Title: Golden
Disclaimer: Garth Nix, HarperTrophy, not me.
Rating: PG-13
Author: spacetart
This was not what she had expected.
Mrs. Coulter was an intelligent and well-educated woman. Or rather, she had been while she was alive. She had heard several accounts of what the afterlife would be like, from the choirs of angels the Church taught to the honeyed shores of the Ancient Greeks. Asriel had told her that they would only find oblivion in the abyss.
This place was certainly dark and dank, but it was not quite oblivion. Perhaps she had survived the fall, and been swept into a undergroud river? For she was floating in fast-moving water. But that was impossible, the fall would have killed her instantly. Besides, when she looked around, she couldn't find her daemon anywhere, and that meant she had to be dead.
She felt cold and hollow inside without her daemon, and it was all she could do to keep her eyes open. The water was pulling at her, coaxing her deeper. She could hear the distant crashing of water, a waterfall, most likely.
Sudeenly, she could hear footsteps splashing in the water very close to her. Her eyes snapped open and she looked wildly about. A woman, or something with form of a woman, at least, was approaching her. The woman was wearing a wrought bronze mask and a good number of golden fox furs. A bandolier of bells was slung across her chest, and Mrs. Coulter saw that one of the pouches was open and the masked figure was holding it by her side. As she watched, the woman swung the bell in the air, moving it in a figure eight pattern. It rang-a long, low sound.
A curious thing happened then-her body felt like it was filling up with energy. The lethargy she had been feeling left her and she struggled to her feet, dripping cold, black water from her hair and fingertips.
"Who are you?" She demanded of the figure.
The other woman stepped back, and blue fire flashed in the eyeholes of the mask. "That is no concern of yours. You will tell me who you are now, and how it is that you can talk without Dyrim's aid." She rang the bell again.
Mrs. Coulter swore beneath her breath. Her arm flashed out and she grabbed onto the other woman's hand. To her surprise, she didn't pass right through, but was able to pull the masked woman off-balance and grab her around the neck. Bronze nails raked at her sides and back, and she had to let go.
The woman stepped back, well out of Mrs. Coulter's reach, and rearranged her furs. "I am Chlorr of the Mask. I serve Hedge, and his master, Orannis."
"Chlorr." She straightened and shook her head, letting her hair fall in waves down her shoulders. "I am Marisa Coulter of the General Oblation Board."
"I have never heard of this organization. I came because one of the Southerling Dead told me of a strange woman in the river beyond the Second Gate. Are you a necromancer?"
Marisa laughed scornfully. "Certainly not. We put necromancers to death in my world for heresy."
"Heresy." Chlorr spoke the word like it was distasteful to her. "I know nothing of this, but you are a strange spirit. Perhaps you and I can help each other. It is clear that you are not from this world-I can not feel your soul."
Mrs. Coulter thought of her golden monkey daemon and shivered with loneliness. She wanted nothing more to cuddle it close to her, to feel its thick fur. He was her soul, but she had to be watchful and sharp now. "I want only to return to my own world."
"Come then. I'll lead us back to Life. If you can help our cause, perhaps my master will return you to your world when he comes to power."
"He is a man?"
"He takes that form sometimes," Chlorr replied.
Mrs. Coulter smiled to herself as they began the long trek through the Second Precinct.
Disclaimer: Garth Nix, HarperTrophy, not me.
Rating: PG-13
Author: spacetart
This was not what she had expected.
Mrs. Coulter was an intelligent and well-educated woman. Or rather, she had been while she was alive. She had heard several accounts of what the afterlife would be like, from the choirs of angels the Church taught to the honeyed shores of the Ancient Greeks. Asriel had told her that they would only find oblivion in the abyss.
This place was certainly dark and dank, but it was not quite oblivion. Perhaps she had survived the fall, and been swept into a undergroud river? For she was floating in fast-moving water. But that was impossible, the fall would have killed her instantly. Besides, when she looked around, she couldn't find her daemon anywhere, and that meant she had to be dead.
She felt cold and hollow inside without her daemon, and it was all she could do to keep her eyes open. The water was pulling at her, coaxing her deeper. She could hear the distant crashing of water, a waterfall, most likely.
Sudeenly, she could hear footsteps splashing in the water very close to her. Her eyes snapped open and she looked wildly about. A woman, or something with form of a woman, at least, was approaching her. The woman was wearing a wrought bronze mask and a good number of golden fox furs. A bandolier of bells was slung across her chest, and Mrs. Coulter saw that one of the pouches was open and the masked figure was holding it by her side. As she watched, the woman swung the bell in the air, moving it in a figure eight pattern. It rang-a long, low sound.
A curious thing happened then-her body felt like it was filling up with energy. The lethargy she had been feeling left her and she struggled to her feet, dripping cold, black water from her hair and fingertips.
"Who are you?" She demanded of the figure.
The other woman stepped back, and blue fire flashed in the eyeholes of the mask. "That is no concern of yours. You will tell me who you are now, and how it is that you can talk without Dyrim's aid." She rang the bell again.
Mrs. Coulter swore beneath her breath. Her arm flashed out and she grabbed onto the other woman's hand. To her surprise, she didn't pass right through, but was able to pull the masked woman off-balance and grab her around the neck. Bronze nails raked at her sides and back, and she had to let go.
The woman stepped back, well out of Mrs. Coulter's reach, and rearranged her furs. "I am Chlorr of the Mask. I serve Hedge, and his master, Orannis."
"Chlorr." She straightened and shook her head, letting her hair fall in waves down her shoulders. "I am Marisa Coulter of the General Oblation Board."
"I have never heard of this organization. I came because one of the Southerling Dead told me of a strange woman in the river beyond the Second Gate. Are you a necromancer?"
Marisa laughed scornfully. "Certainly not. We put necromancers to death in my world for heresy."
"Heresy." Chlorr spoke the word like it was distasteful to her. "I know nothing of this, but you are a strange spirit. Perhaps you and I can help each other. It is clear that you are not from this world-I can not feel your soul."
Mrs. Coulter thought of her golden monkey daemon and shivered with loneliness. She wanted nothing more to cuddle it close to her, to feel its thick fur. He was her soul, but she had to be watchful and sharp now. "I want only to return to my own world."
"Come then. I'll lead us back to Life. If you can help our cause, perhaps my master will return you to your world when he comes to power."
"He is a man?"
"He takes that form sometimes," Chlorr replied.
Mrs. Coulter smiled to herself as they began the long trek through the Second Precinct.