Author's Note: I was inspired to write this story by a stunningly beautiful calendar. This calendar is well worth looking at, and I could spend hours gazing at the pictures. However, this is a calendar filled with a bunch of random pictures. Therefore, if any part of this story makes no sense whatsoever, that's because I had to fit in a scene (my friend is doing the same, and her story will no doubt be just as strange). That said, please enjoy!
More information about this calendar can be found HERE. (It's the Dragons and Mystics 2005 Calendar.)
“No… No…”
“Yes, my dear, yes…”
“No… I won’t… No…”
“It is too late, my darling…”
“No… No…”
“Yes!”
Searing pain… Loss of will… Falling… Stillness… Pain… White… Black… Grey…
Nothing.
“No… No… I won’t…” She convulsed, her matter blonde hair cascading into a pool in the sand. There was no one else- there never was- but the blonde could hear maniacal laughter all the same.
“Get out… Get out… No! I won’t! No…” The blonde would have fallen to her knees, but she already had, many hours- or was it years? - ago. As it was, she bent over, sobbing.
“Dak!” She kicked at the stupid beanstalk. And missed. Landing on her rear, she swore again. “Dak dak dak dak dak!”
The beanstalk was wider than the fiery red-head, and so tall the end disappeared into the clouds. It was the only thing besides the woman on this desolate plain.
Stupid beanstalk. She hated this place. Maybe the beanstalk led out! It had just appeared one day, long ago- or at least, she thought it was long ago; there were neither days nor nights in this place. But when she touched it, the stupid plant thrashed around, and there was no way she could hold on long enough to climb up.
Standing up, the red-head aimed a punch. The plant ‘dodged’, and the momentum of the punch caused her to fall over.
“Dak!”
The Being frowned slightly, her brows knit together with concentration. She had to save her! Amavi… Myçotovir couldn’t be allowed to do this! No matter how pure his intentions were; it wasn’t fair! But what could she do? Myçotovir had successfully trapped Amavi, and help had vanished.
Unless…
Pain… Searing pain… Like her soul was being ripped away…
Cool… Healing? But… that wasn’t how this happened! How come…?
The girl shook her head slightly. Something golden moved into her vision. What…? Touching it gently, she realized it was her hair. That was odd… But why was it odd? She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t remember anything, not even her name. Everything was foggy… Where was she, anyway?
The blonde had to try several times before she could stand. Her entire body felt slightly numb, as if she’d been sitting there for a long time. How long had she been sitting there? And where was this place? She stood in the center of a giant spiral. The wall was nearly as tall as her, and made of a dull, grey, cold stone. The ground was pale sand, with large, clear pools of water scattered about randomly, as if it had just rained. An odd place. It reminded her of something. She couldn’t quite remember, though. It probably didn’t matter anyway.
Besides, she had to get out. Water was plentiful now, but food… Wincing as pain shot through her no longer numb feet and legs, the blonde carefully began walking out of the spiral.
The Being sighed with relief. Her plan had worked. Myçotovir might have created this place- she hesitated to use its name, Alutia- but he was not the only Master. The gentle blonde was escaping the Asylum.
A loud, shrill, shrieking cry sounded. She shuddered. It was him. His draconic form wheeled away, no doubt to check upon the other one. Fool. Did he think he’d beat her? She needed only her mind…
The red-head looked around confusedly. What had just happened? The oddest sensation… It didn’t matter. She had other, more important things to attend to. Like that blasted beanstalk!
Why did she need to get out? She had never really bothered to think about. She wanted to; that was the only reason. Apparently she didn’t need nourishment while here, and she didn’t feel terribly ambitious at the moment…
“I guess we’ll both rest for a while,” she told the beanstalk, absently patting it. She often talked to it. It was her only companion. Without the beanstalk, all would be too silent.
It wasn’t until she sat down that she realized what she’d done. She’d touched it! What’s more, she was currently leaning against it! Quickly, the girl reached up and grasped it tightly.
Myçotovir snarled, emitting noxious fumes. Curses! They’d escaped! If they met before he could recapture them…
Curse Alutia and her mind-powers! He’d created this land for her, named it after her, kidnapped the girl to power it for her! And this was how she repaid him?! Didn’t she understand? He’d spent ten years of his life creating this world, another five summoning her spirit… And for this?! All his work ruined…
Perhaps not. There was that fool- sent by Alutia no doubt- who could be… changed. Bettered. Yes, that could work.
And the irony would be delicious.
Nad Masely shivered. The only source of heat in this dungeon, a single candle, had gone out. Even the wax had cooled. It was so cold…
The dungeon door opened with a bang. Seeing the person entering, Nad shrank back further into his cell. Lord Myçotovir had come to see Nad only once; to question Nad. No, not question: torture. Nad had hoped he could stand up to torture. He was wrong. He was only a simple farmer, after all. It hadn’t taken Lord Myçotovir long to learn Nad’s reasons for coming here.
He’d come because the Lady Alutia, for whom this Realm was named, came to Nad in his dreams, telling Nad about Lord Myçotovir and his dark realm, and the kidnapping of Lady Amavi. Nad had often watched Lady Amavi from afar, and had enjoyed many delusional dreams of her professing love for him. He’d thought that perhaps if he saved her…
He was a fool. A delusional, harebrained fool.
But now Lord Myçotovir had returned to see Nad! What could he possibly want? And why was he smiling? What…?
A sphere of deep red light- magic- collected in Lord Myçotovir’s palm. With a start, Nad remembered that Lord Myçotovir travelled the darkened paths of Blood Magic. And that malicious smile…
“Goodbye, Nad Masely,” Lord Myçotovir said softly, ejecting the mystical ball at Nad’s head.
Pain. Then nothing.
The blonde looked in wonder at the scene behind her. A long winding path atop a long, thin ridge only two feet wide lay there, covered in silvery mist. It had been the oddest thing, except perhaps for the stone spiral. A thin strip of grass, slowly rising up into the clouds. As it was the only sign of life besides herself in the barren wasteland that was home to the spiral, the blonde had chosen to follow it. It had been a dangerous journey, but not unpleasant. At first, she’d walked slowly and carefully, but as time went on, she began to walk faster, then to skip, and by the time she reached the end, she’d been dancing. Her mind made up stories as she walked. She was the great Edgedancer, renowned for her skill… The air was only mildly cool, and had been clear and sweet. Scattered along the ridge had been small, beautiful blossoms. A playful breeze had tugged at her pristine white cape, making it ripple and dance. She’d often found herself laughing at nothing. It had been glorious…
But now she had to go on. She could see something in the distance. It looked like it might be a city…
Amavi grinned. Finally her mother had deemed her old enough to go to the End of Nature. Of course, walking along the himbletop trees’ canopy was dangerous, so Amavi was safely nestled in her mother’s arms. Not like her older sister. Alutia always got to have all the fun! It wasn’t fair!
“Mama, may I on the tree-tops for a bit?”
“No, Darling. It’s too dangerous.”
“Alutia is standing.”
“Alutia is nine. You are six. Now enjoy the view, Amavi.”
Stupid Alutia. Everyone thought she was so special. She was ‘sweet’ and ‘thoughtful’ and ‘a delightful child’. Amavi, on the other hand, was ‘energetic’ and ‘spunky’ and ‘a very outgoing youngster’. It wasn’t fair!
Stupid End of Nature. Here was the place where time began, and where it would end, or so Amavi’s mother had said. Of course, that was according to the Old Religion, and gentle-ladies such as Amavi weren’t supposed to believe ‘that trash’. But her mother did...
Everything was too confusing.
The fiery-headed young woman woke with a start. Dak! The vine she’d tied to her whilst she slept was coming undone! She should probably be walking up now anyway…
The stupid beanstalk never fought her while she slept. A good thing, as she had been climbing for several days. She was among the clouds now. Hopefully she only had a little more climbing to do…
Myçotovir smiled inwardly. His experiment was complete. He could now create new life! All he needed was the ‘help’ of an unwitting victim…
The demon lying on the floor looked up at Myçotovir and snarled. Myçotovir almost smiled. Such a rebellious nature… But did it remember…?
“Do you know who you are, Demon?” Myçotovir asked it, pulling it up by the neck. The Demon snarled.
“No,” it said finally in its low, smooth voice. Myçotovir did smile then.
“Perfect! You are Lakshallo, my Demon. You are to do my bidding and my bidding alone. You shall fight when I say fight, attack when I say attack, and kill when I say kill. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes… Master.”
“Very good. And now for your first assignment.” Myçotovir carefully explained what he wanted to the demon.
“Very well,” Lakshallo agreed. “I shall do as you command.”
“Good. Now go!”
As the demon left, Myçotovir chuckled. The irony!
Two golden orbs. Eyes. The dragon stared at her through slit black pupils. He didn’t move- didn’t even seem to breathe- but the eerie light rippled over his chartreuse scales. His giant wings, half outstretched, cast peculiar shadows on the cave walls and along the beast’s bed of gold. In front of the monster stood Death Incarnate, a skeleton swathed in an inky cloak. Clutched in its skeletal hands was a flask containing a sanguine liquid. Cackling, his smile revealing filed teeth, Death held out the bottle to her, saying,
“Drink, Precious, drink.”
“No!”
The blonde sat up with a start. What a nightmare! Hopefully it wasn’t a bad omen…
The sun had risen, casting its brilliant rays throughout the broken city. It looked even more spectacular now. Creamy stone archways, intricately carved marble benches, tall buildings glowing golden in the morning sun… It was a pity the place was no more than a ruin. The streets would have been wonderful things, once, before the white stone bricks were bashed out of place and weeds began thrusting up out of the earth. The buildings must have been lovely before the ivy tore them down. Was that the remains of a stained-glass window? And there, the torn end of a velvet curtain. It really was a pity…
At least there were plenty of places to sleep. The ground was covered in thick emerald moss, which made a comfy bed. The best bed she’d ever slept on. If she’d ever slept on a bed before; she couldn’t quite remember.
What was that? She could have sworn she saw a woman in golden robes across the courtyard. Perhaps someone else was here? Curious, the blonde got up and walked over to the house where she thought she’d seen the woman.
The door, a magnificent piece of carved wood, fell down when she knocked, and she could see that it wasn’t a house but a small storage room. It was completely empty. But then she noticed the window, covered in a piece of golden cloth. And the door… It had a woman’s face carved into it. Her eyes had been playing tricks. Smiling, the blonde looked around the room. Nothing but a single wooden chest. Curious, she opened it.
Clothes. Lovely! And they looked to be in fairly good condition, unlike what she was wearing now. And a mirror, and a hairbrush… Perfect! The blonde quickly exchanged the clothes she had on for the ones in the chest. Tight, coppery breeches with a matching pouch to go on the black belt, a lighter sleeveless shirt, strange creamy sleeves (completely separate from the shirt), two chains which attached to the bottom of the pouch, and a thick white woollen cape. Lovely! And… soap? There had been a well nearby… The blonde quickly drew some water and had a bath. Then she attacked her hair. The colour still seemed wrong to her… But she’d think about that later. She managed to get some of the knots out… Spotting some scissors in the chest, the blonde quickly used them to cut of much of her hair. Then she brushed it properly. Laying down on her bed of moss, she let the sun dry her hair. Once dry, it proved to be a very pale gold, lighter than she’d thought, and quite curly now that she’d removed much of the weight. She managed to pull it back into a horse-tail at the nape of her neck. Now she was ready.
“Hello,” a soft, masculine voice said as she left the small storage room. “I’m looking for someone. Perhaps you could direct me.”
The blonde looked curiously at the man. He was covered from head to toe in a crimson cape, and she couldn’t see anything of his features. Not that she cared too much. “I’m afraid I’m a little lost myself, uh… What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t say my name. It’s Lakshallo.”
“Pleased to meet you, Lakshallo. I am… Er… I’m afraid I’m suffering from amnesia. Sorry.”
“It’s alright. Perhaps I could help. Do you remember anything?”
“Er… My name is… Am… Av… Ama… I’m sorry. I can’t remember.”
“Then I shall call you ‘Ama’ until you can.” The blonde- Ama- smiled.
“Alright. Who are you looking for?”
“A woman who escaped my Master. She has blonde hair, wears all white, and hasn’t bathed, or so I’ve been told. Do you recognize the description?”
Ama tried to keep her face calm. “Oh… I don’t think so. I haven’t seen anyone else since I arrived last night. Perhaps she’s somewhere else.” Lakshallo looked at her oddly.
“I think you recognized the description. Your reaction was not expected.” He glanced inside the room where she had changed- and his eyes fell on her discarded clothing. “You!” He whipped off his cloak.
Ama screamed. He wasn’t a man! He was a monster! His skin was a deep brown, and he was very well muscled (he wore no shirt, only a long, robe-like skirt). His hands were delicate-seeming, but ended in long, sharpened claws. His ears were pointed like the mythical elves. His eyes had no iris; they were white, with slit black pupils. His hair was coal-black and short, but his didn’t end at the nape of his neck; it continued on, over his shoulders, and created a V-shape on his back, with the very point at his waist. It was like fur! At either hip rested a long, jewelled scimitar, and Ama didn’t doubt he knew how to use them.
“You know… We really should get to know each other first… Don’t you think you should put that away?” she asked as he whipped out a scimitar.
“I have been commanded to bring you back to my master, at whatever cost!”
“Whatever cost? I hope that doesn’t mean death! Oh dear… You know, I think you have me mistaken for someone else. I don’t even know your master!”
“Do not worry; I can not kill you. But I can harm you, and bring you back!” Lakshallo snarled, springing in to action.
Not quite knowing what she was doing, Ama grabbed the closest thing she could see, a bit of copper piping. Bringing it up to block his attack, Ama accidentally hit him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
“Sorry… Uh… I think I’m leaving now!” Ama quickly ran off to hide.
Lakshallo snarled. She’d gotten away! Curse her good fortune! Where was she…? And how could he get her to trust him? She was too confusing. Why had she tried to talk him out of doing the Master’s bidding? Didn’t she realize it was futile?
“I’ll be back!” he called out. She would hear. “Just wait! I will catch your other half, and destroy her, and then I will be back!” Snarling one final time, he left.