My muse seems to be on overdrive this month. I do apologise. This is
possibly one of the worst pieces I've written, but I get the impression
that if I don't post it, it will come back to haunt me in later years.
For once, the dialogue is all mine, but alas, the characters, situations, etc, are not. If they were, I would never give them back.
Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin . . .
*~*~*
Cries In The Darkness
*~*~*
The great temple rang with the sounds of frightened child, of mothers soothing them softly, while outside the sky rained fire and ice. Above the altar, the grim stony monument to Bhaal, Lord of Murder, loomed over the throng.
The little girl shivered in the cold. Her mother had gone off with one of the other women, and left her alone in a corner. A hand touched her shoulder.
'Hey, kid.'
She turned, and looked up into the face of an older boy. His skin was the olive hue of her own, though he was human, and not half-elf as she was. He had blue eyes that twinkled, coaxing a smile from the girl.
'Hello,' she stammered.
He grinned down at her.
'Mind if I sit here?'
She shook her head, moving over for him to sit. He slid down the wall, unconsciously wrapping an arm about her shoulders as she shivered against the frozen stone.
'Your mother's gone off with the others, yeah?' he asked, and she nodded again, grateful for the warmth of his body. 'Mine, too. What's your name, kid?'
'Duran,' she said softly, gazing trustingly into his eyes.
He smiled at her.
'Nice to meet you, Duran. I'm Sarevok.'
Duran smiled back up at him, glad that she seemed to have found a friend in this dark place. She didn't know what was going on. For as long as she could remember, it had been just her and her mother. And then two days ago, Alianna had brought her here, to live with all these people when all Duran wanted was to be with her mother. There was something strange about the adults as well. They looked on each of the children here like someone would look on a scab . . . necessary but a pain.
Sarevok glanced up as the adults returned, pointing to the woman who walked beside Duran's mother.
'You see her?'
The little girl nodded.
'She's in charge here,' he said knowingly. 'She told all the priestesses to bring their children here a couple of days ago. They all seem to know what's going on, but they won't tell us.'
'But why should they tell us?' Duran asked quietly. She had never questioned anything in her life before.
'I dunno,' he said, grinning at her. 'Here, how old are you?'
She quickly counted her summers in her head.
'Six,' she told him. 'What about you?'
'Fourteen,' he said with a grimace.
She gazed up at him in awe. He was nearly an adult! And he had chosen to come and sit with her. She felt very honoured, knowing from experience how nearly-adults tended to dislike little children like her.
Alianna glanced over at her daughter, seeing how she had slipped into an older boy's embrace. She smiled, a little sadly. It was a shame the child had to die. She would be quite the heart-breaker when she grew older.
Amelyssan scowled down at her youthful companion.
'Regrets, Alianna?'
The young half-elf smiled tolerantly of her Priestess. Amelyssan was bitter because she had not been chosen to bear one of the Children, only to oversee their development and sacrifice them at the proper time.
'A few, perhaps, my priestess,' she admitted, knowing it was pointless to even try to lie to Amelyssan the Black-Hearted. 'Only that I will not see what kind of a woman my daughter would have become, were she not also the daughter of my god.'
Amelyssan looked over at the two children, and frowned. There was something wrong with that picture. The boy with his arm around the tiny girl . . . her vision spun, and she saw clearly the two before her as adults, the girl kneeling beside the dead body of her brother, crying empty tears of grief for the man she had just killed. The room swam back into focus and she quickly cleared her thoughts. It was nothing but imagination, she knew. The Harpers would never find them here, the spies had seen to that. None of the Children would survive another night.
Sarevok leant down to Duran, sensing something was amiss.
'I want you to promise me something, Duran.'
She looked up at him, eyes wide.
'What?'
'Whatever happens, you stay close to me, okay? Something isn't right about this.'
Confused, but not about to disagree with a nearly adult, Duran nodded, nestling closer to him.
'I promise.'
Sarevok looked down at her, a gentle smile on his face. She was a gentle soul, he could tell, one born with a serene, peaceful heart. It just wasn't right that she should be one of them.
A scream erupted around the chamber, startling the many who were gathered there. Making sure Duran couldn't see, Sarevok peered over the heads in front of him, and saw to his horror, that the sacrifices had begun. The priestesses were moving among the throng, gathering the Children to them. Quickly, he knelt beside Duran.
'Remember, stay close to me. I won't let anyone hurt you.'
Nodding in fear and confusion, she slipped her hand into his as their mothers approached them. Together, they made their way to the foot of the dais, where the steps were already slick with blood.
As each life was ended before them, Duran began to cry softly, and Sarevok found himself in the role of comforter to this frightened girl-child. If only their births had been under different circumstances, he thought, then we could have become great friends.
Duran watched through the haze of tears as her mother approached, and somehow she knew, she was next. Her cries became louder as she clung to Sarevok, wanting him to protect her, but he was beaten back by the priesthood as he tried to keep her by his side. Her mother smiled down at her, but somehow she was no longer the loving presence she had always been. She was a murderer, and her daughter refused to acknowledge her any further.
There was a thunderclap, a blinding flash of light, and men and women appeared around them, casting spells and waving weapons. The ensuing chaos was terrifying. Sarevok was flung to one side, crashing against a wall. A man knelt beside him, hands on his shoulders, ready to teleport away.
'No,' Sarevok protested, 'not me. Take her.'
He pointed through the heaving mass to where Duran was struggling against her mother as she led the child to the altar, determined to complete her task. The man looked down at him, his eyes stern.
'Are you sure, boy?'
'Yes, of course, I'm sure!' he snapped. 'For pity's sake, help her! She's just a kid, she doesn't deserve this! I can take care of myself.'
Duran felt the edge of the altar slam into the side of her head as she fought against her mother's vice-like grip. Her screams melted into the cacophony of sound around them. She was lifted and placed on the altar, held still by her throat as she wriggled about. Gazing up at her mother, she saw the half-elf raise a dagger, ready to plunge it into her own daughter's heart.
Duran's eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright, fighting back sobs. Gorion was already there, his arms around her as she cried. He did not understand why the nightmares still plagued her. It had been eight years since he had brought her here to Candlekeep, safe and secure. But every night it was the same. She would wake, sobbing in terror, reeling from the memories that she suppressed during the day.
Across the room, Imoen watched as the old mage rocked her best friend back and forth, whispering words of comfort meant only for her ears. Duran's black hair tumbled over his shoulders, mingling with his own white locks.
'Shhh, my child,' he murmured softly. 'It was a dream, is all. A bad dream . . .'
A dream that would one day be proved true, when past met future in a collision that would have repercussions for years to come. When two people, who unknowingly met as children, met again to do battle, then the fight for the Throne of Bhaal would truly begin . . .
For once, the dialogue is all mine, but alas, the characters, situations, etc, are not. If they were, I would never give them back.
Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin . . .
*~*~*
Cries In The Darkness
*~*~*
The great temple rang with the sounds of frightened child, of mothers soothing them softly, while outside the sky rained fire and ice. Above the altar, the grim stony monument to Bhaal, Lord of Murder, loomed over the throng.
The little girl shivered in the cold. Her mother had gone off with one of the other women, and left her alone in a corner. A hand touched her shoulder.
'Hey, kid.'
She turned, and looked up into the face of an older boy. His skin was the olive hue of her own, though he was human, and not half-elf as she was. He had blue eyes that twinkled, coaxing a smile from the girl.
'Hello,' she stammered.
He grinned down at her.
'Mind if I sit here?'
She shook her head, moving over for him to sit. He slid down the wall, unconsciously wrapping an arm about her shoulders as she shivered against the frozen stone.
'Your mother's gone off with the others, yeah?' he asked, and she nodded again, grateful for the warmth of his body. 'Mine, too. What's your name, kid?'
'Duran,' she said softly, gazing trustingly into his eyes.
He smiled at her.
'Nice to meet you, Duran. I'm Sarevok.'
Duran smiled back up at him, glad that she seemed to have found a friend in this dark place. She didn't know what was going on. For as long as she could remember, it had been just her and her mother. And then two days ago, Alianna had brought her here, to live with all these people when all Duran wanted was to be with her mother. There was something strange about the adults as well. They looked on each of the children here like someone would look on a scab . . . necessary but a pain.
Sarevok glanced up as the adults returned, pointing to the woman who walked beside Duran's mother.
'You see her?'
The little girl nodded.
'She's in charge here,' he said knowingly. 'She told all the priestesses to bring their children here a couple of days ago. They all seem to know what's going on, but they won't tell us.'
'But why should they tell us?' Duran asked quietly. She had never questioned anything in her life before.
'I dunno,' he said, grinning at her. 'Here, how old are you?'
She quickly counted her summers in her head.
'Six,' she told him. 'What about you?'
'Fourteen,' he said with a grimace.
She gazed up at him in awe. He was nearly an adult! And he had chosen to come and sit with her. She felt very honoured, knowing from experience how nearly-adults tended to dislike little children like her.
Alianna glanced over at her daughter, seeing how she had slipped into an older boy's embrace. She smiled, a little sadly. It was a shame the child had to die. She would be quite the heart-breaker when she grew older.
Amelyssan scowled down at her youthful companion.
'Regrets, Alianna?'
The young half-elf smiled tolerantly of her Priestess. Amelyssan was bitter because she had not been chosen to bear one of the Children, only to oversee their development and sacrifice them at the proper time.
'A few, perhaps, my priestess,' she admitted, knowing it was pointless to even try to lie to Amelyssan the Black-Hearted. 'Only that I will not see what kind of a woman my daughter would have become, were she not also the daughter of my god.'
Amelyssan looked over at the two children, and frowned. There was something wrong with that picture. The boy with his arm around the tiny girl . . . her vision spun, and she saw clearly the two before her as adults, the girl kneeling beside the dead body of her brother, crying empty tears of grief for the man she had just killed. The room swam back into focus and she quickly cleared her thoughts. It was nothing but imagination, she knew. The Harpers would never find them here, the spies had seen to that. None of the Children would survive another night.
Sarevok leant down to Duran, sensing something was amiss.
'I want you to promise me something, Duran.'
She looked up at him, eyes wide.
'What?'
'Whatever happens, you stay close to me, okay? Something isn't right about this.'
Confused, but not about to disagree with a nearly adult, Duran nodded, nestling closer to him.
'I promise.'
Sarevok looked down at her, a gentle smile on his face. She was a gentle soul, he could tell, one born with a serene, peaceful heart. It just wasn't right that she should be one of them.
A scream erupted around the chamber, startling the many who were gathered there. Making sure Duran couldn't see, Sarevok peered over the heads in front of him, and saw to his horror, that the sacrifices had begun. The priestesses were moving among the throng, gathering the Children to them. Quickly, he knelt beside Duran.
'Remember, stay close to me. I won't let anyone hurt you.'
Nodding in fear and confusion, she slipped her hand into his as their mothers approached them. Together, they made their way to the foot of the dais, where the steps were already slick with blood.
As each life was ended before them, Duran began to cry softly, and Sarevok found himself in the role of comforter to this frightened girl-child. If only their births had been under different circumstances, he thought, then we could have become great friends.
Duran watched through the haze of tears as her mother approached, and somehow she knew, she was next. Her cries became louder as she clung to Sarevok, wanting him to protect her, but he was beaten back by the priesthood as he tried to keep her by his side. Her mother smiled down at her, but somehow she was no longer the loving presence she had always been. She was a murderer, and her daughter refused to acknowledge her any further.
There was a thunderclap, a blinding flash of light, and men and women appeared around them, casting spells and waving weapons. The ensuing chaos was terrifying. Sarevok was flung to one side, crashing against a wall. A man knelt beside him, hands on his shoulders, ready to teleport away.
'No,' Sarevok protested, 'not me. Take her.'
He pointed through the heaving mass to where Duran was struggling against her mother as she led the child to the altar, determined to complete her task. The man looked down at him, his eyes stern.
'Are you sure, boy?'
'Yes, of course, I'm sure!' he snapped. 'For pity's sake, help her! She's just a kid, she doesn't deserve this! I can take care of myself.'
Duran felt the edge of the altar slam into the side of her head as she fought against her mother's vice-like grip. Her screams melted into the cacophony of sound around them. She was lifted and placed on the altar, held still by her throat as she wriggled about. Gazing up at her mother, she saw the half-elf raise a dagger, ready to plunge it into her own daughter's heart.
Duran's eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright, fighting back sobs. Gorion was already there, his arms around her as she cried. He did not understand why the nightmares still plagued her. It had been eight years since he had brought her here to Candlekeep, safe and secure. But every night it was the same. She would wake, sobbing in terror, reeling from the memories that she suppressed during the day.
Across the room, Imoen watched as the old mage rocked her best friend back and forth, whispering words of comfort meant only for her ears. Duran's black hair tumbled over his shoulders, mingling with his own white locks.
'Shhh, my child,' he murmured softly. 'It was a dream, is all. A bad dream . . .'
A dream that would one day be proved true, when past met future in a collision that would have repercussions for years to come. When two people, who unknowingly met as children, met again to do battle, then the fight for the Throne of Bhaal would truly begin . . .