The Dark is Rising: Prelude IIb
by Meredith Bronwen Mallory
mallorys-girl@cinci.rr.com
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During the long climb up the polished white, shadow-drapped stairs of the Tower, Demando thought of Rhyolite. This was different because, while she was always a light dancing blithely in the back of his mind, allowing himself to truly grasp the concept of her was an all consuming experience. Dimly, he felt as if the fear was racing up the steps ahead of him, teasing him that it knew more than he, that he must not wait *any* longer, he must go to her *now*. Already he was almost running up the steps. What was it now, that made him feel as though her well-known, precious visage was not waiting for him at the top of the steps?
He paused, just barely, before the heavily guarded doors that protected
her (though he knew well enough that she needed no protection, not of that
sort). The seconds it took him to wave aside the guards were almost
unbearable, but at last he pushed open the door. Brown light spilled in
through the windows and on to the black marble floor near the bed, but the
bed was empty and Demando spared it only a fleeting glance. The fear was
debilitating and distracting, but Rhyolite gave him purpose, and now that
he was here he felt more in control. The door into her sitting room was
open, occupied by sculpted chairs, but nothing of interest.
He turned around fully, and saw his wife laying limp on the love seat.
In a flash, the control was gone.
He was not sure how he came to be by her side, leaning over her, pressing
his fingers anxiously against her wrists and neck. Relief washed through
him; it was the sound of her stirring in sleep, the rise and fall of her
chest, the pounding of her pulse beneath his finger tips. Demando wanted to
laugh, such was his relief, but he somehow felt that would be
disrespectful.
"Demando-chan..." he felt the word, the vibration of her neck against his
lips, rather than hearing it. The shiver it sent down his spine was slow,
deliberate, and the shadows withered in its presence. Rhyolite was laughing
now, in that strange way of hers, purring like a pleased kitten as her
dainty fingers moving to tangle in his hair.
"I tried to wait up for you," she said through a yawn, "I thought you said
I wouldn't be needed at the meeting?"
"I did," Demando said, stroking his hand, then his lips, along her bare
collar bone. "But the meetings could always use your touch, Lyte," he swept
the straps of her long nightgown from her white shoulders, "even if they
don't deserve it." The last bit was very possessive, he tightened his arms
around her, hearing the cloth of his white suit brush against her skin. It
was only when raised his lips from the delicate tracing of her ear that he
realized she had closed her eyes. Something stabbed through him, then, the
sense that she had left him even while he was holding her.
"I haven't," she said sweetly, her lips moving into an expression that was
something more than a smile. She raised her eyes, which were blue but so
much more than that, and set her fingers to the task of undoing his jacket.
"I just..." though she never moved her eyes from his, he knew she was
thinking of the window, of the sky she could see through it. His own
fingers played along her shoulder blades, and he thought, not without some
bitterness, that there ought to be wings there.
"The treaty with Reuben should be signed soon," he said. Somehow, almost
without moving themselves, their position had changed so that his head was
pillowed on her bare breasts. "It will be safe very shortly," he added,
because neither of them ever said the word 'fly', not since... Well, he
didn't like to fight with her.
"Thank you," she said, in a way that made it seem like so much more than
that. Her hands, smooth, warm palms, came up to trace against *his*
shoulder blades now. The motion was comforting, Demando thought with a lazy
smile. It was as if she wanted wings for him too, as if she would not leave
him.
Some time later, he wasn't sure how long because the world head narrowed
to her pretty little heart-beat, she spoke again. "We should get to bed,
you know," but it sounded like she didn't want to move.
"Hai, we should..."
"Demando-chan," she said with mock severity.
"I'm moving, I'm moving," he pushed himself up on his hands, smiling down
at her. The expression withered quickly; in the star light she reminded him
of a particularly beautiful caged bird. "Lyte, I'm," his voice was low,
holding more reverence than usual, "I'm..."
Rhyolite smiled in a way that made him feel even worse for not being able
to say it, "Thank you." Soft, breathless, like the sense of her lying next
to him in the darkness. He shifted so that she might sit up, then took his
place beside her. She stretched, the faded pink nightgown having pooled at
her waist, utterly un-self-conscious. Absently, Demando ran his hand along
her side, tracing the delicate engravings in her skin. The pattern was
delicate, starting at the small of her back and winding its way up,
skirting along the side of her breast, then curving back towards her right
shoulder. It was, she told him, a tradition among Dyborian woman to have
the engravings done, a section for each year of life until they reached
sixteen. The pattern never faded, the procedure was painless, but the way
it was done remained the knowledge of only a few select priestesses. No
pattern was ever the same. The White Prince traced the golden markings,
knowing that each one was a symbol. Lyte had tried to explain it to him
once, in a low, hushed tone, but he was only able to remember one of them.
He found it, along her side, from when she'd decided she wanted to fly; a
single golden line, curling inward and then racing up, like a crazy
shooting star.
Flight.
His wife watched him silently, as if trying to channel words through the
place where their bodies touched.
"You know," Rhyolite said, yawning as she watched Demando walk towards the
bathroom, "I shouldn't be this tired. I got a nice little nap in there,
but... I'm having trouble staying awake now."
Demando paused in the doorway, "Are you alright?"
"Probably," she shrugged her shoulders. Her husband looked at her a while
longer, feeling the first talons of fear digging in once more. In the
dizzying light of her presence, he had almost forgotten it completely.
"Don't let me sleep late tomorrow," she instructed, once he'd vanished
behind the door.
"Oh, and what if *I* want to make sure you sleep late tomorrow?" he called
out, teasing. He heard her laughter as though it had slipped underneath the
door, and it made him hurry.
When he came back into he bedroom, the glowlamps were off, and Rhyolite
had vanished into the bed. She often teased him, saying she could get lost
in it but, though he knew she was just hiding, it bothered him. Demando
shook his head. In the shadowy corner, he saw Rhyolite's abandoned tea
tray. The starlight caught only the barest edges of the porcelain, making
it into a menacing half-image. The large, ivory tea pot, two smaller
pitchers and single, empty cup. Emptied of all contents; completely taken
in; gutted. Violet eyes narrowing, the Prince of Nemesis walked towards it,
slowly, as though it was an animal that might pounce or run away. Pounce,
he decided affirmatively. He lifted it quickly, opening the door and
placing it out in the hall to be taken care of.
For some reason, he felt better having gotten rid of it.
"Boo!" Rhyolite cried, wrapping her arms around her husband's neck and
pulling him down onto the bed with her. Her mischievous smile was charming,
if a bit sleepy. It melted into half-pout, "What took you so long?"
"Just cleaning up a bit," he said, toying with her loose, golden locks.
She moved swiftly until she was sitting atop him, golden hair wild about
her face and turned impossible colors by the strange light of Nemesis.
Demando stared up at her, wide eyed and open mouthed, suddenly unable to
think of anything to say. Her brilliant outline hovered before him,
shadowed eyes and mouth, and he thought for a moment that she might vanish.
Of their own accord, his hands moved upward, in supplication or in prayer.
She stilled suddenly, beneath his hands, as if she suddenly needed to
remind her lungs to breathe or her heart to pump. It occurred to him that
she might have been fighting it all evening.
"Are you alright?" his hands held onto her, but softly, as if she was
asleep and he might wake her.
"I think so, I..." she nearly lost her balance as she pressed her hands
against her temples, "I have a headache." Her eyes were suddenly very
bright, ""Oh, Demando, I'm sorry! I thought I was feeling better, but..."
"No," he eased her down beside him, "It's my fault."
"But I..."
"You already said you were tired," he smiled lightly. His hands moved
along her body, trying the sooth the sudden pain that had taken root.
Warmth seemed to rise in her skin, welcoming the touch.
Rhyolite shook her head, protesting weakly, "Wait, I forgot to say my
prayers..."
"You say them every night," his pressed his lips against her neck, "I'm
sure you can miss just once."
"I know," she frowned, with great effort, "but still..." Her voice faded
away as Demando cradled with one arm, running his free hand along her neck
to make her chill. It was his common method for banishing her headaches.
She smiled, but he could barely see it in the darkness.
"I love you, Lyte," he told her.
Her voice was the sound of rain gathering in the distance, "I love you
too, Demando." For a moment, the whole of her seemed to tense and he
thought she might be in more pain, but then the ivory of her body relaxed
and he was sure she'd fallen asleep.
Rhyolite suddenly had the impression that she was floating, cool water
caressing her limbs, drawing her down towards something. Has she been an
Earthling, she might have allowed the current to carry her along, rocking
her, towards the sea. But she was a child of Nemesis, and the sudden
sensation of 'water' was frightening. She foundered, trapped; fighting as
her mind opened like a flower. She had never felt water before, or even
seen any that wasn't in pictures. The sensation became a sickening one; all
Rhyolite knew was the rain, which came swiftly and killed slowly, like a
starving animal. The blue liquid she saw in her mind was a trick, she
realized. With that thought came the wild impulse to move, to ran away, but
her body had suddenly become a coffin that refused to obey her commands.
Earlier, she had thought its reluctance to move was a symptom of
exhaustion, but now she saw it for what it was.
'Move!' she ordered her fingers, her arms, her toes. They lay still,
machines of flesh and bone, almost lifeless. Or else they were muscles in
cages of skin, simply crouched in wait, rebelliously refusing to obey. Her
heart lurched and, beneath the shroud of her eyelids, her eyes widened in
fear. Her mind raced along her vocal chords, trying to find the right keys,
but nothing would respond. The desperate need, not to live but to ensure
that she was not drawn down that current of water, battled in her mind,
trying to move parts of her body she'd never thought about before. How did
her voice work, anyway?
'Demando!' she wanted to call out, so much so that the tears collected in
her eyes even though she couldn't open them, 'Help me! I don't want to go
back!' She didn't even know what lay down the canal, the instinct was
simply to fight it and go upstream. But she couldn't cry out, the words and
anguish lay decaying in her throat; she was voiceless. She felt Demando's
arm around her, felt his body against her side, and thought, with a bitter
taste in her mouth, of how close he was. Her breath wrecked in her lungs,
once, twice, a deadly third. Now even her mind stilled, anticipating the
fluttering of her lungs, the movement of blood in her veins.
It suddenly seemed like a millennia between heart-beats.
. . . in . . .
How had this happened? Anguish colored her mind, as real as her fear. Rhyolite grabbed desperately at the days events, clawing. Breakfast in the morning, with Demando, in the twilight darkness. A few hours of her own time, spent inspecting Saffir's new design for the flyers.
. . . out . . .
Meetings, all with flustered officials, long into the height of the
'light' hours. Lunch with Gypsum. Daydreaming, longing for flight, as the
illumination vanished from the sky. More meetings, skipping dinner, finally
retiring to her rooms. Midnight supper with...
Shiori.
. . . in . . .
"Is something the matter with Gypsum?"
"Gypsum?" a long, almost forgetful pause, "She wasn't feeling well."
Rhyolite wanted to sob, weep, scream in the sudden realization of
betrayal. Shiori; garnet eyes guarded, stance uncomfortable.
. . . out . . .
She suddenly had the disgusting image of herself, small and defenseless,
being sucked through a tube into another container. The picture was
detailed, she could see herself, trapped like an insect. That was where the
current led, down into the ocean and into another set of bones and blood
that moved when she told them too. The knowledge of Shiori, from a strange
and different perspective, lingered just beyond, but Rhyolite fought the
drawing of her soul with all her might. Her "hands" picked along shards of
glass, showing images she did not want to see.
Shiori's garnet eyes were among them.
. . . . . .
Rhyolite almost understood. But she felt the sudden stillness of her
heart, and her last wish was that she had said her prayers.
Then her heart stopped.
----
Nemesis turned it's back on the sun, taking only the light of the stars, a light that cast strange shadows everywhere. Out on the staircase, the dim illumination avoided a bent figure, allowing the shadows to help the creature as it curved the borrowed body and picked up the half-full teapot. Inside the Princess Rhyolite's chambers, the shadows were only slightly move abundant, falling softly on the couple in bed.
Demando slept, holding his wife's corpse long into the night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
MEREDITH: BWAHAHAHAHA!
DEMANDO: No, wait... that's not fair! I object! I
*strongly object*!
MEREDITH: What's wrong?
DEMANDO:
MEREDITH: Ehehehehe...
DEMANDO: You know, I think this counts as abuse. I'm leaving! *starts to
leave in a huff*
MEREDITH: Ah, Prince-darling? *points to the fact Demando is chained to the
nightstand*
DEMANDO: -_-;
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