01-26-2016, 01:02 PM
Ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies
They surround him. Bleeding, shaking, and weak. But still, they stand against Famine. United in their feeble show of defiance. It isn’t much, but it is something, and the sight of it brings just the smallest of smiles to Weaver’s face. They face impossible odds, but that doesn’t stop any one of them from trying.
She’d set out on this quest to save her own skin, despite knowing deep down she would die. In some ways, she still cares only about saving herself, but that alone isn’t enough to drive her on. That isn’t enough to keep her on her feet as her legs shake and her knees buckle. There’s more than just the need to survive holding her up. It’s her allies, their support as they all face Famine. It’s Beqanna, knowing she is one of the few creatures that stand between the apocalypse and her home.
It is so much more than just herself giving her the strength to go on.
She is dizzy, the world flickering too much for her tired mind and battered body to process. The ashy world of purgatory and the vibrant planes of Beqanna bleed together. Fleeting thoughts of trying to disappear into the cracks slip into her mind still. She can’t help it. Can’t help entertaining the notion that maybe she should just give up. Because she doesn’t know how long she can stand. Doesn’t know how long she can do this.
But she can’t give up. That is all she knows. She can’t give up. Even if saving Beqanna means her death. So be it. She would die for that.
The world flickers again, and she stumbles, blinking as she rights herself. When the world comes into focus again, three more are gone. The red and green girl on the ground, the mare that sold herself, and one Weaver hardly saw at all.
There are only six of them left. Six horses standing against Conquest and War and Famine. And one more. She continues to stare at Famine, not flinching as the last seal blows apart in the distance. She’d been waiting for it, after all. Knowing what had to happen. Famine’s face is calm and pleased, an eerie smile creeping on his features.
The smile doesn’t fit the serious warning that follows. Well, it doesn’t fit for her. But for Famine? Of course he’s pleased. Of course he’s going to enjoy sending them all away with a single, powerful word. When a monster tells you to run, you don’t want to know what he’s telling you to run from.
But in some way, she knows what comes for them. He’s been coming all along. She’s known since the beginning, hasn’t she? Just pretended it wasn’t true, just pretended she might live.
She doesn’t hesitate at Famine’s command. She spares only a moment, one quick glance to Warship with an unspoken goodbye in her eyes. And then she does the only thing she can. She runs.
She goes back the way she came, sticking to the forest. She knows her best bet of finding a piece of the seal is in the clearing, but she’s taking the long way around. Trying to avoid the minions. And besides, the forest is the closest thing to home here.
Home. The pine forests of the Chamber. She smiles a bit, thinking of the pines as she weaves through the trees of purgatory. She will never see her pine forest again. Will never feel the comforting thump thump of the heart beneath her feet. But she can pretend.
She can pretend this forest is her forest. It makes the going easier, even though every step is agony. Pain shoots through her cracked rib. Her head pounds with the headache from Conquest, made worse by running. Her stomach gnaws at itself and her legs shake. But she doesn’t think of these things.
She thinks of Mother, stern but loving in her way. She thinks of the ever-burning pine tree. She thinks of Raven, black wings spread, cawing from the sky. And for a moment, she hears him. Turning her head just a bit, she looks for him in the trees. And there is a raven. But it’s not her raven. Like the one she'd already killed, this one is monstrous. The beady red eyes and the glint of metal on its beak give him away.
She doesn’t stop to fight when the raven takes flight. Doesn’t stop when she hears other birds as well. Chirps and caws and all manner of sounds. The birds drift out of the trees, taking their time, knowing their prey will be easy to catch.
Weaver keeps running, even when she feels a talon rip the flesh on her back. Even when she feels beaks pecking, more talons pulling skin from bone.
There are too many to fight. Even if she could win, she doesn’t have time. All she can do is find a piece of the seal before the final horse comes for her. It is the only thing that matters now.
The world flickers again, and she trips on a fallen log, crashing into the ground. The birds descend on her, pecking and clawing, wings flapping all around her. She closes her eyes and struggles back to her feet, taking off again in a limping run.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
For a moment, she thinks she fell through the flicker and back into Beqanna. For a moment, the sound is the heartbeat of the Chamber. For a moment, she’s home. Until the sound grows louder. Until the birds take to the sky, disappearing in the branches above.
It is not the Chamber’s heart that beats the ground. It is War, pummeling toward her. Her promise hadn’t worked. Had he been luring her into a false sense of security before? Or had he been too busy with the others to even worry about her? Does it even matter? One way or another, he comes for her now. His hoof beats become louder, steadier; the beating of war drums she's grown so familiar with.
She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t turn to face him. The clearing is almost before her now, and she knows there must be a piece of the seal near. She’s close enough to the explosion to find one. She just has to find it. Just has to run a little bit more.
But she is not fast enough to outrun War. Even if she were healthy and whole, she is too small, too mortal, to outrun War. As before, he barrels into her. This time, when he sounds close, she plans for the fall, letting her legs go limp as he hits her. He sends her skidding along the ground. Rocks and branches and dirt tear her black and white coat to shreds.
But nothing breaks. Some bruises, but there’s no resounding crack as another rib gives way. The world flickers again, and she swears she can see the playground, the place she left behind. Maybe it’s just in her head. Maybe it’s a fever dream. At this point, she could have a fever and she’d never know.
She tries to get to her feet again but falls forward, a few feet closer to the playground. The muted forest of purgatory returns and she blinks. Then she sees it. A piece of the seal, just a few feet off.
The flickering world must have slowed War, but she hears the sound of his breath behind her. Coming for her, ready for the kill. In the distance, a flash of yellow. And then another. Conquest coming for her as well. They must know she’s found the seal.
She struggles to her feet, takes a step, and her legs buckle. She doesn’t hit the ground this time, but now the red and yellow flames of War and Conquest are nearly on top of her. Nearly blocking her from the seal. She takes another wobbly step. And then blue. Just in her periphery, almost behind her. War and Conquest look up, both their grins wicked.
The distraction is all she needs. One more step, and her hoof is on the final shard. Like before, it absorbs into her skin. Like before, both her pursuers scream. She spins in time to see War rear, hoof lashing out toward her. She ducks, and he only scrapes her side, though the impact knocks her to the ground.
There might have been magic in the final seal, but she’s too weak to notice any difference now. It isn't enough magic to save her. She can only hope the others get their pieces of the seals as well. Can only hope that will be enough magic to save Beqanna.
Another flash of blue, and his name comes to her as a whisper.
“Death.”
It does not shock her, his name. She gets to her feet. Slow and unsteady, but she manages to stand. When she looks around, War and Conquest have gone, their work done. Weaver turns to find the source of the blue light, lingering just outside the forest.
Whirls of blues and greens and purples cover his body. Celestial, rather than demonic. Even with the hooves that glimmer like knives, even with the glowing eyes. He is beautiful. And he waits for her.
She knows now that there is no more running. She could try, but still he would come. Steady and silent. But he would come. And he would find her. And if she’s going to die, she will not die as a coward.
Her steps falter, but she takes them. One step sends her to her knees. Still, Death does not move, and she gets back to her feet. There’s only a short distance to the clearing, but it takes eternity for her feeble steps to cross it. Her body has gone numb, too weak to think or feel. Too weak to do anything but walk toward that beautiful creature.
Perhaps she welcomes him. Perhaps she knows that she’s lost. Either way, she goes to him. The world flickers again, and this time she sees the Chamber. The trees around her morph from pallid ash trees to misty pines. She smiles now, taking another step forward as if she’ll end up back in the Chamber. Knowing she won’t.
Then Beqanna is gone, and she’s in the clearing. Death comes for her then, his steps slow and sure. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. Not to him. But to her mother, because Weaver failed. To her father, whom she’d never meet. To herself, for no reason other than she is sorry.
But she’d given everything, and she has nothing left to give but this. With the seal inside her, perhaps her death will be enough to save Beqanna. And in that one last hope, she gives her life willingly.
Unlike Conquest, his touch does not sicken. Unlike War, his touch doesn’t rip and break and tear. Unlike Famine, his presence doesn’t starve. No, Death’s touch is soft, almost kind. His breath is warm on her forehead as he reaches out, brushing her skin. Perhaps like her father might have touched her, had she lived long enough to meet him.
She closes her eyes, imagining that Weed stands in front of her for the first time. Her legs crumble beneath her, and she land in the grass. She feels the grass close in around her, swears that her father is wrapping her in a blanket of his making. There is no more pain now, no more hunger. All she knows is blissful, beautiful sleep.
Somewhere, a raven caws, but she does not hear.
She’d set out on this quest to save her own skin, despite knowing deep down she would die. In some ways, she still cares only about saving herself, but that alone isn’t enough to drive her on. That isn’t enough to keep her on her feet as her legs shake and her knees buckle. There’s more than just the need to survive holding her up. It’s her allies, their support as they all face Famine. It’s Beqanna, knowing she is one of the few creatures that stand between the apocalypse and her home.
It is so much more than just herself giving her the strength to go on.
She is dizzy, the world flickering too much for her tired mind and battered body to process. The ashy world of purgatory and the vibrant planes of Beqanna bleed together. Fleeting thoughts of trying to disappear into the cracks slip into her mind still. She can’t help it. Can’t help entertaining the notion that maybe she should just give up. Because she doesn’t know how long she can stand. Doesn’t know how long she can do this.
But she can’t give up. That is all she knows. She can’t give up. Even if saving Beqanna means her death. So be it. She would die for that.
The world flickers again, and she stumbles, blinking as she rights herself. When the world comes into focus again, three more are gone. The red and green girl on the ground, the mare that sold herself, and one Weaver hardly saw at all.
There are only six of them left. Six horses standing against Conquest and War and Famine. And one more. She continues to stare at Famine, not flinching as the last seal blows apart in the distance. She’d been waiting for it, after all. Knowing what had to happen. Famine’s face is calm and pleased, an eerie smile creeping on his features.
The smile doesn’t fit the serious warning that follows. Well, it doesn’t fit for her. But for Famine? Of course he’s pleased. Of course he’s going to enjoy sending them all away with a single, powerful word. When a monster tells you to run, you don’t want to know what he’s telling you to run from.
But in some way, she knows what comes for them. He’s been coming all along. She’s known since the beginning, hasn’t she? Just pretended it wasn’t true, just pretended she might live.
She doesn’t hesitate at Famine’s command. She spares only a moment, one quick glance to Warship with an unspoken goodbye in her eyes. And then she does the only thing she can. She runs.
She goes back the way she came, sticking to the forest. She knows her best bet of finding a piece of the seal is in the clearing, but she’s taking the long way around. Trying to avoid the minions. And besides, the forest is the closest thing to home here.
Home. The pine forests of the Chamber. She smiles a bit, thinking of the pines as she weaves through the trees of purgatory. She will never see her pine forest again. Will never feel the comforting thump thump of the heart beneath her feet. But she can pretend.
She can pretend this forest is her forest. It makes the going easier, even though every step is agony. Pain shoots through her cracked rib. Her head pounds with the headache from Conquest, made worse by running. Her stomach gnaws at itself and her legs shake. But she doesn’t think of these things.
She thinks of Mother, stern but loving in her way. She thinks of the ever-burning pine tree. She thinks of Raven, black wings spread, cawing from the sky. And for a moment, she hears him. Turning her head just a bit, she looks for him in the trees. And there is a raven. But it’s not her raven. Like the one she'd already killed, this one is monstrous. The beady red eyes and the glint of metal on its beak give him away.
She doesn’t stop to fight when the raven takes flight. Doesn’t stop when she hears other birds as well. Chirps and caws and all manner of sounds. The birds drift out of the trees, taking their time, knowing their prey will be easy to catch.
Weaver keeps running, even when she feels a talon rip the flesh on her back. Even when she feels beaks pecking, more talons pulling skin from bone.
There are too many to fight. Even if she could win, she doesn’t have time. All she can do is find a piece of the seal before the final horse comes for her. It is the only thing that matters now.
The world flickers again, and she trips on a fallen log, crashing into the ground. The birds descend on her, pecking and clawing, wings flapping all around her. She closes her eyes and struggles back to her feet, taking off again in a limping run.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
For a moment, she thinks she fell through the flicker and back into Beqanna. For a moment, the sound is the heartbeat of the Chamber. For a moment, she’s home. Until the sound grows louder. Until the birds take to the sky, disappearing in the branches above.
It is not the Chamber’s heart that beats the ground. It is War, pummeling toward her. Her promise hadn’t worked. Had he been luring her into a false sense of security before? Or had he been too busy with the others to even worry about her? Does it even matter? One way or another, he comes for her now. His hoof beats become louder, steadier; the beating of war drums she's grown so familiar with.
She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t turn to face him. The clearing is almost before her now, and she knows there must be a piece of the seal near. She’s close enough to the explosion to find one. She just has to find it. Just has to run a little bit more.
But she is not fast enough to outrun War. Even if she were healthy and whole, she is too small, too mortal, to outrun War. As before, he barrels into her. This time, when he sounds close, she plans for the fall, letting her legs go limp as he hits her. He sends her skidding along the ground. Rocks and branches and dirt tear her black and white coat to shreds.
But nothing breaks. Some bruises, but there’s no resounding crack as another rib gives way. The world flickers again, and she swears she can see the playground, the place she left behind. Maybe it’s just in her head. Maybe it’s a fever dream. At this point, she could have a fever and she’d never know.
She tries to get to her feet again but falls forward, a few feet closer to the playground. The muted forest of purgatory returns and she blinks. Then she sees it. A piece of the seal, just a few feet off.
The flickering world must have slowed War, but she hears the sound of his breath behind her. Coming for her, ready for the kill. In the distance, a flash of yellow. And then another. Conquest coming for her as well. They must know she’s found the seal.
She struggles to her feet, takes a step, and her legs buckle. She doesn’t hit the ground this time, but now the red and yellow flames of War and Conquest are nearly on top of her. Nearly blocking her from the seal. She takes another wobbly step. And then blue. Just in her periphery, almost behind her. War and Conquest look up, both their grins wicked.
The distraction is all she needs. One more step, and her hoof is on the final shard. Like before, it absorbs into her skin. Like before, both her pursuers scream. She spins in time to see War rear, hoof lashing out toward her. She ducks, and he only scrapes her side, though the impact knocks her to the ground.
There might have been magic in the final seal, but she’s too weak to notice any difference now. It isn't enough magic to save her. She can only hope the others get their pieces of the seals as well. Can only hope that will be enough magic to save Beqanna.
Another flash of blue, and his name comes to her as a whisper.
“Death.”
It does not shock her, his name. She gets to her feet. Slow and unsteady, but she manages to stand. When she looks around, War and Conquest have gone, their work done. Weaver turns to find the source of the blue light, lingering just outside the forest.
Whirls of blues and greens and purples cover his body. Celestial, rather than demonic. Even with the hooves that glimmer like knives, even with the glowing eyes. He is beautiful. And he waits for her.
She knows now that there is no more running. She could try, but still he would come. Steady and silent. But he would come. And he would find her. And if she’s going to die, she will not die as a coward.
Her steps falter, but she takes them. One step sends her to her knees. Still, Death does not move, and she gets back to her feet. There’s only a short distance to the clearing, but it takes eternity for her feeble steps to cross it. Her body has gone numb, too weak to think or feel. Too weak to do anything but walk toward that beautiful creature.
Perhaps she welcomes him. Perhaps she knows that she’s lost. Either way, she goes to him. The world flickers again, and this time she sees the Chamber. The trees around her morph from pallid ash trees to misty pines. She smiles now, taking another step forward as if she’ll end up back in the Chamber. Knowing she won’t.
Then Beqanna is gone, and she’s in the clearing. Death comes for her then, his steps slow and sure. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. Not to him. But to her mother, because Weaver failed. To her father, whom she’d never meet. To herself, for no reason other than she is sorry.
But she’d given everything, and she has nothing left to give but this. With the seal inside her, perhaps her death will be enough to save Beqanna. And in that one last hope, she gives her life willingly.
Unlike Conquest, his touch does not sicken. Unlike War, his touch doesn’t rip and break and tear. Unlike Famine, his presence doesn’t starve. No, Death’s touch is soft, almost kind. His breath is warm on her forehead as he reaches out, brushing her skin. Perhaps like her father might have touched her, had she lived long enough to meet him.
She closes her eyes, imagining that Weed stands in front of her for the first time. Her legs crumble beneath her, and she land in the grass. She feels the grass close in around her, swears that her father is wrapping her in a blanket of his making. There is no more pain now, no more hunger. All she knows is blissful, beautiful sleep.
Somewhere, a raven caws, but she does not hear.
weaver
weed and straia's chamber princess