As I have been walking, feelings of elation have been coursing through me, thanks to the immense amounts of magic contained within my body.
At the centre of the Heart, I let the magic leech out of me and down through my feet and into the water to pulse downwards. I let it happen slowly at first, but each time I increase the pulse slightly. With each and every pulse I sink a little lower into the water. Maybe I am going to drown. What if this is really what the gods had planned for me all along, maybe they really did turn from me! The sickening thoughts escape my head when I begin to rise again. I never even got up to my knees in the cold lake, and I was ready to abandon everything.
No longer needing to release magic to keep myself atop the water, I relax and watch as around me the water is rising too. But it does not rise as a whole, rather just columns of pink water, slowly towering their way above the lake’s surface.
They come to a stop at about eight feet tall each. Every two water-stones support a lintel between them, and each and every one is positively glowing with magical energy.
I turn on the spot, counting the ‘stones’ in the Circle, thirty two in all, not including the lintels. Around the outside of the Circle are three stones, about half the height of the Circle itself, set exactly the same distance apart, and exactly the same distance from the Circle, a northern one, the second at roughly east-south-east, if I were the centre of the compass, and the third on the opposite side at roughly west-south-west. I head over to the latter to examine the rock sculpted out of water.
With each step I take I can hear the little splash of water, so loud in the silence. The Silence. Hah! The Silence, Calcia’s avatar, what a waste. She had to turn it on her own followers apparently.
But my mind wanders and I struggle to focus it. I could hear birds earlier, those in the trees and the few that flew about. I find it strange that now I cannot, though they must not come this far out over the water.
As I reach the jut of water that Kellum described as a Marker Stone, I can make out signs and symbols inscribed on it, carved clearly out of the water. There are what look like giant winged wolves with long necks and tails, and a world on fire. I move quickly in the silence to the easternmost one, this has similar markings; men riding in the stomach’s of behemoths, though, a world of peace and prosperity, surrounded by hundreds of Blue Sparks and what look like suns. And finally I move to the northern one; this has pictures of war and strife, but the markings are tinted with resolution, people in temporary peace. In each water-etching there is something to enforce the peaceful nature; a mother nestles her child in front of warring armies; two children at play while two fathers fight and reconcile.
It looks like this is my destination and so I place my hands on the surface; it is wet, yet solid like the water underfoot. I begin to channel my energy in, at first all I yield is a slow trickle, unwilling to give away all of my power. Soon the trickle becomes a steady flow and that in turn becomes a headlong rush of magic. It is out of my control; I am unable to stop and unable to move my hands away from the stone.
I’m going to die. I’ll pour all of my life into a casting that I can’t control. I can feel my death coming. The tiredness of having nothing left seems to paralyse me. I felt like this once before in Brangaine those many years ago. Back then, Herne had saved me… no, I don’t believe that. The Harvest King saved me, that dull and dead voice is now so obvious to me. I can’t die here. I have a destiny to fulfil, the gods steered me onto this path, and though it has been difficult, I’m sure it isn’t over. I cannot give up now.
I close the flow of magic a little, forcing control over the outpour. The geyser of my power into the water slows. My concentration is perfect; focussed only on stopping the flow of my magic.
Something pulls at my clothes and my sight darkens. Water cascades over me, sending a chill to my body, which is accentuated by the wind. With one last push I force the connection closed. The flow stops instantly, as though a sluice gate had been slammed across a river.
I fall back and instinct kicks in. I try to grab onto the Marker Stone to save myself from falling into the lake, but my arms glide through it and I gain no purchase whatsoever. I tumble back, expecting to plunge into the cold water I’m standing on, but it catches me softly, warping around me and cushioning the fall; keeping me from going under.
As I lie there, looking up at the fresh thick storm cloud above me, flashes of lighting and rumbles of thunder coming from within it, I realise what was tugging at my clothes, why my vision darkened, and why the water was pouring over me. An amazing mass of solid black-grey cloud has formed directly above the water-stone circle, perfectly circular and only wide enough to cover the outer destination stones. The severe wind that has whipped up pulls at the thick cloud, dragging wisps down the invisible wall that keeps the cloud circular. Drops of rain the size of my thumb lash down at tremendous speeds from above, and now splash across my face and water drenched body.
I need to get up and into the centre of the Stone Circle. As I’m getting testily to my feet, a bolt of lightning cracks into the northern Marker Stone, shattering it, and sending a surge of electricity through the water all around me.
A massive amount of pain spears up my legs and into my chest, then on to my extremities. The charring of flesh and cooking of internal organs, frying my brain; the heat sizzling my eyes.
But what I expect does not come; instead I get a jolt of power, which recharges my magical resources so completely that I can’t ever remember having so much power within me before.
Now standing tall upon the Heart, its surface dancing and splashing with the force of the rain, I turn to look at the Circle. It is silent and still in the tumult of the storm-worthy weather. In the arches made by the stones with lintels, I can feel, more than see, shimmers of power, reverberating between the would-be stones.
With every step I take toward the inter-dimensional gateway, the magic-fuelled weather grows in intensity, making it more difficult to reach my intended trilithon.
With less than four steps to go the rain is literally vertical, battering at my senses and my body, reducing my sight to practically nothing. The howling wind chills my wet body to the bone and covers any sounds with its incessant rushing. The lightning, its thunder cracks obliterated by the wind, strikes the water every few instants, sending jolts of power through me that no longer work as top ups, but caress my body with their electric touch, bringing me to highs of pleasure; far more effective than any man has ever been.
Two steps. The two columns of water ahead are dark and blurry, but they positively vibrate with the rain and the wind. Another flash of light and I drop to my hands and knees, a scream of utter ecstasy escaping my lips. My legs have given way under the constant stimulation of my nether regions.
Having dropped I now only need to claw my way forward a little to enter the gateway. I pause to gather my breath and wait for the next bolt of sexual bliss to come. It does, but much more powerfully than I expected. My back arches instinctively as I climax, barely even conscious thanks to the paradise I’m experiencing. I pull myself together, panting hard from exertion not of my doing, reach out an arm and grasp the semi solid water I am lying in.
With all the strength I can muster from my limbs, drained of energy by orgasm after orgasm, I drag my thrilled body toward the gateway scant inches before me.
The 20th day of July, 1983
I enter its warmth and everything goes suddenly silent. My stomach lurches, but settles only when the bright light of day falls upon me. The sunlight and location are totally alien to me. My soaking body is too tired to move and my mind is too alive to sleep. So I lie in the sun, unknowing when or where I am.
But I am not on Gatheck; that is for sure.
- The Mother -
8 days until the birth of a god
The 25th day of Spring-Fall, 1538
From our high vantage point, upon the slopes of Mount Sevilt, we view the small, but ultimately world changing, event unfold. The you
ng woman, who is so strong, is barely overcoming the simple test of strength to allow herself access to a new world.
In the instant the woman in the valley enters through the gate everything stops. The wind blows away the dark cloud, and runs out of clout itself. The rain is taken along with the cloud. The magically risen columns of water, which represented the stones, fall back to the lake, returning to their once serene ways.
Not half a moment ago there was a raging storm above that lake, which would have threatened the life of any weak minded person. Now the scene is as peaceful as ever. It is somewhat hard to believe that is the same place. If I were not me, I might not believe.
“Why did you do that?” I ask the Harvest King, who is stood at my side. He, just as silent as usual, is dressed in his long black robes. His entire body hidden is beneath the many layers of black cloth. As usual his gleaming scythe is grasped by a hidden hand. He is utterly unmoving.
“She needed it,” he replies of his ignorance of the Lore.
Impregnating a mortal goes against all that we Olympians have decided is for the best.
“She was already powerful, both with the magic of her father and of her own belief in us. Plus, the Lore forbids it.”
“It’s a little late to be mentioning it now, do you not think?” His dead and cold voice never changes pitch, yet he still manages to carry sarcasm.
He makes his point well, though. I knew what he was doing and I did nothing to stop him. He knows I disagree with that part of the Lore. How could I not? I am the Mother, and the Lore practically stops me from having any more children, both half-mortal or Olympian.
“True, but what will happen when the other Olympians find out?”
“It will be a long time until they do, and before then I’m sure that Calcia will be trying something on. She is getting too-”
“Overconfident?” I finish, for my fellow god.
The Harvest King turns to face me. The black shadows in the cowl hide his face. I hear bone scrape on wood as he adjusts his grasp on his scythe.
“Indeed. I fear that before long there will be war once more; and I fear it amongst us Olympians, not just the peoples of the three Giving Worlds.”
“A dark omen to be sure.”
“An omen suitable for the times ahead.”
Sadly, I can do naught but nod in agreement.
THE LEGION LEGACY
continues in
PART TWO
DARKNESS RISING
The Vampire's Heart Page 22
