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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 Second Circlet: The Old Places - 2. Segment 2: Of Angels and Demons
Morgan Obris, the Crystal Palace
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The scream was shrill.
Its sound pierced through the entire crystal palace from each graceful arch to each exultant vault. It was a sound that could instinctively send shuddering chills through a person's soul...no matter how hardened that soul may have become by doing what was necessary.
It was strange. The sound did not seem in any way organic. It reminded one of those steam whistles the men-filth once used in their belching steam locomotive iron abominations. It settled into an organic sound only when it trailed off to gather breath to continue. Then it would become even more piercing than before.
Considering the amount of suffering the one making the scream had already endured over the ages, it was extraordinary that His 'Majesty' should seem so continually shocked by this ever evolving agony. His shrieks were redoubled and renewed as if the torment had managed to creep up an impossible notch. Perhaps it had.
Tyrex did not know. It was possible his beloved Mother was prolonging Lord Ser's suffering for her amusement. Her hate was perfect and pure! Her revenge long and merciless.
But this...there was something particularly...wrong with this. This felt...criminal somehow. But to even think such things in Morgana's presence was enough to make the strongest cower...and Tyrex was the strongest.
He was the Faery Prince! The Son of Oberon the Magnificent! His mighty blood was his father's mighty blood...but that was pale when compared to the majestic dark grace and omnipotence of the Faery Queen. Morgana was power completed. She had been given the Mandate and so her powers flowed greater than any Fae ever to live.
Or unlive...they could not be considered truly alive now. The Fae had existed outside of the flow of time for ages of the Earth. The spinning of the globe and its revolutions around the Day-Star were the only things to remind the Fae of time.
Beyond the veil...time did not exist. They were as much as Angels now. Without form and without substance, unless they imagined it for themselves. Nothing could ever change...not until this happening.
This changed everything!
Tyrex winced though. A long forgotten feeling of pity dimly echoed in his chest. The shrieking scream had reached an intensity that was truly ghastly. In all honesty, despite all the things Tyrex had done for his Mother in the past, all the necessary cruelties and terminations, what was happening here was near to sickening him.
He dared to look up at the ceremonial dais over which Ser, the last ruler of the treacherous Sídhe, hanged suspended. His body was slowly skeletonising now. The screams had become frantic and mindless. No time for breath...the pain wouldn't allow for it. The near-skeleton had flesh enough to scream with, but it was a mindless thing now. Beyond hope. Beyond thought. Just instinct to escape the unrelenting all consuming agony of the electric fire that gripped him.
Tyrex felt a need to look away again. He...wished this process could be over. It was...taking too long! It was...unnecessary!
"It is MOST necessary, my youngling. I promised Ser he would pay for his treachery with every fibre of his being...and so he is." Morgana said, rather delighted with her own wit.
Tyrex was terrified for a moment since he'd been caught with bad thoughts once more. A cold terror gripped him that he might very well be next within the Configuration.
About the dissolving Ser was a network of energy so complex that it would easily take Tyrex weeks to decipher all of its workings. His Mother wove it in a matter of days. She called it the Configuration, an unlocking mechanism that would soon split the doorway into the Living Realm and widen it further. Once fully powered the Configuration would continue to grow spreading the Tear in Space to become even wider.
Then she would use it to make more tears in the fabric of space-time in other places on the Earth. From these doorways, the Fae would re-enter the world and scourge humanity off of it once and for all.
Blessed Balance would be restored at last and Avalon would grow back. The Fae would finally be able to go home and remake the world as it should be.
For Tyrex it was a beatific vision his Mother had shared with him since they were pushed out of the world. To go home! To fly with his feathered friends again! To dance with his friends...
...but there would be no more 'friends'. Not among the Sídhe anymore. With Ser destroyed...only one of their kind remained. The one Tyrex was under orders to kill...along with a human woman. The Son of Ser would die, this was something understandable. But why the woman and why THIS particular woman? Tyrex did not know.
Again...a sting of sadness and with that sadness a flash of colour momentarily spread over Tyrex's beautiful face. His skin turned from black to the pale flesh tone that had once been his normal appearance. But it was only for a moment. The hatred of what the Sídhe and man had done would return with avengence. The loss of close friends...and worse...the loss of Myrex.
...Myrex! That sadness...would never die. It was a scream that would not fade, not like Ser's screams had just done.
Returning to his dark self, Tyrex looked up to see the Configuration empty of an emaciated Sídhe body. The Configuration itself, however, was veritably sizzling with powerful energies. Morgana's plan had worked. Ser had enough left of his ancient power to give the Configuration the boost it needed to stabalise the doorway back into the world. Now it would remain open and not fluctuate intermittently.
"Good. It is time now, Tyrex. Come to mother..." Morgana beckoned to her son.
With a touch of dread, Tyrex did as he was bidden.
He always did what she willed. There was no other way to be.
Moira's Cottage
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"AIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE....!!!!"
"What in the Devil's toilet was that?!" Sean barked in terror and shock.
They had been outside, surveying the outside for any more damage brought by the 'storm' the night before. But upon hearing the terrible wail coming from inside her cottage, Moira knew exactly what it was...or rather who!
"Ay! Saints preserve us!" Moria huffed as she dashed for the door back in. Sean tried to reach for her but was too slow.
"Good God, woman! Ye've no idea a'tal what that was! Are you turnin' quare on me already? Get back here! You are off your nut, for sure!" Sean complained loudly but Moira was not listening.
She entered her dwelling and saw a most pitiful sight. Joraan was sunk to his knees with his head in hands rocking back and forth sobbing uncontrollably.
"Och! Joraan, my Sweet. What ails ya, lad?" She went to him and reached to touch him in comfort, but Joraan turned on her all wild eyed and then snarled!
"By my mother's knittin'! What gives?" Moira said as she jumped back in shock. The wild, golden tear strewn face looked almost animalistic in its savagery. But Joraan had been all charm the night before!
"What in God's name is THAT?" Sean's timing was, as usual, desperately terrible. His common sense was also not working. He immediately started to charge Joraan fearing for Moira's safety. In hand, he held a log as a club.
Moira's bag of flour, all 50 lbs of it, flew of its own accord at Sean for him to 'catch' in his middle. Naturally, this flattened poor Sean rather quickly and completely.
"Oh for the love of..." Moira went to check on Sean who was not hurt anywhere more severe than his pride. She helped him off with the flour bag which had split and was turning the poor man into a living ghost.
Looking back up at Joraan rather crossly, Moira nearly let her temper get the better of her and tell Joraan where he could get off with his behaviour being as beastly as it was being. But, her brief flame of anger dissolved rather instantaneously as she saw recognition finally return to Joraan's face...along with the most heart wrenching look of grief and sadness Moira had ever seen!
"God in Heaven, Joraan...what IS it? Don't be snarlin' at me like a rabid wolf but tell a soul!" Moira scrambled back to Joraan as Sean sat up dusting himself off...or trying to.
"... Ach. ~gulp~ My apologies, Moira. It is bad....it is very, very bad!" Joraan squeaked and resumed his rocking.
"What is bad, luv? What has happened!?" Moira dared once again to enclose the Sídhe prince in a comforting embrace. This time the ancient being allowed it and rather fell back into her clutches. His high cheek bone rested against her chest and she instinctively tucked her chin over his fine silken silver and gold hair.
"You know this...er...person, Moira?" Sean was a bit more himself now that he'd dusted the excess flour from his face. At least there was a hint of a man still there under the powdery wheat.
"Aye...ya dullard. 'Tiz Joraan. A...friend." Moira said softly as she waited for Joraan to settle enough to become coherent again.
"...Jordan? Ok...like in Michael Jordan the American Basketball player?" Sean quizzed irritatingly.
"No, ya gimp! JO RR AAHN!" Moira answered gruffly.
"No need to get nasty, Woman! I...don't know!" Sean responded with half-hearted hotness.
"It...it is well, Sean Pierce Eye. I had no intention of bringing you into this knowledge. You are a good sort. It is with sadness that I have done so now." Joraan mumbled softly.
"Uh...part of what exactly?" Sean asked with understandably sensible caution. Sean was a little more than perplexed that this Joraan creature knew his old family surname. A vestige from Vikings long ago and a part of their family crest for the Pierce clan.
"Part of things that men have not had to be a part of since Ireland was covered shore to shore by trees, Sean Pierce Eye." Joraan whispers.
"Trees? What about trees? Moira....?" Sean turns to Moira helplessly lost.
"It's a long story, Sean lad. I will tell you more when I figure out what is going on with our friend here..." Moira assures the fretting Sean.
"Joraan...please tell us? We cannot help you if you do not confide in me. I can bear it. Trust me!" Moira exhorts Joraan.
"My own counsel I shall keep on who is ready to bear what ever must be borne and who is ready to be confided in as to things even I do not yet understand." Joraan intoned without rancour.
"But...that said...time is short." Joraan continued on.
"I have seen beyond the Veil. I have seen the death of the one who sired me.. ~choke~ ..I have seen my father's death." Joraan tried to stifle the sob, but he couldn't entirely.
"I had thought him dead ages upon ages ago. He disappeared during our war with the Fae. We never found his body. We looked for centuries to see if we could find some remnant...but we never found a thing." Joraan said with an uncharacteristic hoarseness to his voice.
"Now...God's Mercy...I know why!" A look of utter horror spread over Joraan's face. His colour left his face and he look dead himself.
"Your father? Your father Lord Ser?" Moira said with mysterious knowing.
Joraan looked up at Moira with wonder and incredulousness. "How is it...you know his name? I never told it to you!"
"It...came to me last night in the dream I had. Such a ghastly nightmare! But, I remember thinking about that name...and knowing somehow that you were a part of that name." Moira looked past Joraan letting her eyes unfocus as the amazingly lucid dream returned to her in all detail.
"Bless my buckles, Moira, me luv!" Joraan's sadness suddenly turned inexplicable into gladness. Even though this ray of light was still deeply shadowed by the dark knowledge that his father was now truly dead...and had actually been alive all this time, but a captive of the Enemy.
"Why...bless?" Moira asked but didn't have time to get her answer.
"Angels, Moira! That is why! They speak in dreams! Blessed you are and blessed you have been!" Joraan's turn of heart was strange and wonderful. Moira was completely stunned by it.
"Would one of you PLEASE tell me what is going on? I feel like I've been pitched into the White Rabbit's hole, I tell ya!" Sean whined.
Moira turned with a very tender look toward Sean feeling badly that she'd completely forgotten about him. He really did deserve an explanation.
"Ah, Sean, my feen. Of course, though..." Moira turned to Joraan who was patiently looking on the both of them with his huge bright green eyes. His little mouth had a wane smile upon it as he regarded Sean.
"I am a Leprechaun, Sean...for lack of a better name you might know." Joraan made his statement firm as fact and solid as stone. That didn't convince Sean though.
"You're takin' me for a pony ride, aye?" Sean blinked.
"No pony rides, Seanney. 'Tiz the truth. Amazing and unbelievable as it may seem...our ancestors were dead right. There were forest people and they were here before we were. There really are Leprechauns...and what is more there are...Fairies too!" Moira let a tremble of fear enter her voice upon naming the creature that attacked her.
"Fa..." Sean stood up blinking at the weird Leprechaun and Moira. He then turned away rubbing his face as if trying to get feeling back into it.
"Aye. I bumped my head out there on the verge. Yeah. That is what this is. I'm still unconscious out on the mud. This isn't happening." Sean went to pace toward the door to leave only to have it slam in his face without anyone touching it.
"Ah, Laddie. You are in perfect health besides needing a bath. My apologies about the flour, by the way." Joraan's strange voice seemed to hit Sean inside his head somehow which made his surroundings seem hyper-real somehow. He felt a bit stoned as if on speed momentarily.
Sean turned abruptly to Joraan. "Why, in Father Young's holy shorts, did you go and do that for?" He then turned to grab the knob of the door to wrench it open again...but to no avail. The door knob could not turn and the door could not be opened.
"Open this door this instant! I have had enough of the both of you!" Sean began rattling the door in fright.
A chair gently glided across the floor and nudged Sean in the backs of his knees sufficiently to cause him to sit. The arm chair then turned itself and guided itself back toward Moira and Joraan before the fireplace.
Sean, for his part, could not seem to get purchase enough to escape the chair and was caught in it not unlike a fly stuck to fly paper. This, naturally, made him even more frantic.
"Let me go! I don't like this! I'll be fucked!" Sean was going to hurt himself if he didn't stop yanking at himself and thrashing.
"Sean....Hush'new! Its ok! Joraan is a friend!" Moira reached out and grabbed Sean's hand to make him stop his struggling.
A single note rang out loud and resonantly in the room and it caused Sean to fall into an immediate trance. His struggles stopped as well as nearly all his movement save breathing, which rapidly returned to normal.
Joraan took the flute from his mouth and set it aside. Moria was astonished once again. Why this little miracle should astonish her when she had seen candles fly, doors close of themselves, chairs move and lyres appear from thin air was immaterial. All of these things were wonderous, but had not directly affected anyone in any meaningful way.
This was the first time Moira had seen Joraan use one of his spells directly on a person.
"Now...we have a decision to make, Moira. Sean here is reacting rather hysterically to me and all of this. I cannot have a hysterical man on my hands when comes another Fae Warrior to attack us. He will be a great liability. Fae can use fear as a weapon and enslave people with it. It might cause a situation where I would have to kill Sean...and I desperately don't want to do that!" Joraan explained evenly.
"Well...what do you propose we do? I will NOT have you hurt him! He is a very good man! You don't know just how so as yet." Moira said emphatically.
"Good man. Bad man. That is all irrelevant at this point. He is a dangerous man at present and, have some faith, I have no intention of harming him in any way other than what I've already done with the stupid flour thing." Joraan spoke with concern while rubbing his chin thoughtfully. It was such a human gesture that it looked very strange as he did it.
"No...the choice is: should I erase his memory of this and send him back home with naught but a tale to tell about the weather or...?" Joraan tucked his head and scratched his brow.
"Or what, Joraan?" Moira wanted to know.
"Orrrr...shall he join us on our quest? He did come all the way out here in a very dangerous storm to see if you needed help. That is valour you will not find very often anymore among men." Joraan offered.
"Oh, I don't know, Joraan. Sean is a gentle giant. He pours drinks and keeps his bar. These are his talents. I don't have a feeling he can do anything but get himself killed if we run into another one of those Black Moths again." Moira said with trepidation.
"Eventually, my darlin', just about everyone will have to be dealing with them sooner or later." Joraan said with sadness.
"It might almost be better if he were to be with us to head them off at the pass. Actually, we would sorely need the help. Also, there is something about Sean..." Joraan trailed off in his musings.
"I'll help gladly if someone would blasted tell me what the hell is going on!" Sean said...startling both conversationalists.
A moment of bewildered shock was rapidly replaced by keen mirth as Joraan's expression changed from one of stupefaction to a wry grin.
"That's the something!" Joraan emphasised pointing at Sean.
"Oh! Well I...what...how?" Moira was not quick in picking up on Joraan's meaning, but then what normal person would.
"Sean, my dear Moira, has such an iron will and steel temperament that no spell or device of mind can hold him for long. He seems to have an archangel's aspect about him." Joraan explained as if Sean were not sitting there at all listening to all this.
"I'm right here!" Sean said with irritation at the diminutive boy/man/Leprechaun thing. He did not like being discussed in the third person as if he were some science class project.
"You're basically telling me he has a head like granite. Aye, that I could've told you from the start." Moira scoffed a bit, but only in the way of teasing.
"Would SOMEONE please explain all this?" Sean's blood was coming up again. One could always tell as his face would get red and his lovely ears even redder. Not unlike a Tasmanian Devil.
Joraan made for his flute again which chilled the sudden boil in Sean's blood. "Oh no! Ok! Alright then, blast it! No need to be zappin' me with that penny whistle again! I'll be reasonable..." Sean said with a touch of fear. Whatever the flute does it mustn't be altogether pleasant.
"Ok, Sean Pierce Eye. So you should and so we shall...stay reasonable that is. It's at these times that reason serves us best." Joraan said sagely.
"Now...my lad, I will explain what I can. You will at least know what Moira knows. Then, you can decide if you truly want to help us with this. Moira, as you already know, has her objections. She feels you are not a man prepared for what we will be facing. I tend to believe otherwise. Your resistance to the Note of Vim is only part of the strength I sense in you!" Joraan said leaning toward Sean to capture him with those large hypnotically green eyes.
By luncheon Sean was well versed in the dealings of the past night, on who Joraan was and what was needed for Moira.
"By all that I hold holy, Moira. No more will you be facin' things that quare all by your lonesome. I'd...die if anything were to happen to ye." Sean was standing by the window looking out into the sunny day. Somehow...he saw no light or colour in it.
Moira was a bit mystified by this and came to stand by Sean. She took his hand.
"'Tis a reason I'd be lost if you came with me and died because of me. I could not live with the likes of that." Moira reached up to Sean's scruffy rose cheek and turned his face to look at her. He really did have the most beautiful blue eyes on earth.
"I guess then...we shan’t be having either of us go and die on the other then, hey?" Sean said swallowing a sudden surge of emotion that caused his gorgeous Adams Apple to bounce beautifully.
"No. That we won't be havin'...Sean Pierce. Not while I have breath to draw." Moira said with firm conviction.
"And not while I have blood and a heart to beat it...Moira O'Brien." Sean said leaning in.
The kiss was electric with feeling yet gently done. So very gently done. Joraan smiled wistfully as he saw what he already knew. Sean and Moira...Adam and Eve. They were linked by the fine emerald filaments of love and had been for some time. He had seen them glittering brightly between the two the minute Sean was close enough within range for them to latch on to him.
Joraan had to stifle a distant pang of jealousy and unreasonableness. They had what Joraan had lost eons ago...and yet the pain of losing those emerald lines that connect one soul to another was fresher today than it had ever been.
Perhaps that was because another set of those precious love-threads had been severed today. Ones that Joraan hadn't even known were supporting him through the millennia of lonely wanderings.
Ser, his father...his Daddy! The one who held him when he was but a small child. The one who had taught him the arts of war and of life. The one who had taught him that love was best...
That one was now gone too.
Joraan was truly alone now. He was the last of the Sídhe in truth now for Lord Ser, the King of all Sídhe was dead. Lord Joraan now...was King. What a fabulous joke it was to be the king of nothing!
"The king is dead. Long live...the King." Joraan murmured to himself while feeling another hot golden tear trickle down his face. The grieving pain in his heart was soon eclipsed by a sister emotion. Joraan's face changed to the frightening mask of pure hatred.
Morgana was going to pay dearly for this!
The Burren
~~~~~~~~
Tyrex rested upon the cold rough stone that had once been a pillar of the city of Oberon upon the Earth.
The Burren the man-filth called this ruin now. He had once flown through the mighty arches of this, the greatest of all cities ever to have been. Now...he could fly no more.
What is more is he was now wedded to flesh that made him feel coldness and hardness and sharpness through skin. He had bare feet now upon which to stand. He had bones that ached still from the electric fire of the Configuration.
Morgana had pushed him through it into the Living World but not before she stole enough essence from the old Sídhe King's vaporised corpse to transform Tyrex into one of Ser's revolting kind.
His love for his mother must be indeed great to allow himself to be debased in this way. To give up his Faehood to wallow about in the mud with crude flesh!
Perhaps it was not love at all...but fear? No matter, Tyrex supposed.
Strange, all fae had flesh once; Tyrex included. When did he begin looking upon this physical estate with such contempt and disgust? It was a strangely demonic contempt. Perhaps that is what he had become...a demon.
Well, whatever the case he was locked into the flesh now. He had a mission to complete and this form was necessary for its success.
Joraan Serson would no doubt be feeling the loss of his doomed father by now. He would feel utterly alone being the very last of his kind.
Such a Sídhe would need a friend about now. A friend that would prove that Joraan was, in fact, not as alone as he thought he was.
The joy would be blinding. Joraan would never see the dagger angling for his back. He would never have a chance to save himself. It would be all over before he knew it.
Then the woman would have no protection and she would die as well. Nothing would then stand in Morgana's way of committing justice upon the human race and extinguishing it from the face of the Earth.
Tyrex looked up facing southward toward the little village and the little white washed cottage on its back doorstep.
His beautiful high cheekboned face glistened with the light mist falling from the clouded sky. His slightly slanted almond eyes seemed to shift coloursa depending on his mood and his mouth was a pink bow that spoke of heaven's kiss. His ears were delightfully pointed. His hair had become strands of gold and amber and red. His skin was that of the white lily or the petal of King Shoraan’s Rose. It embraced his pearlescent muscular body; pectorals, hips, and buttocks, in a smooth silky hand.
Tyrex had become My'n, son of Thren, brother to Mayra of the Sídhe and long lost brother-in-law to Joraan Serson.
Morgana's laughter could be heard still in Tyrex/My'n's mind. This final cruelty...was art to her. Joraan's heart would be broken before he died...
...for he would die by the hand of his lover.
Thanks for reading.
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Comments are always welcome
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Please leave a comment or you may make a Leprechaun mad at you. 😝
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.
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