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Posted on February 8, 2016 at 03:51:30 AM by anapa
Part I is here!
| It took a lot of persuading to get Izeti to stay put. Indeysta eventually managed it by gently suggesting that Izeti might want to take Kosari to his father’s tomb, just in case Koseald knew what might be happening and might be able to protect his son.
The carriage rattled as fast as it possibly could over the dirt paths back towards the river. Indeysta sat back in her seat, her face concealed by shadow, but Anapa leant forward. His knuckles were turning white where they gripped the door’s edge, and every now and again his head twinged painfully. Whatever was causing the disturbance, it wasn’t fair – close to the river, but on the western bank where they were now. The closer they got, the more urgently Anapa could sense the oncoming massacre. “Stop!” He cried suddenly. The carriage skidded to a halt. He reached for the door. “Mother, you return home.” “Anapa – ” “Please,” he added in a strained voice. Indeysta sighed, which was as close to acquiescing as Anapa would get. She reached out and touched his shoulder, but the moment didn’t last. He hopped to the ground, landing lightly in spite of his slightly-too-large feet, and focused. The pain in his head was a distraction, but he used it to fuel his determination. Slowly, agonisingly, his head shrank; his arms lengthened; his joints reversed; and his tailbone extended. Fine fur sprouted like a thousand prickly needles all over his skin. In a mere moment, he was crouching over the ground in his canid form – his fastest morph yet to date, and the only one he had ever pulled off without coaching. Anapa spared himself no time to reflect on his pride and instead leapt forward. The ground whipped past at high speed under his light paws. A crowd had already begun to gather beside the odd, pulsing orb which hung ominously over the river. The commoners had been made to stand back, and it was through their legs that Anapa had to unceremoniously force himself at first. The experience was unprecedented, and not at all pleasant. When he broke past the line of peasants, the next obstacle was a smaller layer of courtiers, his father, and finally several of the leading members of the Cult of Death. It was probably pure adrenaline which empowered Anapa to morph back into his common form as quickly as he did. He had yet to master the art of being able to move to stand on two legs while morphing, and so ended up in an ungainly position on all fours. He hastened to rise, dusting off his robes and quietly grateful for his knack of going about unnoticed by everyone. Everyone – except his father. “Cute, Anapa,” Saif muttered as the former stepped forward. Saif was equal parts charming and intimidating. On a usual day, he oozed confidence. Today, however, he was glaring across at the river with an expression which made Anapa feel a newfound respect for Kosari. It must take nerves of steel to even consider taking Saif on. Now that Saif had drawn attention to him, the nearest courtiers blinked in surprise as though Anapa had appeared from nowhere. “Great Throne,” the closest one said. “Shall I inform the court that the Lord of Death has arrived?” “Did I ask you to?” Saif growled, before turning back to Anapa. He gestured at the orb as if to say, go and fix that, will ya? It was less of an orb and more of an oval-shaped… thing, approximately the size of Kosari. It was predominantly as black as night, but it was ringed with a golden glow as though a light were shining on it from behind. Each of the inaugurated of the Cult of Death dipped their head slightly as Anapa stepped up to them, rubbing his temples. He counted six of them, and frowned a little. “Where is the Great One?” He asked, referring to the head of the cult. The inaugurated shifted. “On leave, my lord,” mumbled the bravest. Anapa gritted his teeth internally. The largest crisis of life and death in living memory, and the Great One was on leave? “Very well,” he muttered, closing his eyes against the throbbing pain. If the Great One wasn’t here, then that meant Anapa was in charge. “I will attempt to commune with it. Be ready.” He slowly breathed in, expanding his mind to seek out the lost souls. His body remained still as he stepped forward in his mind, into the grey no-man’s-land between life and death. The movement wasn’t as smooth as it usually was – his earthly body shuddered. It felt wrong. From this side, Anapa could sense immediately the problem. A hole was being torn between this world and his while an angry, embittered deceased soul grappled with the forces of the universe, trying to make its return. That in itself was unheard of. Why should a soul have to rip open the universe to reach life, when every other one stepped through as easily as Anapa had here? He could feel the waves of hateful fury rolling off the spirit like the stench of the poor. This was wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen. “Honoured soul.” Anapa reached out a long-fingered, bony hand which disappeared instantly into the grey fog. Visibility was usually much clearer. “I am Prince Anapa of Canidia. I seek to commune.” The soul moved backwards, away from the rip – he could sense it, but not see it. Anapa’s earthly body shuddered again as the lost spirit shrieked in its terrible voice a single word which had no meaning. “What you are looking for – ” Anapa had to raise his voice to a shout to be heard over the terrible cries “ – it is not here!” The grey world shook. The soul withdrew completely, pulling together the threads of the universe with it. The earth quaked, and Anapa lost his footing. He tumbled forward, throwing his arms forward in the nick of time to prevent his face from slamming against the hard floor. Clouds of grey dust billowed up around him, making him cough. The hole had closed, but Anapa could sense the fragility of the fabric which separated the two worlds. It felt as though it could burn up under the spirit’s raging anger at any moment. He stumbled about as he tried to rise, unsteady on the moving floor. The soul shrieked again – the same, nonsensical word. “I do not know it!” Anapa yelled back, feeling his throat burn. He hadn’t shouted since he was a baby. Through the mist, a terrible face appeared – grey, crinkled, pale lips, with eyes so terrible that Anapa felt for a brief second as though time had halted when he stared into them. The moment passed, and he tumbled backwards – through the delicate fabric of the wall between life and death. The ground – a grey blur – shifted from being at his feet to at his back. Anapa was hurled with such force that he must have slid along it for a few metres before his path was forcibly stopped by a hard, wooden barrier. His head snapped backwards and hit the wood with a resounding crack. With a groan, he stretched out his hand to the back of his head. He couldn’t feel any blood. Death’s fog had vanished. In its place, a sea of shocked faces greeted him. Most were keeping their distance, but a few were beginning to creep forward and bend over, surprise being swiftly replaced with morbid curiosity. Anapa sat up, causing most of them to shuffle back again a little, as though he might be dangerous. He had the presence of mind enough to notice that all of them were bedecked in unfamiliar finery. “I am not paid enough,” Anapa muttered under his breath. |
note: anapa can't speak english, he's speaking in his native tongue.
Replies:
- rounded up! [nm] - By Aspelta March 21, 2016 at 05:08:39 AM
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