BNN: Sosaria Sleeps
Calvin Crowner July 16, 2010 1:45:54PM EST
Sosaria slept, and the long lashes of the night sky covered the landscape beneath the light of a waxing moon.
For many, shadows are a place for the sinister. Shadows are a place to hide. Shadows imply a coldness, a detachment.
Kerom was just another soldier in The Cause.
As the dreams slipped beneath his lids, shadows curled about his shoulder. Shadow: a different blanket of darkness shrouding him in wicked bliss. His kin moved in and out of darkness with grace, trading almost substance-les form for death. The movements of the chosen -- serpents bathed in warm oil, shredding silence from the warm, supple necks of their victims who were unaware all too late of their presence.
Finally, the lavender goal of their rewards rested in their hands. Even in his sleep, Kerom, just another soldier in the cause...smiled.
Even in this dream his mind worked. The symbolism not lost on him. Of course there was nothing to hide. All would be done in the light of day, in rays of sun and brilliant light. Dappled mornings would greet every citizen as each of the Chosen set about his task. And the message would spread: "Progress for all!" And the land would heal: "Follow us!" And every walking thing would surrender to the hope: "Join and be renewed!"
Kerom slept in bliss, aware of how disturbing these dreams might be for some.
"Freedom at the cost of blood?" Of course, it made perfect sense to the Chosen.
But as the cacophony of sword and scream thrilled his slumber, his brethren shared similar dreams -- the sound of the captured, shrieking in cages throughout the encampment, embraced his ears.
Dawn woke with a rush. The calm of the chamber mocked the thrum of her heart seizing against her chest. The distinct copper taste of her own blood filled her cheek. Her tongue searched as if she’d been struck in a brawl only to realize she needed to unclench her fist and teeth.
Visions of her citizens imprisoned in their own flesh, screaming without mouths, eyes tearing, stalked her mind like Harrowers. She too was screaming, until she saw her own reflection in a mirror, her lips and mouth absent, and she realized her vision blurring, dark claws embracing her shoulders ... almost a caress as she fumbled for her broadsword.
Her breaths slowed as she released her aching grip on the sheets, finding she had mystically found her weapon as she tossed in her sleep. Certainly it was just training and reflexes.
The cool metal brought a peace and serenity to her reeling mind. As her fingers slipped along the flat of the blade her lips shifted into the glimmer of a smile.
She allowed her voice, surprisingly steady, to break the spell of the dream ..."Oh ... I’m more than ready."
Zhah planted her feet steadily; arms outstretched embracing the flow of magic between her and the shield that protected her Kingdom. The mist and chaos of the Void teased at the edges of her power. She felt her talons burn as she looked for breaches.
She felt the presence of all things from the palace to the Holy places in the South. Her mind reached further still until it skirted the darkness of the Abyss, the Slasher slipping out of a recent rampage to cut into a corner of her spellweaving.
She smiled adoringly thinking to herself, "Hello Cousin of the Void." All things had a place ... even Evil.
And in that instant her eyes snapped opened, and her muscles were caught in torment and searing pain. A convulsion ripped through her wings, feeling the spark of something she rarely felt: fear.
In a leap she was across the room, one sweep of her wings shooting her the length of the Queen’s chamber, to her desk.