Patricia Wilson
Stories
10
Chapters
3,347
Words
163.4 K
Comments
0
Reading
13 h, 37 m
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“Out of the chair?” “That was Etenesh. I’m starting to think she has some kind of mothering, nurturing thing going.” Truth had managed to gingerly walk into Merkovah’s office/cell without crutches, but it was slow going. “You think? “Siphios is right on the Equator. What do you know about ice skating?” “Enough to know it’s a madman’s hobby. Ah, poor Etenesh. How she can look so happy, I don’t know.” “She is teaching me how to give her massages.” “I bet she wants to…-
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Etenesh was pushing Truth’s wheelchair around a little park near Nag Hamadi. Truth had tried to decline, saying that he was getting around ok on crutches, but she was having none of it. As promised, the guilt trip came quickly and ruthlessly. Truth hobbled to the chair and obediently let himself be pushed around. It was more than irritating, it freaked him out. Letting someone control his movements like that. Not good. Not good at all. He focused on breathing through it. Just a few more days of this, and…
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The Anti-Theists had converted a basement for their work. The roof was low, just a bit over two meters. Truth nearly scraped his head along it. All smooth, layered concrete laid by some ancient demon. Not a scrap of ventilation. It was hard to breathe. His only light was the glowing wooden stick in his hands which threw everything into sharp reliefs of neon green and black. Truth put his back flat to the wall next to the door and eased it open a crack with his left hand. His right hand had pulled back…
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Truth was wearing what he thought of as his The Tongue of One Who Speaks For God, and wasn’t that a mouthful, was a two-handed sword. It was on the narrower side, rigid for powerful, effective thrusting, but beefy enough and balanced to be authoritative in the cut. It was also considerably lighter than Truth expected, though he knew that was actually normal. Swords were meant to be light. You would get tired fast if they weren't. And having one bouncing off his leg as he walked through a city felt…
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Truth allowed his inner vision to float up into his soul. Everyone knew that the body and soul were connected and that mind and apertures touched both. Being able to see your soul was just one of those side effects of cultivation. Do it enough, and it happens. Even old-timers at Level One could do it. A Level Three who had the benefit of a Stellar Dowsing ritual at a comparatively young age? He could That may have been a mistake. Following the sound of furious chanting, Truth’s mind drifted up…
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Etenesh offered her slender hand, ripping talons now long gone, leaving neatly trimmed nails in their place. Truth gently took it and pulled her into the room. He looked deep into her burning eyes and deliberately closed the door. Her ocher eyes widened, breathing faster. Truth lightly pressed his hand to her chest and pushed her against the wall. Etenesh raised her hands, fingers splayed as though she were pushing back, but she didn’t touch him. Her nose traveled along his neck, breathing him in but not…
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The stands were quiet. A young man, a flower of faded nobility, had been hacked into five parts, his heart crushed, and his soul condemned to Hell. Even then, those who supported Etenesh might have cheered. The religious minorities, the civic unity set, the conservatives who wished to preserve the life they knew, all should be cheering. Her family alone took up a big section of the stands. They were an ancient line and remarkably unified. They didn’t make a peep. They looked awed. And proud. Why…
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Etenesh launched herself at Alemu as the Seraphim’s chiming cry echoed off the stands. The crowds roared and cheered as the long feathers on her belt and crown flew with the speed of her attack. Alemu froze for a half second in shock- he had drawn himself up like he wanted to say something. Etenesh wasn’t interested. He quickly spun the hoop on his left wrist, snapping out a quick shield. Etenesh’s copper flail slashed at the shield, raising a shower of sparks but unable to reach his face. He…
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“No. You must hold Mrs. Proudwhiskers in an arm cradle. You must support the whole body, or it is painful for her, as well as an offense to her dignity. Observe how I do it with Crabknuckle.” Truth was strict, but Merkovah had to learn. This was a special place, and things were to be done properly. “I think I was on firmer ground with the hedgehogs. Shame we can’t feed them more.” The old monster finally seemed to fit his youthful face as he juggled the cat in his arms. Mrs. Proudwiskers was an…
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They were sparring back and forth across the basement floor. Etenesh wouldn’t be able to use her spirit in the duel, so she was making heavy use of talismans. Her weapon of choice was a long flail of copper reeds that she could flick through the air in astonishingly precise arcs and lines. Thin cuts of wind or light followed those occult traceries. Charging at her was like charging into a razorblade hurricane. And it only took a single swing of her flail to launch that mess of violence directly at her…
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