Showing posts with label Double Drabble. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Double Drabble. Show all posts
Galdrabók
The fire cast a harsh glow across his face, but he refused to look away. His only hope to be cured from this Endlessness was going up in flames. Having tracked the book for four centuries it finally lead Kol to this library, half a world away, in a war torn country.Why was it even here? He couldn't figured it out, he only knew that someone moved the book as if they wanted to keep it from his reach.
Kol rubbed his hand against his chest. The ancient Icelandic ruins craved there by the Godi of his village were meant to help his people against the invasion of a tyrant King. But as the years wore on and the fight seeped out of his people, Kolbjorn; as his people knew him, was no longer needed.
Years of being bathed in the Icelandic magic of The Galdrabók, cemented his soul to his body and pushed him adrift in time. The Godi stopped practicing the old magic and when his condition was discovered it was already too late.
The Galdrabók was gone.
That book wouldn't burn here.
Clenching his jaw, Kol took a step forward and the fire blazed higher, the flames licking at his skin.
It was his only hope.
Echtrae
The wind picked up, blowing through the tree tops and I pulled my shawl tighter. The lights in the woods scattered with the breeze and disappeared into the darkness.
My heart thumped against my ribs as I noticed a person against the tree line.
"...Leah..."
My name carried on the wind and I jumped up splashing hot tea on myself. I cursed and dropped my cup, and cursed again. Anger overtook fear as my favourite cup shattered against the deck.
"...Leah..."
"What?!" Any other choice words caught in my throat. The being stood in the middle of the field now, and the moonlight played off his long white hair; his pale skin glistened; and his eyes, blue as sapphires, pleaded with me.
"...Leah..."
I tried to speak; I needed a drink, something stronger than tea. I swallowed and tried again. "Yes?"
The man, definitely not just a man, didn't speak. Instead he turned and walked away.
"W-wait," I said, but he kept moving, across the field and into the forest. My feet moved with a will of their own, the cool grass tickling the soles as I followed.
Bubak
That's
how he preferred it.
All
that was needed was one last piece, one final soul to finish the
work.
“Come
on, it's over here.”
He
froze at the sound of voices and the dark place within him danced
with glee. He stuffed the Soul Garment into a chest at the foot of
his post and scurried back up it. Hanging himself across the large
t-shaped piece of wood and stared across the field, searching.
“Where
the hell is this thing?”
“Old
Man McCormack put the Scarecrow in the center of the field, look, you
can see the light from it's Jack-o-lantern head.”
“Damn,
that things creepy.”
Perfect,
they would make excellent additions to his coat.
The ground surrounding him hummed with vibrations. Within his deep sleep he felt the shift of the earth, heard the soft murmur of voices come to gawk at his grave. The thorn tree had grown monstrous; the root that pierced his chest, and pinned him in place had tripled in width and continually grew. With each passing year his longevity stretched out before him, taunting him. In the early days, people feared coming to his burial site, but as time went on. And it went on, more and more people came.
The
voices grew until he heard them echo through the roots of the
tree. Feminine laughter. The sound was sweet at first. Then soured and
churned within him, reminding him of the laughter of another woman; one long buried.
Like
him, but dead.
Above
the voices changed. Laughter turned distressed as deeper, cruder ones
joined. The earth shook with a thump, followed by a broken scream.
A long forgotten pungent smell washed over him, and he groaned as the blood
soaked into the soil, bleeding into the earth until it finally touched his
lips. Power rushed through him and the tree pinning him to the
ground shook and splintered.