proves to me that I am still alive.
Or do the dead still feel? Perhaps I shall ask them at the next battle.
I am tired. The enemy is fond of night attacks, and we face other beasts during the day. I am tired, my beloved, but like most of the others, I fear to sleep at night, even though the silver ore deep below our feet and the wards keep away most of the damned. The night is beautiful. Far below my resting place, there is a vast field, where fireflies dance to the music of frogs. The moon turns the river in the distance to a silver stream. It is so peaceful, here in the mountains. Why is it I never appreciated all the beauty of this world before?
I add my prayers of thanksgiving to the war-priests that the moon isn’t full. At least some of the enemy will be confined to human forms, if they decide to attack tonight. It is strange. The undead cannot pass the wards, and the silver repels the werewolves and other shape changers, but ever so often they test for weaknesses. We only worry about the vampires, but consecrating the ground seems to keep them out. Don’t worry; we are all given holy symbols and blessed water to protect ourselves.
I love you, more than life. You know that? Nothing is more important than keeping you safe. I pray day and night that what we do will be enough to keep back the fiends until the wizard-priests seal the breach between the planes. I am not so sure it will be anymore. I can see you shaking your head, and the little frown of worry that forms when you are afraid for me. I can’t tell you not to fear for me, because I fear for us all. We must not fail.
Do you remember Varan? He is -was- the brother of the War-Priest Mulgar, who married us. He followed Mulgar into the priesthood, but chose instead to be a Singer, devoted to healing, not power. He died in the last skirmish. All of us here feel his loss. When he laughed no one could resist joining in. It’s hard to think that we will never hear him laugh again.
We somehow expect the holy orders to be invincible. Their purity gives them greater power over the dark forces we battle, even if they can’t use magic. He was the first holy man to fall in our division, and somehow that brings the fact that we too can die all too close.
I need to tell you how he fell, my beloved. It is important that you know what happened, because it affects us directly. Please be very careful. I risk my life and yours by what I am about to tell you, but you must be warned.
We awoke yesterday, around noon to a sheet of clouds that blocked the sun. The night before we fought a great battle, and we had to ensure that all the dead were collected, blessed and burned, so they would not rise again to fight for the enemy come third nightfall. Varan insisted on accompanying us. He was the only Singer to do so.
We also amused ourselves hunting the burrows where the undead would spend the day. As usual, we didn’t have much luck. The rest of the patrol was uneventful, and we started back for camp two hours before sunset. The clouds were a grey so dark to be almost black. A heavy rain began to fall. I remember feeling uneasy. This was high summer, and such a fierce storm felt unnatural even to a city-bred bard. Hearn, a farmer's son muttered a continuous prayer as we hurried back to camp the best we could in such weather.
The day-beasts, drossin, I think Varan called them, had not been seen for days. With the sky so dark, I thought they would still be sleeping in their lairs. Darkness confuses them. We thought we were safe for the moment. It was day, the enemy of the Undead. We forgot the sun, hiding behind those ominous clouds, could not work its magic on undead flesh. We forgot the were-people could also function in daylight - no matter that they hadn’t tried it before. Our reminder was all the more bitter for the fact we should have known. Our leaders should have known, damn them to the breach.
We got back to camp safely. Varan saw to that. Other patrols were not so lucky. Two came running towards the camp, discipline forgotten, and behind them were the undead, being directed by were-folk.
Beloved, I can’t understand how resurrected corpses move so quickly, even when the flesh is rotting off their bones. They were silent, swift. The only noise were screams from our own men when they were overtaken by that mindless death. We provided cover - fire arrows from the edge of the ward field, but so many died. The only mercy was that the unlucky were ripped to pieces. We wouldn’t have to fight them later.
Oh gods and goddess, that sound so callous.
More would be dead if not for Varan. He was the only Singer close enough to help. Beloved, I don’t know where he got the power - no, I do know, but I still do not believe it. His voice called down lightning from that hellish storm, blasting paths for the men to reach the safety of the wards. The were-folk howled like the animals they were to see their prey escape, but they kept back. My love I hope you never hear those sounds. They echo in your dreams, snapping you awake, trembling, praying, and crying like a frightened child.
The corpses made no sound, but you saw in their eyes their anger, their hunger for us to share their suffering. They hate us. I said earlier that I wondered if the dead feel. I think they do. You could feel their rage that we do not share in their pain. It is almost as if they believe the more of us join them, the less their individual pain would be.
I recognized Cor amongst the undead. It hurts to think of it. I should have taken him when he fell in that battle last month. I am to blame for his soul’s torment. How can I face his mother? What will I tell her about her only son? Do not worry about your brother. He did not share that fate even though he fell in that same battle.
But I was speaking of Varan. He stood outside protective wards, bashing the attackers right and left, shouting directions at the other wizard-priests and singers about how to help. I covered his back the best I could, but the press forced us to retreat.
He ordered me back to the wards. There were no more living soldiers to help, and we were in danger ourselves. We made a fighting retreat. I was inside the wizard wards, and he was close behind me, when a stone struck his head. He stumbled and fell… outside. I lunged for him, and missed, falling in the mud. He disappeared among the undead.
He was a priest. A Singer, devoted to healing, the highest calling of the Faith. They should not have been able to touch him. The symbols of his faith protected him from the vampires and were-folk. The undead have an instinctive fear of the holy fighters. We could not attack, for fear of killing him clean. I cried beloved, certain I would see him again as an enemy, but the war-priests were now prepared.
They chanted a prayer, casting their hands out over the battlefield. The power of their prayer moved outward, like a wind over a wheat field, and the undead collapsed. The were-folk screamed curses as their army fell, but they did not attack. Our arrows could still kill them - silver and fire worked well on living flesh. Soon the field was littered with unmoving corpses. I saw Varan, more than halfway across the battlefield. He was alive! He knelt, gasping trying to rise.
That was when they came. The Demoness appeared behind Varan with her human servant. She screamed, and our priests collapsed. The wards began to fail. I felt the men behind me begin to edge back.
She was beautiful. She was horrible. I felt my soul tremble, but I resisted. Her servant strode forward and dragged Varan towards her by his hair. The were-folk yelled in triumph.
Beloved. How do I tell you this?
I knew that man. I can’t tell you. I must tell you. You grew up with him. I think you guessed when I said Willam escaped Cor’s fate. He chose a worse one. He is alive, when he shouldn’t live.
He chose to serve the darkness. He didn’t die. His heart beats. Beloved I know how this will pain you but you must be warned. A living man need not fear the tools of the war and wizard-priests.
Varan died screaming. I can’t tell you more. I will not tell you more. I remember falling to the ground trembling, unable to bear what I saw, but unable to look away. The power she had. And Willam smiled as he watched. He smiled! I do not know what happened to him beloved, but he is no longer your little brother. Please do not be angry with me. I long to hold you and comfort you as I tell you this. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
I don’t remember much more. My mind…gave way for a while. They tell me the High Singers and Wizard-Bishops combined forces to drive off the demoness and the rest of the damned.
I suppose that is a victory. They moved those of us who saw into the Silver Mines. Some of the others could not take the fighting anymore. They deserted, or killed themselves, because they know what is coming. If a demon can make a physical form in this world the rift is widening. If there are more humans like Willam, then all wards and seals set against them are vulnerable.
It will get more difficult to resist them. The fighting will get harder, the enemy more inhuman. I fear that fighting them too long will also drain our humanity. But I will fight. For you I will fight. This is our world, not theirs, and we will send them back to where they spawned.
The generals will send us back for leave soon. Soon we'll be together again. Until then, wear the silver amulet always, and ensure you have enough blessed water and oil. They cannot cross the mountains in any great numbers, but take no chances. Beware of your brother. Warn your family.
Be safe until I see you again.
I love you.
Lars
Danae, My Beloved Wife,
I am still alive. We’ve had to retreat to the Silver Mountains, and now the powers that be discuss tactics. I hold the lock of your hair in my fingers as I write, the only part of you I will be able to touch for now. Do you know it still has the scent of jasmine that you wear? It makes me ache inside at the memory of our last night together, but I welcome the pain. It proves to me that I am still alive.
Or do the dead still feel? Perhaps I shall ask them at the next battle.
I am tired. The enemy is fond of night attacks, and we face other beasts during the day. I am tired, my beloved, but like most of the others, I fear to sleep at night, even though the silver ore deep below our feet and the wards keep away most of the damned. The night is beautiful. Far below my resting place, there is a vast field, where fireflies dance to the music of frogs. The moon turns the river in the distance to a silver stream. It is so peaceful, here in the mountains. Why is it I never appreciated all the beauty of this world before?
I add my prayers of thanksgiving to the war-priests that the moon isn’t full. At least some of the enemy will be confined to human forms, if they decide to attack tonight. It is strange. The undead cannot pass the wards, and the silver repels the werewolves and other shape changers, but ever so often they test for weaknesses. We only worry about the vampires, but consecrating the ground seems to keep them out. Don’t worry; we are all given holy symbols and blessed water to protect ourselves.
I love you, more than life. You know that? Nothing is more important than keeping you safe. I pray day and night that what we do will be enough to keep back the fiends until the wizard-priests seal the breach between the planes. I am not so sure it will be anymore. I can see you shaking your head, and the little frown of worry that forms when you are afraid for me. I can’t tell you not to fear for me, because I fear for us all. We must not fail.
Do you remember Varan? He is -was- the brother of the War-Priest Mulgar, who married us. He followed Mulgar into the priesthood, but chose instead to be a Singer, devoted to healing, not power. He died in the last skirmish. All of us here feel his loss. When he laughed no one could resist joining in. It’s hard to think that we will never hear him laugh again.
We somehow expect the holy orders to be invincible. Their purity gives them greater power over the dark forces we battle, even if they can’t use magic. He was the first holy man to fall in our division, and somehow that brings the fact that we too can die all too close.
I need to tell you how he fell, my beloved. It is important that you know what happened, because it affects us directly. Please be very careful. I risk my life and yours by what I am about to tell you, but you must be warned.
We awoke yesterday, around noon to a sheet of clouds that blocked the sun. The night before we fought a great battle, and we had to ensure that all the dead were collected, blessed and burned, so they would not rise again to fight for the enemy come third nightfall. Varan insisted on accompanying us. He was the only Singer to do so.
We also amused ourselves hunting the burrows where the undead would spend the day. As usual, we didn’t have much luck. The rest of the patrol was uneventful, and we started back for camp two hours before sunset. The clouds were a grey so dark to be almost black. A heavy rain began to fall. I remember feeling uneasy. This was high summer, and such a fierce storm felt unnatural even to a city-bred bard. Hearn, a farmer's son muttered a continuous prayer as we hurried back to camp the best we could in such weather.
The day-beasts, drossin, I think Varan called them, had not been seen for days. With the sky so dark, I thought they would still be sleeping in their lairs. Darkness confuses them. We thought we were safe for the moment. It was day, the enemy of the Undead. We forgot the sun, hiding behind those ominous clouds, could not work its magic on undead flesh. We forgot the were-people could also function in daylight - no matter that they hadn’t tried it before. Our reminder was all the more bitter for the fact we should have known. Our leaders should have known, damn them to the breach.
We got back to camp safely. Varan saw to that. Other patrols were not so lucky. Two came running towards the camp, discipline forgotten, and behind them were the undead, being directed by were-folk.
Beloved, I can’t understand how resurrected corpses move so quickly, even when the flesh is rotting off their bones. They were silent, swift. The only noise were screams from our own men when they were overtaken by that mindless death. We provided cover - fire arrows from the edge of the ward field, but so many died. The only mercy was that the unlucky were ripped to pieces. We wouldn’t have to fight them later.
Oh gods and goddess, that sound so callous.
More would be dead if not for Varan. He was the only Singer close enough to help. Beloved, I don’t know where he got the power - no, I do know, but I still do not believe it. His voice called down lightning from that hellish storm, blasting paths for the men to reach the safety of the wards. The were-folk howled like the animals they were to see their prey escape, but they kept back. My love I hope you never hear those sounds. They echo in your dreams, snapping you awake, trembling, praying, and crying like a frightened child.
The corpses made no sound, but you saw in their eyes their anger, their hunger for us to share their suffering. They hate us. I said earlier that I wondered if the dead feel. I think they do. You could feel their rage that we do not share in their pain. It is almost as if they believe the more of us join them, the less their individual pain would be.
I recognized Cor amongst the undead. It hurts to think of it. I should have taken him when he fell in that battle last month. I am to blame for his soul’s torment. How can I face his mother? What will I tell her about her only son? Do not worry about your brother. He did not share that fate even though he fell in that same battle.
But I was speaking of Varan. He stood outside protective wards, bashing the attackers right and left, shouting directions at the other wizard-priests and singers about how to help. I covered his back the best I could, but the press forced us to retreat.
He ordered me back to the wards. There were no more living soldiers to help, and we were in danger ourselves. We made a fighting retreat. I was inside the wizard wards, and he was close behind me, when a stone struck his head. He stumbled and fell… outside. I lunged for him, and missed, falling in the mud. He disappeared among the undead.
He was a priest. A Singer, devoted to healing, the highest calling of the Faith. They should not have been able to touch him. The symbols of his faith protected him from the vampires and were-folk. The undead have an instinctive fear of the holy fighters. We could not attack, for fear of killing him clean. I cried beloved, certain I would see him again as an enemy, but the war-priests were now prepared.
They chanted a prayer, casting their hands out over the battlefield. The power of their prayer moved outward, like a wind over a wheat field, and the undead collapsed. The were-folk screamed curses as their army fell, but they did not attack. Our arrows could still kill them - silver and fire worked well on living flesh. Soon the field was littered with unmoving corpses. I saw Varan, more than halfway across the battlefield. He was alive! He knelt, gasping trying to rise.
That was when they came. The Demoness appeared behind Varan with her human servant. She screamed, and our priests collapsed. The wards began to fail. I felt the men behind me begin to edge back.
She was beautiful. She was horrible. I felt my soul tremble, but I resisted. Her servant strode forward and dragged Varan towards her by his hair. The were-folk yelled in triumph.
Beloved. How do I tell you this?
I knew that man. I can’t tell you. I must tell you. You grew up with him. I think you guessed when I said Willam escaped Cor’s fate. He chose a worse one. He is alive, when he shouldn’t live.
He chose to serve the darkness. He didn’t die. His heart beats. Beloved I know how this will pain you but you must be warned. A living man need not fear the tools of the war and wizard-priests.
Varan died screaming. I can’t tell you more. I will not tell you more. I remember falling to the ground trembling, unable to bear what I saw, but unable to look away. The power she had. And Willam smiled as he watched. He smiled! I do not know what happened to him beloved, but he is no longer your little brother. Please do not be angry with me. I long to hold you and comfort you as I tell you this. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
I don’t remember much more. My mind…gave way for a while. They tell me the High Singers and Wizard-Bishops combined forces to drive off the demoness and the rest of the damned.
I suppose that is a victory. They moved those of us who saw into the Silver Mines. Some of the others could not take the fighting anymore. They deserted, or killed themselves, because they know what is coming. If a demon can make a physical form in this world the rift is widening. If there are more humans like Willam, then all wards and seals set against them are vulnerable.
It will get more difficult to resist them. The fighting will get harder, the enemy more inhuman. I fear that fighting them too long will also drain our humanity. But I will fight. For you I will fight. This is our world, not theirs, and we will send them back to where they spawned.
The generals will send us back for leave soon. Soon we'll be together again. Until then, wear the silver amulet always, and ensure you have enough blessed water and oil. They cannot cross the mountains in any great numbers, but take no chances. Beware of your brother. Warn your family.
Be safe until I see you again.
I love you.
Lars