Title: Lands Long Dead
Description: [closed]
Description: [closed]
Taiaka - April 28, 2008 02:50 AM (GMT)
This night is blind; he had been consumed by the macabre thoughts, fettered and guilty, cold faith leading him with an outstretched hand. He pawed at the earth until his claws cracked and the colors of night blurred into a singular numbness. Inside his veins, his blood boiled with poison and swept a shade of passing dimness across his glossy blue eyes. There was smoke in the hut, but he could not see; bamboo slats and greasy yellow curtains held it the halo like a swathing and circling breath. The fire coughed helixes of hot embers and both Taiaka and the necromancer leaned away from the spiced flames so their hair did not singe.
“I see shadows.” The blind man had pearly white eyes and he let them stare with lucid vacancy at the shape shifter.
“And these are not the same shadows I see when I sleep. A man knows the color of dreams and the pure darkness of these shadows is different.” Taiaka though silent, nodded slowly at the necromancer’s words and slid along the frayed edge of sobriety to fall into the buzzing clutches of the smoke.
“Usually when these shadows come to me, they are angry. Or they are scared.” The necromancer was a handsome young man and when he spoke, his tanned forehead pitted at well oiled creases. Full lips were stained with a stripe of white down their centers, heavy lidded but chalk filled eyes painted with a mask of black; he wore a masque of either a madman or a prophet. Animal pelts were folded into soft cushions and every stitch of clothing the coltish priest wore was sewn from the same plush hides. Taiaka knew the life of the necromancer well and he had somewhat groomed the boy, pointing out omens and curiosities if only his spare time. The tiny village of huts and hunters welcomed the shape changer with wreaths of yellow flowers and plates of yucca cakes. He was welcome only because the priests of Lands Long Dead were superstitious of men that walked under the light of the Stars.
“But these shadows were horrible twisted things. Souls with only one memory of life, trapped from innocence and pain.” After he spoke, the blind man heard the beads in Taiaka’s hair give meaning to another nod.
“I am no stranger to the requests of the dead. They have bothered me ever since my eyes were plucked out by the crows. They whisper to me in the middle of the night and bug me when I’m eating supper. Yes, Taiaka I have grown used to their companionship.”
The shape shifter looked upon the necromancer from beyond the looming fire, seeking answers in the flail and lap of flames, finding only icy fingers tingling in his brain. Muddled yet alert; he could smell the sleeping villagers lost in the Naw and he could feel every single scar that hid on his dark skin. He could feel the moon twirling in the sky, begging the heavens to attend to her beautiful smile and he could see spectral faces winking at him through the pale smoke. Something had bit Taiaka and he continued to inhale the venom into his lungs one hot breath at a time.
“These spirits wailed their names so loudly that I had to redraw my lines of brick dust. I put up wards and seals; I drank the blood of the jackal.” A frustratingly slow sigh escaped the priest like a secret prayer.
“My eyes have been blessed by the will of Darkness, and yet this is something I cannot see.” The two men smiled at each other, but neither one saw the same pitiful loyalty reflected back. Taiaka was pleasantly vexed, warily sedated in the lulling waves of mysticism.
“They say names hold power. It is something I believe in with unwavering conviction. So, I know it is no coincidence that you have come to me with a need to fill your belly with my figs and honey.” The blind man closed his eyes, his words brimming with haughty haggling.
“You know I do not believe in coincidence. If Fate directed me to you door, it was for more than just figs and honey.” Taiaka’s voice was of a deeper timbre and though hinted with only subtle echoes of a lost accent, it resounded as if foreign and uncultured.
The blind man’s gaze lost the uncanny connection they had made with the shape shifter’s own guise when he touched his braided beard. He spoke very slowly as if he worried about Taiaka’s capacity for understanding.
“I have known you since I was but a young boy baying at the crows. It would be unkind of me to speak to you in riddles.” From within the flicking womb of smoke and musk, shadows pooled and the corners of their vision flooded with haunting expressions. Taiaka did not flinch at the childish phantoms vying for attention; he had seen those that could not be seen since he was a babe. His earliest memory came from when he was lying on his mother’s breast, rocking on the lullaby of her breath, and seeing his dead grandfather come for a visit. The image had stuck with him and he was a weedy teen when he told his father of the figure that had appeared. He laughed at his son and said he was glad that he had inherited the ability, and to not let his grandfather frighten him.
Taiaka’s calm quiet forced the necromancer’s tongue to the roof of his mouth, blind gaze preternaturally perceptive. He forced a raspy chortle, “These spirits call your name skin-changer. They ask to speak to you.”
Staring at the priest, Taiaka pressed a dark palm against his seeping brow and smoothed the sweat from his eyebrow. He believed the words of the necromancer to be those of a fanciful charlatan, apt defiance shining boldly, filled with ebony chagrin. Specters shivered in the smoky hut, peering from the void with expectant flashes of manna filled eyes.
“I apologize, priest, but I’m afraid you do not know me well enough to hold me captive and demand I speak to the dead.” Taiaka placed his hands on his knees, focusing his attention away from the menagerie of disembodied faces, arms and legs. The necromancer seemed unsettled by the shape shifter’s words, made pale by the resolved hue of his voice.
“I demand nothing from you Star Gazer,” the moniker dripped with animosity, his fingers idly drawing intricate glyphs into the hardpan around the fire. “They demand it.”
Taiaka seethed, “They are dead. Anything they know from being dead can be learned from the living.”
“I sense fear in your voice, skin-changer. Why would you, someone who walks under the guiding light of humble Stars, be so vexed by the voices of the dead? Hm.” The priest’s unfettered patronization of his lexis, underlying currents stirring with religious resentment, drew an unseen yet feral frown from Taiaka. “But I think your assumptions are quite shortsighted.”
Taiaka cocked his head to the side, surprisingly drawn by the priest’s vague canter, “What do you mean?”
“I do not think they wish to impart a morsel of undead knowledge to you, Taiaka. They want you to speak to them.”
“No, I refuse.”
The necromancer laughed as if on cue, “Then why are you here in my tent?”
Other voices joined in on the laughter and Taiaka burned hotter from the obvious mocking, stewing in his loathing. The smoke could no longer mask the dark man’s fear either, he was cornered and he bared his teeth at the blind priest.
Sensing the heavy trepidation and fury he had set upon his comrade, the necromancer released a frail sigh and his tone was warily familiar. “Taiaka, my friend, speak with them. Tell them not what they want to hear, but answer their questions…If anything, it will get both them and you out of my hair.”
There was the opportunity to exchange stinging quips and Taiaka had to bite his tongue to halt the ugly words from spilling into the spicy air between them. It only took a moment of lucidity for the rage to subside and he breathed away the red hot urge to attack and fight. So, he nodded once more and lifted his gaze to meet those of his talc-eyed equal.
“I do not know how.”
“I will teach you.”
“They will ask too much of me.”
“Yes. But they are dead. Humor them.”
“How?” Taiaka bleated honestly.
The blind man was stoical when he licked at the white stripe painted down the center of his lips. “If you can see them and you can hear them, then you can speak to them.” He stated quite matter-of-factly.
Taiaka could indeed see them and for the last few hours, had suffered their evocative laughter and appallingly vulgar whispers. The more he acknowledged their presence the more they seemed to grow in substance, their tangibility surpassing that of the quiet smoke. Taiaka could swear he recognized some of their faces and they were beautiful. Skin was made of azure mists and their hair tumbled around their pearly faces like willow boughs in a stiff breeze. The shape-shifter trembled until his back ached and the blind necromancer seemed to slink into the peripheral, away for the first time from the spirits unrestrained wailing and mews.
“Why…” Was the first word that Taiaka truly knew was directed at him. He turned his head, flat teeth perched on his bottom lip, and he shuddered.
“Why did you let me die Taiaka…?” Though drawled and airy, the shape shifter instantly recognized the sharp femininity in the voice. At that moment, he knew exactly who he was speaking to, and names held power.
“I saw you in the darkness after the tidal wave. I saw you Taiaka and you saw them drag me away.”
“You knew the fleetingness of our encounter better than anyone.”
“Why!?, Oh why!?” The spirit whined.
“Because there are some things more important than a forbidden affair on the beach.” As Taiaka spoke, he saw the blind priest shake his head.
“Why, oh tell me why!?”
“Because I was conscribed by the gods!”
“Do not make excuses, Taiaka. She will know.” The necromancer interjected. The shape shifter set his jaw and weighed his answer carefully for the definite, for the truth.
“Why, oh tell me why!?”
“Because I did not love you. Because you were a belly-warming replacement for the heat of the Stars. Because you were not worth saving.” Beyond the pall of Taiaka’s calmly recited words, there was a vile scream of primal sadness. She wept openly and the dark man’s stinging eyes were met by a final ghostly visage of the girl in the saffron robe that he courted on the beach. She shattered, flailing against the darkness, and dissipated into a zephyr of whispers that stoked the fire. There was clarity and silence; only the flames dared pop and hiss and for a long moment, both mystics fought their own inner judgments.
It was the blind man that saw first, and he spoke in soothing notes while the content scalded. “Ah, the vicious truth. You are a brave fool, Taiaka, but one with convictions. I believe the girl and her family are sated.” He paused and let those milky eyes press into Taiaka’s skull as if searching him for the shine of his aura. “I will miss the girl, even if you do not.”
“I see shadows.” The blind man had pearly white eyes and he let them stare with lucid vacancy at the shape shifter.
“And these are not the same shadows I see when I sleep. A man knows the color of dreams and the pure darkness of these shadows is different.” Taiaka though silent, nodded slowly at the necromancer’s words and slid along the frayed edge of sobriety to fall into the buzzing clutches of the smoke.
“Usually when these shadows come to me, they are angry. Or they are scared.” The necromancer was a handsome young man and when he spoke, his tanned forehead pitted at well oiled creases. Full lips were stained with a stripe of white down their centers, heavy lidded but chalk filled eyes painted with a mask of black; he wore a masque of either a madman or a prophet. Animal pelts were folded into soft cushions and every stitch of clothing the coltish priest wore was sewn from the same plush hides. Taiaka knew the life of the necromancer well and he had somewhat groomed the boy, pointing out omens and curiosities if only his spare time. The tiny village of huts and hunters welcomed the shape changer with wreaths of yellow flowers and plates of yucca cakes. He was welcome only because the priests of Lands Long Dead were superstitious of men that walked under the light of the Stars.
“But these shadows were horrible twisted things. Souls with only one memory of life, trapped from innocence and pain.” After he spoke, the blind man heard the beads in Taiaka’s hair give meaning to another nod.
“I am no stranger to the requests of the dead. They have bothered me ever since my eyes were plucked out by the crows. They whisper to me in the middle of the night and bug me when I’m eating supper. Yes, Taiaka I have grown used to their companionship.”
The shape shifter looked upon the necromancer from beyond the looming fire, seeking answers in the flail and lap of flames, finding only icy fingers tingling in his brain. Muddled yet alert; he could smell the sleeping villagers lost in the Naw and he could feel every single scar that hid on his dark skin. He could feel the moon twirling in the sky, begging the heavens to attend to her beautiful smile and he could see spectral faces winking at him through the pale smoke. Something had bit Taiaka and he continued to inhale the venom into his lungs one hot breath at a time.
“These spirits wailed their names so loudly that I had to redraw my lines of brick dust. I put up wards and seals; I drank the blood of the jackal.” A frustratingly slow sigh escaped the priest like a secret prayer.
“My eyes have been blessed by the will of Darkness, and yet this is something I cannot see.” The two men smiled at each other, but neither one saw the same pitiful loyalty reflected back. Taiaka was pleasantly vexed, warily sedated in the lulling waves of mysticism.
“They say names hold power. It is something I believe in with unwavering conviction. So, I know it is no coincidence that you have come to me with a need to fill your belly with my figs and honey.” The blind man closed his eyes, his words brimming with haughty haggling.
“You know I do not believe in coincidence. If Fate directed me to you door, it was for more than just figs and honey.” Taiaka’s voice was of a deeper timbre and though hinted with only subtle echoes of a lost accent, it resounded as if foreign and uncultured.
The blind man’s gaze lost the uncanny connection they had made with the shape shifter’s own guise when he touched his braided beard. He spoke very slowly as if he worried about Taiaka’s capacity for understanding.
“I have known you since I was but a young boy baying at the crows. It would be unkind of me to speak to you in riddles.” From within the flicking womb of smoke and musk, shadows pooled and the corners of their vision flooded with haunting expressions. Taiaka did not flinch at the childish phantoms vying for attention; he had seen those that could not be seen since he was a babe. His earliest memory came from when he was lying on his mother’s breast, rocking on the lullaby of her breath, and seeing his dead grandfather come for a visit. The image had stuck with him and he was a weedy teen when he told his father of the figure that had appeared. He laughed at his son and said he was glad that he had inherited the ability, and to not let his grandfather frighten him.
Taiaka’s calm quiet forced the necromancer’s tongue to the roof of his mouth, blind gaze preternaturally perceptive. He forced a raspy chortle, “These spirits call your name skin-changer. They ask to speak to you.”
Staring at the priest, Taiaka pressed a dark palm against his seeping brow and smoothed the sweat from his eyebrow. He believed the words of the necromancer to be those of a fanciful charlatan, apt defiance shining boldly, filled with ebony chagrin. Specters shivered in the smoky hut, peering from the void with expectant flashes of manna filled eyes.
“I apologize, priest, but I’m afraid you do not know me well enough to hold me captive and demand I speak to the dead.” Taiaka placed his hands on his knees, focusing his attention away from the menagerie of disembodied faces, arms and legs. The necromancer seemed unsettled by the shape shifter’s words, made pale by the resolved hue of his voice.
“I demand nothing from you Star Gazer,” the moniker dripped with animosity, his fingers idly drawing intricate glyphs into the hardpan around the fire. “They demand it.”
Taiaka seethed, “They are dead. Anything they know from being dead can be learned from the living.”
“I sense fear in your voice, skin-changer. Why would you, someone who walks under the guiding light of humble Stars, be so vexed by the voices of the dead? Hm.” The priest’s unfettered patronization of his lexis, underlying currents stirring with religious resentment, drew an unseen yet feral frown from Taiaka. “But I think your assumptions are quite shortsighted.”
Taiaka cocked his head to the side, surprisingly drawn by the priest’s vague canter, “What do you mean?”
“I do not think they wish to impart a morsel of undead knowledge to you, Taiaka. They want you to speak to them.”
“No, I refuse.”
The necromancer laughed as if on cue, “Then why are you here in my tent?”
Other voices joined in on the laughter and Taiaka burned hotter from the obvious mocking, stewing in his loathing. The smoke could no longer mask the dark man’s fear either, he was cornered and he bared his teeth at the blind priest.
Sensing the heavy trepidation and fury he had set upon his comrade, the necromancer released a frail sigh and his tone was warily familiar. “Taiaka, my friend, speak with them. Tell them not what they want to hear, but answer their questions…If anything, it will get both them and you out of my hair.”
There was the opportunity to exchange stinging quips and Taiaka had to bite his tongue to halt the ugly words from spilling into the spicy air between them. It only took a moment of lucidity for the rage to subside and he breathed away the red hot urge to attack and fight. So, he nodded once more and lifted his gaze to meet those of his talc-eyed equal.
“I do not know how.”
“I will teach you.”
“They will ask too much of me.”
“Yes. But they are dead. Humor them.”
“How?” Taiaka bleated honestly.
The blind man was stoical when he licked at the white stripe painted down the center of his lips. “If you can see them and you can hear them, then you can speak to them.” He stated quite matter-of-factly.
Taiaka could indeed see them and for the last few hours, had suffered their evocative laughter and appallingly vulgar whispers. The more he acknowledged their presence the more they seemed to grow in substance, their tangibility surpassing that of the quiet smoke. Taiaka could swear he recognized some of their faces and they were beautiful. Skin was made of azure mists and their hair tumbled around their pearly faces like willow boughs in a stiff breeze. The shape-shifter trembled until his back ached and the blind necromancer seemed to slink into the peripheral, away for the first time from the spirits unrestrained wailing and mews.
“Why…” Was the first word that Taiaka truly knew was directed at him. He turned his head, flat teeth perched on his bottom lip, and he shuddered.
“Why did you let me die Taiaka…?” Though drawled and airy, the shape shifter instantly recognized the sharp femininity in the voice. At that moment, he knew exactly who he was speaking to, and names held power.
“I saw you in the darkness after the tidal wave. I saw you Taiaka and you saw them drag me away.”
“You knew the fleetingness of our encounter better than anyone.”
“Why!?, Oh why!?” The spirit whined.
“Because there are some things more important than a forbidden affair on the beach.” As Taiaka spoke, he saw the blind priest shake his head.
“Why, oh tell me why!?”
“Because I was conscribed by the gods!”
“Do not make excuses, Taiaka. She will know.” The necromancer interjected. The shape shifter set his jaw and weighed his answer carefully for the definite, for the truth.
“Why, oh tell me why!?”
“Because I did not love you. Because you were a belly-warming replacement for the heat of the Stars. Because you were not worth saving.” Beyond the pall of Taiaka’s calmly recited words, there was a vile scream of primal sadness. She wept openly and the dark man’s stinging eyes were met by a final ghostly visage of the girl in the saffron robe that he courted on the beach. She shattered, flailing against the darkness, and dissipated into a zephyr of whispers that stoked the fire. There was clarity and silence; only the flames dared pop and hiss and for a long moment, both mystics fought their own inner judgments.
It was the blind man that saw first, and he spoke in soothing notes while the content scalded. “Ah, the vicious truth. You are a brave fool, Taiaka, but one with convictions. I believe the girl and her family are sated.” He paused and let those milky eyes press into Taiaka’s skull as if searching him for the shine of his aura. “I will miss the girl, even if you do not.”
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Speak With Dead
Speak With Dead