Fading echoes, soft pleading. Quiet, again.
Fading echoes, soft pleading. Quiet, again.
Darkness engulfed her, not the delicate embrace of late evening, but the unfeeling, relentless press of nothing. No sight, no scents, no sensation. No sound but for—
Fading echoes, soft pleading. Quiet, again.
No Touch, no numbness. No warmth or chill, not even the sense of floating. She recognized this. Death.
Death came for her once, wrapped her in cold, sucked her breath from her lungs, left her motionless, panicked. Black had crept around the edges of vision, the desperate shrieks of her mother had faded, and all stilled, disappeared. No hope, no miracle, a mindless soul strangled by terror.
Gone. Lost. Empty of heartbeats that threaded emotion through a lively body. Empty of reason. She wanted warm days with shimmering water, butterflies and flowers back. She wanted to bundle before the fire on cold nights, looking out at the heavy fog bathing everything in diffused grey, only hints of shadows peeking through the gloom. She wanted . . .
Fading echoes, soft pleading. Quiet, again.
“Vantra!”
A crack through the darkness. She knew that voice, one of song and brightness and love.
Another voice, twittering. Don’t leave me!
Leave. There was nothing to leave. Just darkness.
“If you stay too long, he will find you.”
She started at the voice that came from everywhere, drowning out the other two. She did not recognize that lilting, garish tone, one ancient in heavy knowledge and regret, but it tore through the smothering lack of sense and shook her loose from its grasp.
“He succeeded once. Don’t let him do so again.”
Succeeded? What did she mean?
“Follow the voices. They are your guide.”
To where?
“Not to where. To whom. Their search is double-fold. It must end in joy. So follow the voices.”
And why should she listen to this strange, lilting voice?
“Because you know I speak true. Shatter your barriers. They served their purpose. Hurry, before he succeeds again.”
Shatter barriers. What barriers? Nothing but darkness surrounded her. Nothing broke the monotony but the voices.
“Vantra!” The bright voice rang like a pristine bell, and a red-tinged boiling rage answered. While eager to harm, it formed too far away to strike. Repulsed, she turned from it, wanting to flee, but to where? Should she follow the voices?
She focused on them, reached for them. Had she moved? She stretched further, and darkness crackled. She sensed fractures growing and surrounding her, racing up, down, to the sides, around and around, intersecting. A faint glow of greyish purple lit the cracks and grew stronger as the boiling rage neared. Fear glimmered in her as the still darkness crumbled like clumps of wet sand falling through her fingers.
She reached again, felt numbness disintegrate under urgency, and the shadows broke apart as her arm pushed through.
Her arm? Yes. She had an arm.
A subtle tug at her center deflected her wonder. She looked down; a sliver of gold wrapped around blue connected her to that pull, and its insistence strengthened the connection. She grasped it, dragged herself through the shadows, climbed, as the boiling rage filled the emptiness behind her.
The greyish purple slid down the link, encased her arm, and yanked.
The barrier shattered, and she rammed into a shade as dark as the barrier that had surrounded her. He clasped her close, midnight-blue eyes a violent beacon. “Hold on to me, Vantra.”
She knew that voice, too. Gentle in demands, firm in conviction. She forced her arm around his torso, then her other, and pressed against him as the red reached them. The bubbles spitted and popped, sending stringy lengths flying towards them. She shuddered; the darkness that sprayed them was not of color but of absence.
Purple ribbons swirled up from his feet, intercepting the strings and creating a protective shell. Hot lines flared from the strikes but disappeared before they did anything else. Darkness coated the interior, blocking the red, and a roar of unadulterated rage ricochetted around them, the sound pounding like a too-heavy hammer against the defense. The purple bowed inward, and the air vibrated in time with the shuddering of her essence.
The shade laughed, and even though his rage did not equal the anger that attacked them, the battering ceased. They continued to float within the shell long after the assault ended, and despite similarities, Vantra did not fear this void. It had a purpose, that of protection and care, and it succeeded in its task.
The ribbons fell away, and she watched the remnants of rotating purple rays shooting into the darkness, one no longer tinged red. A sprinkle of sparkles, twinkling like stars, waxed into view, illuminating all in a soft, welcoming grey.
Had the red truly disappeared? She peered behind; the glow held its distance, abrasive and destructive death bubbling within it, but the rays reached it and broke it apart. Nothing remained as they soared through and continued on their trajectory.
“What was that?” Had she spoken?
“A well of perversion, guided by an unknown enemy with the stink of decay,” the shade said, his voice caustic and brimming with loathing. “It’s good, you won’t need to reform. The threat waits for that, to take advantage when you’re at your weakest. Come.”
“Come?”
“Yes. Beyond the darkness, there is a tent filled with mist. You’ve been re-energizing, you just need to wake up.”
“She said to reach for the voices.”
“She?” He hugged her closer, to comfort and reassure. “We’ll speak of it in a moment.” Purple formed another shell, one that twirled around them before flinging the ribbons wide.
