The Avatars: Beginnings
(A short Story)
Lisa Blackwood
The Avatars: Beginnings
Lisa Blackwood
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Lisa Blackwood
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and characters are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actually persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Beginnings
Surrounded by darkness, deep in the heart of his enemy’s territory, the gargoyle braced his wings against the breeze sweeping down the onyx-tiled corridor. High above, cobwebs swirled among the shadows obscuring the vaulted ceiling. With a nudge of magic, lacy tendrils of gloom floated down, settling over his shoulders and wings like a thick autumn fog. While a cloak of darkness might hide him for a short time, the wet heat of blood seeping down his side would soon tempt him to embrace the healing sleep of stone. Here in this place death would come swift and brutal.
He had to push onward. He couldn’t give up—something far more precious than his own life was at risk.
No more than eight summers old, the child slept soundly in his arms, her weight a reassurance. With her cloud of black hair and eyelashes dark against pale skin, the Sorceress looked peaceful, innocent—at odds with this place of darkness. Her safety came first. He couldn’t fail her. Not again.
Sounds of panting and the muted rasp of claws on stone echoed from the direction he’d just come. An undulating wail of a Death Hound filled the stale air. Its harsh call reverberated along his wings.
Another cry answered the first, rising and falling in the distance. He bolted from the shadows, seeking the breeze’s source. The sharp click of his talons striking stone tiles drowned out noise of pursuit. Urged by instinct, he ran until the corridor forked. He veered right. A pale light bloomed in the distance. Shadows gave way to a gray misty haze. At the end of the tunnel, a line of vast windows opened onto a balcony. He readjusted his hold on the young Sorceress and sprinted toward freedom.
Outside, wind buffeted at his furrowed wings and howled in his ears, but his attention riveted on the Veil between the Realms. It shimmered a hundred paces in front of him, silvery mists promising escape. A vast expanse of empty air stretched between the balcony and the outer edge of the Veil. Worry itched between his shoulder blades. His wings twitched with tension. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he studied the way he’d come. For now only a few shadows and lonely statues guarded the way, but it wouldn’t be long before Death Hounds caught him.
He bowed his muzzle until he caught her familiar scent. She calmed him—the other half of his soul. He would know her anywhere. So many lives they’d shared, hunting down evil in all its forms. Bumping his muzzle against her cheek, he whined and licked at her face. A sharp flavor coated his tongue.
He jerked back with a snort. Wrong. Her taste was wrong. Harsh fear, cold like the first killing frost, flowed through his soul. He licked at her again, the bitter essence confirming his suspicions. She was tainted, evil so deeply embedded within her it welled up from below her skin.
His eyes track back toward the shimmering Veil as his stomach tightened into a knot. He could escape through the veil, safe from its life destroying magic, but she was tainted. He clamped his wings to his back and tightened his arms around her smaller form. If he’d been mature, he could have protected her from the ravages of the mist. But, newly born, he lacked the raw power needed to shield even himself.
Had he saved her from imprisonment only to have the Veil strip the life from her now?
A sizeable weight slammed into his back, overbalancing him. Teeth savaged the flesh of his right shoulder. With a howl of pain, he released the child, and twisted, catching his attacker under the jaw. The beast yelped and rolled.
Before he could recover, another streak of ginger and black colored fur blurred across his line of sight. With a flash of teeth, a smaller Death Hound bitch was snapping at his throat. He lunged. His teeth sank into her thick ruff. Altering his grip, he slammed the hound into the underside of the balcony’s stone railing. Stone chips and white powder dusted the air.
Blood coated one side of the hound’s wide head. She flexed her broad shoulders, freeing herself from the rubble. A snarl exposed steel gray teeth.
When she came at him again, he raked the hound’s belly with his hind feet. Without the hardness of maturity, his talons didn’t penetrate the thick fur. The beast sunk her teeth into the meat of his thigh. He grunted in pain and bashed the creature in the side of the head with one fist. Desperation lent strength to his weary muscles, and he disengaged the hound.
A second beast leapt on his back. It clawed and bit at his wings as it sought a firmer hold on his exposed neck. He snaked his tail around the beast’s middle. With a snarling effort, he heaved it into the first creature. Both beasts slid through the hole in the stone railing. Surprised yelps slowly faded into the abyss beyond his range of vision.
His heavy panting rasped louder than the roar of the wind to his own ears. Ignoring the throb of new injuries, he scooped the child into his arms.
After catching his breath, he leapt onto the balcony’s outer stone wall and dug his claws into the surface. Balancing there, he looked out towards the misty wall of the Veil. It stretched as far as he could see in either direction. The winds whipped past him, constant in its attempts to scour him from the side of the tower. He wrapped his tail around the railing and closed his eyes, praying the Divine Ones would give his Sorceress strength enough to survive the Veil.
The baying of more Death Hounds decided him. Wings extended to their fullest, he launched from the balcony, hurtling toward the mists. Even braced for a second trip through the Veil didn’t lessen the surprise when he hit its outer border. Syrupy mists slowed his flight, sticking to him like burning honey. He pumped his wings harder, desperate for speed. Magic plucked at him, shredding his personal shields.
The first tendril of mist touched the child. Her eyes snapped open. Body ridged, she arched her back and sucked in a deep, gasping breath. Her cry of anguish sliced through him, stabbing into his soul. She screamed as fast as she could draw breath.
Please, he begged of the Divine Ones. Please let her survive this. I can do whatever I must to mend what was done to her, just let her live.
After a time, the child quieted, unconscious—not dead, but he still didn’t relax. The journey through the Veil felt like a lifetime. With each powerful wing beat, he fought the swirling currents of magic within the Veil, but made little headway. Terror uncoiled in his middle. The Sorceress would never survive the trip back to his Realm. It was taking too long. He changed his course and flew with the current. Faster and faster the magic swirled around him. The current drew him along until the outer edge of the Mortal Realm’s Veil appeared in front of him. He sensed the deadness beyond—the Mortal Realm’s lack of magic. Seeing no other escape, he closed his eyes and prayed.
With a heave, the magic spat him and his small burden out into the Mortal Realm. Cold, thin air shocked his body. His wings collapsed. Panicked, he flailed, trying to find which way was up. A single moon shone in the night sky. He oriented himself and levelled out his erratic flight enough he didn’t spiral out of control.
Gliding, too exhausted to maintain his height, he drifted lower. Below him a well tended road with a line painted down its center vanished off into the distance. On either side, a row of smooth wooden poles, like trees stripped of their branches, lined the too-perfect road. Wires suspended between the dead-tree-poles swayed in the wind. He angled away from the odd road and whatever might travel upon it.
Below him the land changed. A long narrow lake, ringed with white ice, now cut across the landscape. The lake’s dark center rippled with its own drama. Cries of panic and the splash of water caught his attention. He glided lower until he skimmed above the snow-covered trees skirting the lake. The sounds of struggle grew weaker. Above those sounds, a desperate chant rose up from below.
Out in the water, a small boy clung to a sheet of ice. On shore a young woman worked on the body of a girl, trying to push water from dead lungs. Voice hoarse with grief, the woman chanted a healing song. The song resonated in his soul, familiar. But she sang it wrong, and this land lacked the magic required to perform such a spell. Besides, the tether holding the girl’s soul to her body had already faded away, breaking the link of flesh and spirit.