Shadow and Starlight

[Elwen]

It was cold, and dark.

“Help me.” a ragged voice pleaded. She looked down to see an old woman lying in the snow, crimson all around her. The woman bent down, ignoring the fact that her white robes were trailing in the blood, but it was too late: the old woman was dead.

So many others lay dead in the ruins of this once-beautiful city: all the rest of the Guardians had fallen, and she was the only one who remained, the only one of the Circle of Light. The Apocalypse had come, bringing death and sorrow and pain and destruction with it, humanity had fallen and would never recover. She sighed in sorrow as she straightened up, knowing her own failure had brought it to this. It was her fault and no one else’s.

“Messenger.” A frantic, scared little girl gasped, clutching at her sleeves. “Leave this place, Elthia’s Herald. Leave, now! Flee while you still can!”

“What?” she asked.

“The Dark Lady comes seeking you, and his Lord.” The girl said through tears. “The One Who Cannot Be Named-ah!”

A spasm racked the small form, and the child crumpled in on herself with a long scream, the light fading from her pale eyes. Sarya backed away, the dead girl falling limply forward to lie at her feet. She prayed briefly, clutching tightly her staff as her eyes searched the horizon. Another one. By the Lady Bright, another one! How many innocents had to die because of her failure? Hundreds lay dead and thousands were dying, while people hid in basements, hoping in vain that the darkness would not find them, would not claim them-

“It seems you did not take the girl’s warning to heart, Sarya.” A familiar baritone voice called, and Sarya turned to find “The One Who Cannot Be Named” standing there, smirking. “Why do you stay? There is no hope. Your circle is gone, the Light is dead. What is there left for you?”

A slender form ghosted up out of the shadows, cloaked in black. The Dark Lady, who was no lady at all. Pale and slender, he was silent, silvery-gray eyes holding no emotion in them.

“Well…” the baritone-voiced man continued. “Then you might as well die with the city and those futile mortal beings who existed within it. It is better to die in hope…then to live in despair.”

The silent Dark Lady raised a slender hand, as pain ripped through Sarya, and she knew, intimately, how the little girl had died, with no mark upon her. She reached out with her own dying consciousness in an attempt to find any goodness, any innate light, that still remained in the young man.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream as her heart stopped, squeezed until it burst by an invisible hand, and her spirit was ripped violently out of this mortal incarnation.

The last thing that she was aware of was that it was her fault that this had come to pass. That it was her fault that there was no light left.

***

Sarya awoke screaming, or she would have if she hadn’t already screamed her throat raw. Her neighbors were well used to her nightmares and her horrified screaming all night long, so they had long ago ceased to pound angrily on the floor and ceiling. It was just as well, because Sarya couldn’t help her nightmares any more then she could help being what she was. It was one of the many prices she paid for her powers and her immortality, all gifts given her by her goddess, Elthia, the Lady of Starlight. It was the price she paid for being Elthia’s Herald, the Messenger of the Lady of Starlight. Dreams that were forged of pure darkness, dreams that told what would Be unless she and the other Guardians of the Light worked to avert the coming cataclysm, dreams given each of them by their respective goddess. It was their duty, their onus, their sole reason for existence: to /change the future / so that what each Guardian Saw would not become a reality.

Eyes the color of the changeable sea opened at last, and focused blearily on the bedside clock. The digital numbers glowed a steady red, showing 7:00. The woman groaned-it was Saturday, thank Elthia she did /not/ have work today-but knew she couldn’t go back to sleep. It was useless…if she did, she wasn’t going to get /any/ rest, and she would have to face /that/ again. Not a nice preposition by any means.

“Coffee…” Sarya managed to mumble out, her abused vocal cords quickly healed with a touch of healing magic. It was something she did /every/ morning as a matter of routine, ruin her vocal cords after a night of endless screaming and then waste a little power to fix them, only to ruin them again. Well, she needed the routine, it was as indispensable for her as coffee was in order to get going in the morning.

Sarya stumbled into her kitchen and groped blindly for a mug. Thank the Lady she had had the sense to turn the coffeemaker on the previous night, or she wouldn’t have coffee now. She certainly was in no condition to do it now. The guardian managed to locate a mug and the carafe filled with coffee, and poured herself a cup. Not bothering with cream or sugar, she gulped down the hot liquid strong and black: she had served a stint in the Navy once, under a totally different name, and had learned to eschew such frivolities, even gaining a measure of tolerance for ersatz coffee, though she still preferred the /real/ stuff. Also, it had been during World War Two, and what little sugar she could get had been used for other purposes.

“Argh…” Sarya moaned as she dropped her head on the kitchen counter. Sometimes, being Elthia’s Herald was just more then she could bear. A destiny too heavy for any mortal, and it showed. She was, physically, in her midtwenties, the same she had been over two thousand years ago, when she had first answered her Lady’s Call. But emotionally, she had experienced much of the darker side of humanity over those long years, and it showed in her eyes: she had seen the betrayal and destruction of the Firstborn, of the Elves, her Lady’s people, by the very folk they were meant to help and to heal, she had seen it all. Her weariness, her heart-sickness, her knowledge of the coming storm showed in her eyes, eyes much too wise and weary for the young woman she seemed.

And time was running out. It all hung upon the brink now…so, so close. Everything hung upon the edge of a knife…stray but a little, and they would fall, everything the Guardians had worked for failing. Her dreams were very specific on that…

Sarya’s musings were interrupted by a familiar voice that yelled furiously inside her head. :Sarya, get that crazy cat away from me!:

Sarya, amused, looked toward her balcony, where her cat stalked a lark. The songbird tried to flutter away, but it couldn’t escape for long.

:Sarya, help me!: her friend pleaded, sounding /really/ desperate now.

“Alright, I’m coming, just don’t get your feathers in a bunch.” Sarya responded, her mood instantly lightened. The petite priestess strode over to the balcony, opened the sliding door, and retrieved the unhappy ball of white fur. Sarya soothed her annoyed pet as she carried her into the bedroom and shut the door.

:Why are you soothing /her/? She’s not the one who was nearly eaten alive!: the lark complained, shifting into a dark-haired, young-seeming man of medium build. “Your cat’s crazy, Sarya!”

“That’s what you get for not coming here the /normal/ way, Bob. You /had/ to come in bird form, didn’t you.” Sarya remarked lightly.

Bob growled. “I hope the others get here soon.”

Sarya walked back into the kitchen, not caring that he saw her in only pajamas-he’d seen her in less, after all-and poured herself another cup of coffee. This was going to be a long day.

***

Twenty minutes and several cups of coffee later, Sarya was finally ready to face the day. Neatly-if casually-dressed in jeans and a nice, purple top-, she sat at her kitchen counter with Bob.

“When are the others going to get here?” Bob asked impatiently.

“You’ve asked that /twenty times/ already.” While Sarya was normally quite an even-tempered person-at least after 10:00 A.M.-, she was getting more then slightly annoyed by Bob’s line of questioning.

“So?” Bob asked.

“Wait a little while longer.” The First Guardian advised tightly.

“But we’ve been waiting for twenty minutes already!” Bob moaned.

“And?” Sarya in the morning prior to 10:00 A.M., even after her required caffeine intake, was merciless. “You’ve been alive since the Renaissance. You can wait a little while longer.”

Bob’s vulgar reply was cut off in the middle of a very anatomically impossible preposition, just as someone knocked on the door.

“Right on cue.” Sarya said, glaring at Bob as she crossed her living room to answer the door. “If you say anything, I’ll make you sing soprano. The /hard way/.”

Bob wisely swallowed whatever he had been about to say. Sarya opened the door and admitted the two women who stood there, one a classically beautiful Japanese woman, and the other a tall, once-gawky American with short hair that was dyed a rather shocking violet.

“Lauri, Bright.” Sarya greeted the Second and Fourth Guardians warmly.

“What did we miss?” Bright asked, well, brightly, her violet eyes sparkling.

“You missed Sarya about to rip Bob’s head off.” Lauri replied dryly. The tiny woman looked up at her counterpart and lover and shook her head, correcting herself after she took in Sarya’s mood. “My mistake. I believe we prevented Sarya from ripping other portions of his anatomy off. Maybe we should have waited a little longer…that way, there would have been another woman to join us.”

Bob winced. “No thanks. I’d like those portions of my anatomy to remain where they are now, thanks.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.” Bright complained. “Anyway, where are the others?”

“Sorry we’re late.” a smooth baritone said from the door. The voice’s owner, a tall, handsome black man, entered the apartment, closely followed by an equally tall, elegant woman, who shut the door behind herself. “Traffic was horrendous. I hate driving in this city.”

“I hate driving altogether.” His companion said.

“You’re not that late, Mark.” Bright said. “We just arrived.”

Mark looked relieved. “Oh, good. I was worried that we would be subject to the wrath of Sarya.”

“No, our compatriot was.” Lauri said, waving an elegant hand dismissively. “Karen, how are you holding up?”

“Well enough.” The woman replied. “Marianne has been laying low for a while.”

“So has Dain.” Sarya reflected with a frown. “What about the rest of you? Have the other Defenders been inactive lately?” Everyone else in the room nodded their heads. “Does anyone find it more then a bit suspicious that the Circle of the Dark has been inactive lately?”

“What about Henry and Victor?” Mark spoke up. “They aren’t accounted for…and none of us have regular dealings with either of them. Karyl and Valyn do.”

“And speaking of those two, where are they?” Karen inquired.

“Karyl is always late.” Sarya said acidly. “He’d be late to his own death.”

No one commented, as all of them knew quite intimately that Karyl Winchester did not know the meaning of the phrase “on time,” and probably never would.

“But Valyn? It’s Saturday, he doesn’t have school.” Lauri said musingly. “And this isn’t normal for him…he’s usually very prompt.”

“Val is very responsible. But what could be keeping him?” Karen murmured.

The door slammed open, to reveal Karyl.

“Karyl, we don’t need to ask.” Sarya said sharply. Karyl held two hands up in a “what?” gesture, that had grown very familiar over the years. “But do you know where Valyn is? He’s not here yet, and we both know that’s not like him.”

The Fifth Guardian’s face darkened. “I was hoping you guys could tell me.”

The other Guardians of the Light exchanged looks.

“You mean to say that you don’t know?” Bright said slowly.

Karyl nodded.

[The Portrait of Zool]

This is great Elwen. You really have a gift for dialog, and a wonderful imagination.

 

I can't wait to see more of it.

[Damon Inferel]

I remember this! Meow! Forgive the brief amount of time that I had in my class, as I could not read it all, but I do remember it. It hasn't lost a thing ashke... it's still very creative, and very good writing. *sighs* I love your writing... it's emotional and stuff.