Post by Cy Skywalker on Jun 8, 2007 19:29:49 GMT -5
To the readers: This story could not exist without Kora, Sar Sha, Arikash, and Yaz. Disregard the fact that it says “2” in the title. This is not a direct sequel, more an episode, and like with Star Wars it is preferable to experience them out of order. If the story confuses you, specify what you wish clarified; I will adress it or make a chapter out of it. If it is too near a cliche teenage vampire story, berate me.
Heir to the Fates 2: Arika and the Dark
"The two things which motivate people the most are love and fear." unknown
Evening on the highway between the WalMart complex and the mall, and the yellow pools of illumination beneath the streetlights lay over the hard black pavement. The afternoon’s rain had been half snow, but now all was melted away. Strange weather, thought Morn of the Dark Wizards. Then, no; she had once seen the sky swirl like the accretion disk around a singularity. Strange is so relative.
Barely two years ago, that had been. In the time between then and now she had gone through none of those things which defined modern teens--SATs, driving automobiles, awkward dates--and all of those things which defined a Dark apprentice placed in a foreign realm. Sarcasm helped to define her, as did denial of her Light origin.
Her black boots flattened the stubby grass between the cracks in the sidewalk here on the outskirts of the residential development. Large identical houses in pastel colors rose up to her right, with familial touches such as flower beds or swing sets and plastic cars scattered throughout their back yards. To Morn’s left, the black highway reached an intersection and sprouted upreaching stoplight tentacles. Ahead of her a stand of pine trees separated the sidewalk from the road where both turned at a right angle to the highway; the WalMart existed beyond the sidewalk, trees, perpendicular-running thoroughfare, and parking lot.
Morn heard one whump--air pushed by huge wings. She raised her forearms in an X over her head and positioned her feet as weight fell down on her from above, weight with forearms similarly guarding except a long knife gleamed in each hand--
Morn pushed up. The wings pushed down. Gleams--the whites of two eyes, the silvers of crude blades, bronzes of body armor on the compact dark form above her. The knives scissored. Morn stepped to the right. Her left hand shifted and pressed on the attacker’s neck just below the coarse, punked hair. The flat of her right hand hit just below the attacker’s ribs. Its momentum carried it forward; it rolled and came up crouched, one wing crooked down and to the side. The attacker could now be seen; obviously female, African-American, teenage, dressed in tight black clothing with silver accents and bronze armbands. Her black wings like a bat’s and the red makeup from the side of her lip to her chin--these identified her true race
The Vampire threw a knife. The blade flipped once. Morn sidestepped again, drew her sword, ran her tongue over her lips. Magic blazed as lurid red light along the sword’s length, almost obscuring the silver steel. Morn reached out, swung, sliced the knife in half. They stepped toward each other.
Morn swung her sword for the young Vampire’s neck. Her remaining knife caught it and then, quick, the Vampire was inside Morn’s guard, teeth snapping near her ear and through her dirty-blonde hair, knife sliding down the sword blade to her hand. Morn pushed with magic.
The Vampire flew though her wings did not unfurl. She landed with her feet scraping the ground up to the roots of one of the larger pine trees. Immediately she turned and gripped a fold of bark; she jumped, flapped once, and ascended into the darkness of the tree boughs. Morn ran underneath the tree and circled to the far side. Behind her a picket fence separated a backyard from the roadside.
“Arika!” Morn growled, always certain of her foe’s identity, always surprised at her boldness. Here, beside the highway!
“Make it easy for the humans and die quietly.” Arika’s voice from aloft had a soft girlish touch.
“Humans? They need some excitement in their lives.” Morn focused upward. Her adjusted eyes could discern only gray clusters of branches.
“I agree.”
Morn laughed. “You could make this easier for us and give up,”
“Certainly not. He wouldn’t like that.”
Morn swung her red sword into the tree truck. It was a sizable pine, not ancient, as it had been planted for the development, but sturdy enough to climb if you could reach the branches. The Wizard sword sliced through. The tree toppled, heavy weight pushing it down in the direction of the houses. Arika flashed out like a bat and landed a kick just below Morn’s neck as the loud crack-thud boomed. The Wizard breathed once, forcing the white-hot pain into a compartment of her mind, and turned as Arika came again with a knife. Morn pushed it aside with her sword.
The knife did not break apart as she had expected. They fenced for a few steps, Morn pacing backward, blades flashing up and down and forward. The knife now had the red magic-glow. Morn backed until she felt the change from pine needles to thick wet grass beneath her feet. Then she jumped, feet whipping over the plane of the fight, in a corkscrew kick which caught Arika beneath the jaw. The Vampire dropped. Morn misjudged her landing in a split-second of thought and landed on hands and knees, elbows dipping down to the cold ground for a moment. Arika reached forward. Morn strained and lifted herself into a sitting position and then a stand a meter away, against the fence--the tree had taken out the yard to her left--
Arika levered herself up with one hand, swung her legs like a gymnast, and flipped. This brought her to standing, oval face passive.
Both breathed heavily, rued it, and moved--Morn pointed her sword forward. Arika threw the enchanted knife. Her judgment from Morn’s two former dodges was sound; the blade sliced into Morn’s upraised hand as she sidestepped. Then it thudded, lightless, into the picket fence. Morn gasped with a hiss like a snake’s and pulled her bloodied hand to her chest. She too wore black, with a simple trench-coat over jeans and a button-down shirt with collar. No gleaming armor for her, except for the black sword belt and scabbard studded with silver. She raised the blade in front of her face and wounded hand. The magic sizzled slightly in their peripheral hearing.
“Why this time?”
“He knows.”
“What’s he got to do with this?”
“He’s told me to kill you.”
Morn ignored this, though a strangled thought like no flooded a compartment of her mind. Again she pushed. This time the Vampire was thrown farther, back to the limits of the highway. Morn ran after her. Arika picked herself up, dazed and holding her head to one side. “Whelp...”
Morn stepped forward, swung her sword. A tug on her leg pulled her onto her back. Narrowly she caught herself with her arms, but Arika was pulling on the thin line-and-lasso she had thrown unseen, dragging Morn toward herself, smiling with her two fangs exposed like a viper’s retractable needle teeth.
Morn cut the line. Arika had needed only recovery time, though--she flew forward and grabbed Morn’s hands at her hilt. Claws cut into the calloused skin of her knuckles.
Again Arika snapped at her neck and she could only step and lean back, too close to kick, hands burning with blood and sweat. She hated her weakness, and stamped down on the top of Arika’s foot. The boot was thick. Then she hooked her foot behind the Vampire’s and Arika fell; Morn pulled to get her hands free. She raged for her ineptitude. Arika rolled away. Morn called the magic again and threw. Arika rose as if on a thermal, wings spread and face tight with concentration, stable and about to dive until--
They had come too close to the highway. A minivan or some large vehicle swept by and Arika tumbled in its wake. She got a handhold on the back of the car’s roof and Morn watched her speed away. She tucked her wings in, becoming smaller and less gargoyle-esque as the car passed down the road.
Morn stood silently and lowered her throbbing hand.
She smiled for the moment, for the juxtaposition of worldly and strange.
Beautiful, until she remembered him.
Heir to the Fates 2: Arika and the Dark
"The two things which motivate people the most are love and fear." unknown
Evening on the highway between the WalMart complex and the mall, and the yellow pools of illumination beneath the streetlights lay over the hard black pavement. The afternoon’s rain had been half snow, but now all was melted away. Strange weather, thought Morn of the Dark Wizards. Then, no; she had once seen the sky swirl like the accretion disk around a singularity. Strange is so relative.
Barely two years ago, that had been. In the time between then and now she had gone through none of those things which defined modern teens--SATs, driving automobiles, awkward dates--and all of those things which defined a Dark apprentice placed in a foreign realm. Sarcasm helped to define her, as did denial of her Light origin.
Her black boots flattened the stubby grass between the cracks in the sidewalk here on the outskirts of the residential development. Large identical houses in pastel colors rose up to her right, with familial touches such as flower beds or swing sets and plastic cars scattered throughout their back yards. To Morn’s left, the black highway reached an intersection and sprouted upreaching stoplight tentacles. Ahead of her a stand of pine trees separated the sidewalk from the road where both turned at a right angle to the highway; the WalMart existed beyond the sidewalk, trees, perpendicular-running thoroughfare, and parking lot.
Morn heard one whump--air pushed by huge wings. She raised her forearms in an X over her head and positioned her feet as weight fell down on her from above, weight with forearms similarly guarding except a long knife gleamed in each hand--
Morn pushed up. The wings pushed down. Gleams--the whites of two eyes, the silvers of crude blades, bronzes of body armor on the compact dark form above her. The knives scissored. Morn stepped to the right. Her left hand shifted and pressed on the attacker’s neck just below the coarse, punked hair. The flat of her right hand hit just below the attacker’s ribs. Its momentum carried it forward; it rolled and came up crouched, one wing crooked down and to the side. The attacker could now be seen; obviously female, African-American, teenage, dressed in tight black clothing with silver accents and bronze armbands. Her black wings like a bat’s and the red makeup from the side of her lip to her chin--these identified her true race
The Vampire threw a knife. The blade flipped once. Morn sidestepped again, drew her sword, ran her tongue over her lips. Magic blazed as lurid red light along the sword’s length, almost obscuring the silver steel. Morn reached out, swung, sliced the knife in half. They stepped toward each other.
Morn swung her sword for the young Vampire’s neck. Her remaining knife caught it and then, quick, the Vampire was inside Morn’s guard, teeth snapping near her ear and through her dirty-blonde hair, knife sliding down the sword blade to her hand. Morn pushed with magic.
The Vampire flew though her wings did not unfurl. She landed with her feet scraping the ground up to the roots of one of the larger pine trees. Immediately she turned and gripped a fold of bark; she jumped, flapped once, and ascended into the darkness of the tree boughs. Morn ran underneath the tree and circled to the far side. Behind her a picket fence separated a backyard from the roadside.
“Arika!” Morn growled, always certain of her foe’s identity, always surprised at her boldness. Here, beside the highway!
“Make it easy for the humans and die quietly.” Arika’s voice from aloft had a soft girlish touch.
“Humans? They need some excitement in their lives.” Morn focused upward. Her adjusted eyes could discern only gray clusters of branches.
“I agree.”
Morn laughed. “You could make this easier for us and give up,”
“Certainly not. He wouldn’t like that.”
Morn swung her red sword into the tree truck. It was a sizable pine, not ancient, as it had been planted for the development, but sturdy enough to climb if you could reach the branches. The Wizard sword sliced through. The tree toppled, heavy weight pushing it down in the direction of the houses. Arika flashed out like a bat and landed a kick just below Morn’s neck as the loud crack-thud boomed. The Wizard breathed once, forcing the white-hot pain into a compartment of her mind, and turned as Arika came again with a knife. Morn pushed it aside with her sword.
The knife did not break apart as she had expected. They fenced for a few steps, Morn pacing backward, blades flashing up and down and forward. The knife now had the red magic-glow. Morn backed until she felt the change from pine needles to thick wet grass beneath her feet. Then she jumped, feet whipping over the plane of the fight, in a corkscrew kick which caught Arika beneath the jaw. The Vampire dropped. Morn misjudged her landing in a split-second of thought and landed on hands and knees, elbows dipping down to the cold ground for a moment. Arika reached forward. Morn strained and lifted herself into a sitting position and then a stand a meter away, against the fence--the tree had taken out the yard to her left--
Arika levered herself up with one hand, swung her legs like a gymnast, and flipped. This brought her to standing, oval face passive.
Both breathed heavily, rued it, and moved--Morn pointed her sword forward. Arika threw the enchanted knife. Her judgment from Morn’s two former dodges was sound; the blade sliced into Morn’s upraised hand as she sidestepped. Then it thudded, lightless, into the picket fence. Morn gasped with a hiss like a snake’s and pulled her bloodied hand to her chest. She too wore black, with a simple trench-coat over jeans and a button-down shirt with collar. No gleaming armor for her, except for the black sword belt and scabbard studded with silver. She raised the blade in front of her face and wounded hand. The magic sizzled slightly in their peripheral hearing.
“Why this time?”
“He knows.”
“What’s he got to do with this?”
“He’s told me to kill you.”
Morn ignored this, though a strangled thought like no flooded a compartment of her mind. Again she pushed. This time the Vampire was thrown farther, back to the limits of the highway. Morn ran after her. Arika picked herself up, dazed and holding her head to one side. “Whelp...”
Morn stepped forward, swung her sword. A tug on her leg pulled her onto her back. Narrowly she caught herself with her arms, but Arika was pulling on the thin line-and-lasso she had thrown unseen, dragging Morn toward herself, smiling with her two fangs exposed like a viper’s retractable needle teeth.
Morn cut the line. Arika had needed only recovery time, though--she flew forward and grabbed Morn’s hands at her hilt. Claws cut into the calloused skin of her knuckles.
Again Arika snapped at her neck and she could only step and lean back, too close to kick, hands burning with blood and sweat. She hated her weakness, and stamped down on the top of Arika’s foot. The boot was thick. Then she hooked her foot behind the Vampire’s and Arika fell; Morn pulled to get her hands free. She raged for her ineptitude. Arika rolled away. Morn called the magic again and threw. Arika rose as if on a thermal, wings spread and face tight with concentration, stable and about to dive until--
They had come too close to the highway. A minivan or some large vehicle swept by and Arika tumbled in its wake. She got a handhold on the back of the car’s roof and Morn watched her speed away. She tucked her wings in, becoming smaller and less gargoyle-esque as the car passed down the road.
Morn stood silently and lowered her throbbing hand.
She smiled for the moment, for the juxtaposition of worldly and strange.
Beautiful, until she remembered him.
