Isa – Of Glass & Paper

#FiveSentenceFiction: Wishes

She was their benefactor, their protection, the One, fearless, who could keep the Enemy at bay.

When She disappeared, they held vigils, sacrificed a calf to the Goddess, prayed for Her return.

All their wishes were for Her to be back in their midst, honoured and more than a little feared; their planet completed a revolution around their Sun, and she did not come back.

The village wise-men considered what to do next. Had they displeased Her?

Then, one cold dawn, the following winter, She was back, with a mate, a young knight wearing the black armour of the Deathless: their prayers had been answered.

#DailyPost: Binding Judgement

Does it ever make sense to judge a book by its cover?

It was old and dusty, and must have been hidden in the ancient trunk for centuries. For a while she contemplated the cover, cracked leather worn by the passing years, touched by the hands of long dead knights.

Around her was silence and the smell of decay. The sacred chapel’s walls shimmered in the morning light filtering through narrow windows. She placed the book on the altar, as the rite demanded, facing the nave.

She drew the Infinity Blade. A ray of light fell on the book. Far away she heard the light steps of Her she would soon meet, as the prophecy had predicted.

She open the cover, placed the Blade flat on the page with Her name.

The door of the chapel opened silently. The Queen walked slowly toward Isa, who fell on her knees.

“My child, I see you are ready for me.”

The Queen seized the Blade, and lightly touched Isa’s shoulder :

“Now, go and fight for me, and take this book, it will teach you how to overcome the Deathless.”

Image: Alberto Seveso

#FiveSentenceFiction: Doors

On the threshold, in front of the massive gate, she hesitated: the fort would be booby-trapped, perhaps even ready to crumble on top of any intruder.

But then she remembered what the prisoner had said to them: it was only the third door which was trapped, after that, no-one knew other than the enemy.

She pushed the heavy panel, which moved slowly without sound, and stepped into the entrance.

Her boots felt the paved floor: there was no light, and no sound but her breathing and the beating of her heart; a ray of pale sunshine reflected on the wall in front of her: she’d left the small panel open behind her.

She only had a fraction of a second to flatten herself on the cold floor, as the second door opened and machine gunfire flooded the entrance: the prisoner had lied, and now she would have to die fighting – but she knew how to.

#FiveSentenceFiction – Ruins

She stood, very still, in the shadow of the ruined tower.

The massive door was now wide open, no light came out from the depth of evil inside.

There, through corridors guarded by hideous titans, she knew the God King would be waiting, a corrupting and seductive smile on his lips.

There too, in the deepest, coldest dungeon, in chains, lied her brother, her lover, the knight she would soon free.

She had rehearsed every move, every corner of the sinister building, she could walk in blinded: but she would enter his domain, eyes wide open, the deadly sword firmly in her hands, a merciless warrior with an angel face.

Weekly Writing Challenge: Object

BEGIN WITH AN OBJECT IN MIND

Objects are evocative; they hold stories. The writing challenge this week is to begin with an object.

It stood, alone, in the middle of the circle of stones, at first in darkness. As Siris got closer he thought he saw a faint glow. Was this a trap? He was very close now, another step or two and he could touch the weapon.

Clouds masked the moon, suddenly the world was very still. “In silence”, had said Isa, “remember me, be aware, be ready to fight.” He was, all his senses on alert. He was able to lift his gloved hand, but stopped.

He could hear the low humming, and knew at once it came from the stone that held the weapon. In slow motion he surveyed the scene: he was alone, with IT.

He took off his glove and seized the handle: at first the metal – if it was metal – felt cold, and heavy. Slowly, oh so slowly, he lifted the Blade. It was heavy, and he felt a slight vibration along his arm, in his hand.

The Blade was getting warmer and lighter. He felt its warmth now in his fingers, stiff with frost. He held the Blade high, weighing it, slashed the air around him with it: he could hear the impact against the cold molecules, as if a fine silk had been split with a razor.

Siris paused, looking at the Blade he held in front of him, now shining in the obscurity that wrapped everything. How terribly beautiful was the Blade! The fog was rising. And he heard them: the Titans were coming.

But he, Siris, was now holding the Infinity Blade. Suddenly the Blade was lighter, its handle fitting tight in his hand. As he slained the first Titan, with one blow, in a shower of dark light, his thoughts were to the Worker of Secrets, who had, eons ago, forged the Blade.

Weekly Writing Challenge: 1,000 Words

Emptiness

Photo: by Cheri Lucas Rowlands

Story inspired by Cheri’s picture, and an episode of Infinity Blade III.

Cautiously they move along the vaulted corridor, to their left the late sunlight breaking through the high inaccessible windows, to their right the ancient wall, in front of them the increasing darkness. An icy air is blowing towards them from the depths, at times punctuated with powdery red-hot ashes.

Patterns on the grey granite of the floor remain unreadable, perhaps the guiding marks of some ceremony. They know so little about the deathless: here is their kingdom, and there is no doubt they will resent the intrusion, the violation of their domain.

A piercing shriek resonates through the arches: Isa and Siris stop, silent, frozen in the crouching position, swords drawn. There is now no other sound than their breathing, nothing moves other than, slowly, the slight mist coming out of their lungs.

The air is now colder, as they resume their march, and get closer to the obscurity…

Just as they reach the last arch, still lit by the declining rays of the sun, they see an opening on the wall, away from the light. The bricks disappear, replaced by older stones: fearless, they chose to walk in that direction.

“There is still some light,” says Isa, “it must be coming from somewhere…”

The floor is now uneven, and to the geometry of the bricked arches has succeeded the irregular surfaces of an ancient tunnel. They realise that the floor is gradually edging down, a slow gradient which means they are leaving the upper structure of the castle to enter the subterranean world of the deathless.

Isa’s foot hits a light object on the floor: it’s a bone. Soon they walk through layers of bones of all sizes and evidently human. “Here we come”, says Siris, as they reach a circular space, with multiple corridors branching out of it. In its centre is a small platform, anchored on a metallic pole which rises through the ceiling. “We’ll have to wait,” says Isa, “that’s a lift, I expect one of them to come down just there, and others to appear from those corners.”

Siris smiles. Swords in hand, they wait, back to back, the way of the Samurais.

As the first Titan appears, they kiss – and holding their blades low, they wait for the first blow. Soon they are surrounded. Soon the old stones are covered with the dark blood of the slain Titans. Again and again the monsters try to separate them, and fail. More Titans are disgorged from the corridors, but as the space is too narrow, only a handful of them at a time can face the couple.

So it comes that Isa and Siris are surrounded by the bodies of the Titans. Their only way out is the lift. They edge their way toward it: they are now standing on it, keeping the nearest monsters at bay. Obediently the small platform rises up: through a narrow opening of the high ceiling they reach a vertical column. It leads to the Worker’s room. And there he is, flanked by Raidriar.

“Welcome to my humble dwelling”, he says with a snarl. Silently Isa and Siris take their positions: Isa will deal with Raidriar, and Siris with the Worker. If one of them fails, they will have to do the journey again through those empty corridors…

#FiveSentenceFiction: Alone

The place should be familiar, but without him, it is as strange as her solitude. She looks at the rugged landscape, the desolate ruins, and the massive tower, the alien sentinel. Alone, she would now face the Enemy, in her hands his swords, in her heart his courage, and her eternal love for him. How is it, she thought, that I am immortal and he was not? And she knows the answer: he was human, and she no longer is.

Daily Prompt: Unexpected

Unexpectedly, you lose your job. (Or a loved one. Or something or someone important to you.) What do you do next?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us LOSS.

Isa She lowered the sword on his chest, the weight of it a revelation,

For the Infinity Blade had to be won ~

As he had done

Thousands of times, slaying the monsters…

Now Isa was alone, or rather

She would become him,

Overcoming her loss, and

Thanks to his sacrifice

Becoming deathless.

#FiveSentenceFiction: Letters

Letters ~ Vault of Tears

He lived only for them, in the deep dungeon they kept him in, for there was nothing else that could keep his will to fight on.

Long ago he had stopped counting days, then weeks, then months.

Then years, yes, he remembered the end of the first year, when he had decided, against all odds, that he would stay to read them.

At his core, his strength remained, unaltered, for he was deathless, as she knew, but still a prisoner.

Then, one night, he heard the sound of rock grinding on rock: and there she was , standing in front of him, the author of so many letters, his lover, his saviour.

Inspired by the character of Isa, who freed Siris from the Vault of Tears, in “Redemption” by Brendon Sanderson.

#FiveSentenceFiction: Erased

You saved Siris from eternal solitude in the Vault of Tears, and, now, you’re fighting at his side.

In the old ruins, guarded by hideous Deathless monsters, you clear your mind, erase any other thought.

In that world, one mistake, one hesitation, costs your life, no less.

Your silent steps go unheeded, all your senses alert…

You are Isa, and you have been reborn.