- Author
- 06/14/2015
- 3,120 Words
- 1,161 Views
- 2 Comments
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
The First Circlet: The Twining Of The Three - 7. Segment 7: The Tearing
There are expanses and bends that set the contours of reality. Folds and fissures. Ridges and valleys. Space-Time folds on itself and parallels itself in sheets like pleats in a bedspread.
In spots those folds meet one another and join together forming bridges from one point on the sheet to another. Bridge Gaps, Wormholes, Portals, Doorways: all are words that work to express to the material mind what can only be described scientifically as quantum linkages.
By means that transcend steel and stone, polymers and wood, flesh and blood these quantum linkages can be accessed and used to move across the twisted sheet of reality from one point in Space-Time to another. Beings with a higher vibration that exist beyond the flesh can perceive these quantum linkages and use them quite freely.
In some very special cases a set of quantum linkages come to exist in one point in Space-Time. Such a place can become a quantum 'way-station' and they are exceedingly rare and vastly powerful. For lack of a better name for such places, they are referred to as Nexuses.
Within the corridors and alcoves of these Nexuses beings of different quantum vibrations can coexist and sometimes mix together. The barriers between vibrations are weak and so the Elder Races can transport and join with the Younger Races to influence each other and work to create an even higher vibration. This vibration can be referred to as an Harmonic Chord of Absolute Existence. Heaven. Paradise. Perfection.
When plucked just right the vibration rings out into the cosmos inspiring order and right-functioning in nearby worlds and realities. Such a Nexus has the power to create new life and to order it perfectly.
Alas...a song is only as beautiful as its players can make it. Sometimes someone plucks the wrong chord and suddenly discord replaces harmony and disharmony and madness reigns.
There is such a Nexus here that revolves around a common unassuming yellow star. Its convergence centers about a planet of unspeakable beauty. Blue with precious water allowed to remain liquid by a delicately preserved distance between the world and its sun. This precise distance is an effect of the incredibly powerful Nexus that contains and binds the world. The Nexus, from here, looks like three wheels spinning and twisting together in layers of smaller wheels and counter-wheels. The patterns of connection are endlessly complex and unequally beautiful.
She has ever marveled at the sight. This ability is her last pleasure. All other things that once brought joy, peace, and hope she lost ages and ages ago. Not that she has any notion of time. Such a construct is meaningless to her. There only ever is one 'Time' and that is Now. Eternal Now.
A snow white hand with thin fingers tipped with darkly iridescent nails waves dismissively at the scene showing the Nexus. It changes by zooming in to a particular spot among the whirling rings and counter-rings. The spot sparks and flashes where two rings cross and turn.
Another gesture, this time she points and the spark enlarges and its resolution increases. The sparking spot looks now like a glimmering burning disk of white fire that focuses in a particular area on the former island of Irié Aválon, the Western Isle and her one time home among the material. The area, in question, was once a city but one that had never felt the befouling hands of mortal men.
The city was once named Óberon after its great king and her father. It stood a mixture of stone, wood, gems, and materials not known to men or the treacherous Sídhe. It was a glory not seen before or since. It had been the apex of creation and it had been her birthplace, childhood playground, and the place where she experienced her first of many lovers.
Now it was piles of scattered stone. Meaningless and unrecognizable. A few short centuries ago the Men took over this land after denuding it of Sylvania, the sacred forest, and proceeded to desecrate the ruins with their own blind fumblings in magic and mystery.
There would have been a time when she would have happily burned away all men for merely laying eyes on the remains of Óberon. But, that time had gone...or had it? Things had changed and now an opportunity had presented itself.
An opportunity for the ultimate revenge!
Morgana, Queen of the Fae and Highest Monarch of The Three Races of Creation, pondered the shimmering dot for a time which may have been a few minutes or a few weeks. What did time matter to those not limited by it?
The shimmering ring was a tear in the fabric of reality. A doorway back into the material world. Restoration had come. The Veil of Separation was lifting. The Fae were being invited back to their former home.
Perhaps The Maker had finally grown displeased with His efforts with His lesser children. It was time for His Eldest to restore order to His Creation and return the earth to the paradise it was always meant to be.
Man's depredations upon the land had become too rapacious. His hunger was all consuming and heedless of order and right-functioning. Creation needed to be reset back to a point when it was still correct and worked. That was obviously not the case now.
The Fae, ever the preservers of the natural order of the world, were being called in to clean up the mess. They would unmake the world of Men and start over.
Morgana would be the Creator's maid-servant.
Her iridescent lips curled into a sneer. After all this suffering, had He finally given into the knowledge that He had been...wrong?
Had Morgana actually been the one who had been right all along? The creation telling the Creator that He made a mistake?
How delicious!
"Tyrex. Come." Morgana spoke softly and yet the command reverberated within the fabric of her celestial palace. It rang from one end of the crystal structure to the other becoming louder as it traveled.
A sweep of vast wings filled her chamber and Tyrex descended in unimaginable beauty and grace. He was out of his dark armour-skin and his beautiful body was free to breathe. His skin veritably glowed within Morgana's chamber. White and rose, he looked like he was made of rose petals. Velvety, his glowing skin clothed tight muscles that rippled all about his exquisite frame.
His great beautiful wings were fashioned in the manner of a black swallowtail, marked with shimmering blue, yellow, and red eyes along the scalloped fringes. Two long tails trailed from the bottom of his wings.
As he landed lightly on his bare feet his wings folded away into a cloak that flowed about his nakedness. As beautiful as that was, his face and hair were the things Morgana loved most about her younger son.
Black as night and decorated with sparkling star-sprites his hair fell long about his shoulders and broad back. It looked like the night sky, at times it even changed twilight colours to accent the black. His eyes glowed white, green, red, blue sometimes all at once. His chiseled jaw, aquiline nose, and rose bud lips set themselves into a look of utter adoration. He loved her so! He kneeled before the crystal dais, his eyes never leaving her.
She decended, tall, thin, radiant beyond description. Her long dress shimmered with every colour in phosphorescent waves, and yet kept a base color of the blackest black. Behind her, Morgana's skirts trailed like snakes. This garment may have been her wings, though no Fae had ever seen Morgana take flight under her own power. Such a feat was toil beneath her station.
Morgana's hair was black without sprites and without irredecences. It was like a preternatural velvet showing no light reflection whatsover. It was so long that it was hard to tell where the hair stopped and where her dress began.
Upon her noble brow was the only light near her head. A circlet of silver adorned with a piercingly bright jewel that shined like a strobe. Its light mixed and pulsed with similar lesser lights that strobed from her eyes. To a mere Man, the eyes of Morgana would have been utterly blinding and the blasting light from her magic diadem would have made that blindness instant.
Beneath these radiances her thin nose almost looked nonexistent except for two dainty nostrils. Below that...a perpetually wicked sneer was formed by lips that seemed to be painted with the colors of a peacock's tail.
As she finally reached the bottom of her royal dias, the Queen of the Fae bid her last remaining prince to rise from his subserviance. She did so with a gentle touch that ran her long sharp nails through his shimmering hair.
Tyrex leaned into her touch like a pet dog and then rose to tower over his mother. She placed her hand gently on his back and guided him from her throne room.
"The time has come my beloved. The Veil of Separation has lifted at the place where Óberon once stood." She whispered gently. This time her voice did not travel anywhere but to Tyrex's ear and mind.
Astonished, Tyrex responded: "Can it be, Mother? Has the Maker finally relented on his long punishment? Can we go...home?"
The longing in Tyrex's voice caused something to twist in a place where Morgana once had a heart. It irritated her.
"No. You are no child, Tyrex. You know perfectly well that there is no 'Home' for us to go back to. Thanks to Men and the Sídhe 'Home' is no more. They have destroyed it, of course. Primitive and mindless as they are, they have broken the World. Now it is up to us to clean it up and fix it up." Morgana growled.
Her displeasure with Tyrex made him cow away from her and step back to follow her rather than walk at her side. Morgana was not forgiving of foolishness and her subjects...all of them...were to think before speaking to her.
They entered a dark chamber that reeked of disease and unrelenting pain. Someone in a corner made a frightened whimper as the two royals entered the chamber.
Morgana's diadem lit the chamber better than electric lighting. In the corner was a cage made of crystal and barbed stone. A small being shivered within it. It had started to weep uncontrollably as Morgana approached.
"You may stop your sniveling, 'Lord' Ser. I bring good tidings. Our work in opening the doorway back to the World has finally born very good fruit." Morgana gloated.
This cause the shivering being, this Ser, to suck in his breath and dare to look up at the agonizing gaze of the Faery Queen. His wane, filth covered face could not hide what had once been a Sídhe of uncommon beauty. His fading eyes still held some of the fire they once did. Blue they had been once. Blue as the ocean and his hair was still white as the foam on that sea.
But countless ages had passed since Ser had been the beautiful and proud King of the Sídhe in Avalon. He was barely living. A shadow or a wraith of what he had once been. He had been imprisoned by Morgana for so long that his past seemed more of a dream in fantasy than reality. All he had loved was gone. His wife Lénaan and his only son...
Joraan.
The knives of remembering always managed to slice a sob from him and rekindle the fire of hate that was all he had left.
Ser's fear turned to anger and then to murderous rage and his face twisted into something ugly and feral. Only eons of torment could create such a look. Morgana's greatest sin must be to have turned something once so fair and so good into something that would wish form the depths of its heart that another being burn alive forever in a pit reserved for the Dragon.
Ser managed to rise to his feet. The effort bringing pants for this incredible exhertion. Through dried out larynx Ser uttered his curse yet again. The curse that was as much warning as it was vindictive desire for revenge.
"Fae Bitch. Defiler of God's art. Usurper and adopted daughter of the Black Dragon, should you enter again into the World, you will fall and join your vile master in the Pit. You will burn forever and all the Fae will DIE! It has been written. Read it again as you are so fond of forgetting!"
Ser lost control and snarled. He threw himself at the bars of his eternal prison and attempted to grab at the object of his hatred.
Morgana was, of course, safely out of reach of the vile little fool. Tyrex charged the cage with his fire whip drawn and deftly lashed the hand from Ser's wrist.
Ser didn't cry out. He merely became silent and stood there with a look of unspeakable anguish. His fiery blood smoked into the air raising a stench to match all the others in the filthy chamber. He stumbled back into his cage and seemed to fall dead.
"YOU COMPLETE INCOMPETENT FOOL!!" Morgana thundered. Her backhanded slap sent Tyrex across the room and into the wall where he became unconcious.
She turned away from her son without so much as a twitch of regret and motioned to the cage. It melted away per her will. She rushed to Ser's lifeless body and touched the cauterized wrist. She reached and took up Ser's hand and replaced it upon his wrist. It mended instantly with three of her tears.
She caressed his brow and her diadem flashed filling the chamber with an instant of whiteness. Ser's eyes slowly came open. His natural loving nature caused him to look up at his 'savior' adoringly. But that quickly changed to bitter rage and finally despair as comprehension settled back into his poor demented mind.
"You horror. You can't even let me die in peace. You really are the Dragon's consort. You are now truly...evil." A golden tear trickled down Ser's dirt grimed face tracing one small clean path over his high cheek bone. Ser was crying for her. For Morgana, the once beautiful wife of King Oberon and mother of many graces who was now entirely lost.
"Do not concern yourself, my 'Lord'. You will be allowed your death...and very soon, I promise." Morgana's sweet smile was sickening.
Ser regarded her with faint awareness as she let him drop from her embrace onto the cold floor. Rising before him and stepping slowly away Morgana allowed the cage to regrow around the failing king. With him safely entrapped she inflicted her spider's sting. Her last malicious torment.
"Yes. Your death will not only be pleasing to me but instrumental to my purpose as well." Morgana turned her stabbing gaze away from Ser as she spoke.
"I need your energy to widen the doorway back into the material world. It will allow my most trusted agent to eradicate the last remaining threat to my reordering of the world. To my healing of it!" Morgana spoke with an almost reverent air. She looked up as if to gain approval from above.
Meeting silence, she looked down slightly dejected. Ser picked up on this immediately.
"He isn't going to bless your endeavours, Dragon Slut. He knows you for what you are. You are consigned here. Your kind will NEVER walk the world free again. You've done enough damage already!" Ser's dry larynx managed to wheeze his hateful observations.
"That is where you are wrong. Though she failed, Zyera nearly ended the threat upon our first venture through the Veil. Alas, she met with an unexpected problem...and he killed her, the treacherous filth!" Morgana spat as her gaze flashed madly back in Ser's direction. The waves of hate emanating from those sparking eyes nearly made Ser's heart stop right there. But, unfortunately, it didn't.
"Who...who killed her?" Ser dared not hope. Such a thought was too much to consider in his current broken state. But, the feeling of hope would not leave him. It persisted and only grew stronger.
Morgana considered his question coldly and then answered: "Why...your son of course."
Morgana's words were simple. Simple like a slim silver dagger right in the heart and just like a stabbing victim Ser uttered a prolonged agonized gasp.
"He lives? JORAAN LIVES!?" Ser's question was uttered in a ragged bark that sent him into a coughing fit.
Morgana's sneer deepened wickedly.
"Yes. He lives still. But not for much longer." Morgana turned on her heal and marched over to Tyrex who was still slumped against the wall. A wave of her hand and Tyrex was made fully conscious and with very little memory of his treatment by his mother.
"No. No you can't. He is the last. HE IS THE LAASST!" Ser went mad and with a maniac's strength lunged at the bars of his cell and attempted to pry them apart...but to no avail.
"HE IS MY SON! HE IS MINE!! HE IS MY SSSOOOON!! YOUUUU CAAAN'T!! I BEEEG YOU!! DON'T TAKE HIM FROM ME!! PLEEEASE!!" Ser thrashed and screamed in wretched sobs.
Ser's pathetic pleas fell on deaf ears as Morgana turned to feast her eyes on her handiwork. A poisoned thing now, Ser's last shred of sanity was now failing him. Ser fell quiet for a moment as he beheld the perfect cruelty etched in his enemy's face. He then broke entirely and lost his battle to preserve his ruined mind.
"I'LL KIIILLL YOU! I'LL TEAR YOUR THROAT OUUUUT!!! AAAAARRRRGGH!!" Ser was reduced to the caged animal he had become.
"HA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA." Morgana's pitiless mirth rang throughout the palace as Ser's howls increased in madness and intensity.
At the last, Tyrex slammed the door to Ser's torture chamber to leave him alone to die inside his soul. By this time tomorrow Ser's body would join it in annihilation.
Then after, the last of the Sídhe would fall by Tyrex's own hand.
Joraan Serson would no longer be able to protect Excalibur's Heir.
-
6
-
2
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
You are not currently following this author. Be sure to follow to keep up to date with new stories they post.
Recommended Comments
Chapter Comments
-
Newsletter
Sign UpSign Up and get an occasional Newsletter. Fill out your profile with favorite genres and say yes to genre news to get the monthly update for your favorite genres.