|
Tainted Soul Reprinted with permission. The shadow moved silently through the trees, darkness masking a form already indistinguishable within the folds of a flowing robe. Even had a passer-by strayed too close they would have seen little for magic masked the traveller more securely than the night. A cry pierced the evening air and the shadow froze. Turning slightly it made its way toward a small hut from whence the noise came. I have found you my dear, the traveller thought to himself. Raising a hand and muttering a few words in the ancient tongue he fortified the concealment spells and circled the house. "Don't worry my pet it will soon be over then you can rest," he heard a woman say. Stepping through a half open door he walked into the ramshackle hut. The hut was sparsely furnished, clean and well kept but bereft of luxury. The woman's voice continued, comforting yet containing a sense of urgency. "Push now dearie I can see the head it's nearly time." The traveller moved toward the door, the scent of blood and sweat acrid in the confined hut. He took in the room at a single glance, the light of the fire playing around the room, the dresser holding several bowls of water and blood soaked cloth. A young woman lay on blood and sweat soaked blankets, her body writhed and contorted with the pains of childbirth. As he moved into the room the old woman at the end of the bed stiffened and turned towards the door. Raising his hand he muttered a few syllables. Shaking her head slightly as though to dispel a day dream the woman returned to her ministrations. They are of strong stock these Sho people. I should have been more cautious. If the traveller had given voice to his thoughts his words would have been tempered with annoyance. Carelessness costs lives, he thought. The girl's pants turned to screams and the midwife's movements fervoured. The girl yelled and pulled herself up from the bed. The stranger walked over unseen and touched two fingers lightly to her brow, a red sparkle appearing at his fingertips, and the pain left the young woman. Her contorted features relaxed, and the release from pain showed some of the beauty that lied beneath. She turned to the midwife "The pain has gone," she stated bemused, casting her head from side to side as though trying to remember where she was. A look of surprise quickly replaced the look of worry on the old woman's features. "Aye let's be thankful for small mercy, now lie back down, the wee one is nearly here and you will need all your strength." Sitting back the girl looked down at the blood soaked sheets then turned to the old woman. "Ilyara I have lost too much blood." The old woman avoided making eye contact, "Hush now child don't be silly you will be fine." Another contraction racked the young body. "I...am... dying" she said as she panted. The old woman did not look up, she did not wish her patient to see the tears in her eyes. She focused on the young life that struggled to be born. "I was a warrior of the fifty second level Ilyara. I know death and it holds no fear for me." Ilyara looked up into the young eyes and knew that even though there was bravery there they also contained fear, maybe not for herself but for the child she bore. Another contraction came. The stranger leaned against the wall, the wounds she had suffered ran too deep even for his art. He looked at the pregnant woman before him, she was slender, strong. Her form, even gravid and racked with pain, betrayed the sleek look of a warrior better than the network of scars could. With his art he could sense the strength of the woman even as it drained from within her, as the life blood flowed onto the sodden sheets. Aye she must be strong to have suffered so much, many would have destroyed the child or themselves before now, even had they survived this long. "They...will...come for her." The old woman ignored the words, she was focused now on the new life birthing before her. The cord was wrapped around the baby's throat and the skill of nearly five decades at her trade was called upon to spare at least one life on this sorrowful evening. One hand alongside the baby's head, she worked feverishly, slowly easing the new life into the world. Looking up she saw the mother's face begin to wrack once more with pain, blood now began to appear at the corner of her mouth, her once golden skin now ashen. "Nearly here. Bless me, 'tis a girl my sweet." With the woman's words the child came forth, the cord manipulated clear by the deft experienced hands. Severing the cord the midwife passed the baby to its mother. "She's beautiful," she said, "she has your eyes." The young woman held the child tenderly and kissed the tiny brow, still wet with the fluid that had given her life. "My precious child," she said through tears. "How could something so beautiful come from such evil?" Pulling the child close to her she lay back against the pillows. Ilyara sat next to her and mopped her brow with a warm cloth. "Hush now my sweet," the midwife cooed, "you have done well, you have birthed a beautiful girl. What will you name her?" The traveller nodded in satisfaction. The woman is wise, she knows death visits this house and that the gods cannot protect the child until its soul has a name. Kissing the baby once more, her tears rolling and mixing with the birthing fluids, she stiffled a sob as she felt darkness draw in around her. "Xepha. I will call her Xepha." "A beautiful name indeed my..." The words were interrupted by the mother's firm grip on the midwife's arms. "They will come for her." The midwife felt the strength ebbing from the grip. "See her safe, she cannot be held accountable just for being, she is innocent. Please see she is safe." Holding onto life long enough to see the midwife nod a promise she slowly lay back, as her life force left her she saw the face of a beautiful young woman bathed in a dance and play of light, the words of power on her lips. Comforted she felt the weight of her newborn daughter on her arm, then she felt nothing as peace and darkness claimed her. With a deft movement the traveller drew a staff from under his cloak. For the magic he must perform now he would need the staff to maintain focus. He drew the power to him and focused it to a precise point, tuning his mind away from the howls of the newborn infant. Stepping away from the wall several strides brought him to the old woman. Raising two fingers he touched her brow and allowed the magic to flow forth. Ilyara's eyes glazed as his consciousness probed her mind. Slowly and with great care he found the memory he was looking for. "You will remember both the mother and child dying before the birth," he commanded in a whisper that seemed to fill the room. "Now sleep." As the woman slumped against him he caught her lightly and lowered her into a chair. Leaning his staff against the bed he took the child from its dead mother and drew it into the folds of his robe. Only now did he let the concealment spells fall for he needed all his reserves. With his free hand he took up his staff and touched the tip to the baby's head. "Sithor Shirag," he intoned. A brilliant white light infused the child then seemed to coalesce and draw in through the child's mouth, nose and throat. Once the spell was complete he staggered slightly, the physical exertion of such a spell drawing dangerously from his life force. Hooking his staff into a loop sewn into his modest robe he held the child out at arm's length. The crying stopped and the child looked at him. For a rare moment he smiled. "Young lady I will take care of you, my name is Venger." The child expelled a belch then howled. "I can see this isn't going to be easy," Venger said to himself with a half smile. He once more took up his staff and incanted once more in the ancient tongue. The air in the small room shimmered and a circle of light appeared. The mage stepped through and disappeared. The circle ebbed out of existence leaving only the crackling and spitting of the fire and the gentle snoring of the midwife. On distant Aerlinthe the Lady of the keep felt an itching in her soul. She turned to look at Borag, leader of her minions, his face still holding some of the beauty it had in life. "My Lady," he said, prostrating himself at the foot of her throne. "I sense something Borag. It feels like an itching in my soul." Turning her power inward she found the source of her annoyance, it had been there for several minutes unnoticed, but now it demanded attention. A small corner of her mind glowed faintly within her consciousness. She focused tightly on that small point of light, letting her consciousness seep into it. Opening tiny eyes the Lady looked around a small unpleasant room into the eyes of a dead woman. Briefly she considered entering the bereft shell then dismissed the idea, the current body was the one that called her. Something bothered the Lady of the keep, this body felt wrong, too enclosed. Then realization dawned, another consciousness was here, a small thing of light and innocence. For a moment she saw her own black soul reflected in the brilliance. Her mind rebelled and only supreme control stopped her from withdrawing. I must fathom this riddle, why am I drawn here? Focusing all her energy she turned the head just in time to see a staff touch over her eyes. As the staff touched she saw the face beyond it. She was wrenched from the body, pushed out by a spell of purity that shielded the small mind from her probing. Snapping back to her own form she was hurled to the ground. Borag hunched his massive form over his mistress to draw her to her feet. Pure rage gathered around her like a storm as she focused her power and sent her general catapulting across the throne room into the far wall. She raised her head and sent a bolt of power upward shattering the glass domed ceiling. The storm raging outside responded to her mood and lightning struck around her as glass shards and rain fell to the floor. Her mouth drew wide and the keep shook. "Veennggeerrr the child will be mine. Do you hear me Venger". |
|
~ Go to Xepha's Website ~ ~ Part One ~ New Beginnings ~ ~ Part Two ~ A Haven in Eastham ~ ~ Part Three ~ Return to the Keep ~ ~ Part Four ~ Dark Thoughts and Innocence ~ ~ Back to AC Stories ~ |