by Lucian Bane
“I want you. Please.” He hissed when she raked her fingers over his own need. “Deep inside Poe. Please.”
She wanted him. He decided he could never love anything more except hearing her say it. “You want me,” he whispered. “You like to suck me. Lick me. Makes me burn, Scribbler. I love it when you make me burn.”
She pushed him off and sat up, hurrying out of her dress. Poe followed the cue and removed the one piece of clothing he wore. At seeing him, she whimpered and removed the clothing from her breasts next. Poe stood awe-struck with her beauty. “Your name, Scribbler. Please.” He covered her body with his, pushing her onto the bed with a hungry kiss. He slid his chest over hers, groaning at feeling her breasts along him. “You’re name!” he growled, moving between her legs, sliding himself along her silk.
“Poe, please. Make love to me.” She squirmed just so that he moved to her entrance. “Do it.”
Poe pushed and his spine burned with the urge to thrust hard. “Scribbler!”
She latched her fingers onto him and pulled him entirely in, crying out and arching into his body.
Poe couldn’t think of anything except feeling her with that part of him—hard and fast in answer to the flames. Burn higher, fiercer, faster.
“Contessant!” she cried when he gave in to that need and took her like a storm. “Contessant Juliet!”
The gift confounded his control. Contessant Juliet. Beautiful Contessant. Love ravaged through him and he latched his fingers to her shoulders, his mouth reckless on hers as he moved with desperate abandon.
“Oh God, yes! Poe!”
“Contessant.” He barely managed the whisper in the hard grip of his release that seemed to last forever. If only. He vaguely realized he was still saying her name, a soft plea, prayer, praise, he wasn’t sure which. “Contessant,” he sighed one final time, laying half on her, his face in pressed into her neck.
“Shhhh, don’t…” she whispered.
Poe lifted his head and dove on her mouth with a kiss, feeling like his heart would burst. He finally pulled up and stared hard into her beautiful blue eyes. “Do you have any idea what you mean to me? Contessant Juliet?”
Her eyes filled with tears and she clenched them tight and turned her face away.
“Do you have any idea?” he whispered. “What gift you’ve given me?” He gently turned her face to him and stroked her jaw. “Because of you, Contessant Juliet, I know life. I know pain. I know pleasure,” he barely managed the hot rasp. ”I know real.” He lowered and kissed her trembling lips with a near hallowed reverence. “I know the greatest love in all the realms. Because I know you.”
She strangled his neck in a tight hug and wrapped her legs around him. “I love you Jeramiah Poe. I’ve loved you since I scribbled you,” she sobbed. “I’ll love you forever. I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to go!” she wailed until his heart shattered within him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Poe glanced down at the rows of people, wondering why the Sound Scribbler saw fit to seat them on the third level of the monster sized building. Poe likened the inside of the facility to the interior of a giant golden egg. The center of it held rows of red seats sloping down toward a multi-level stage at the front. Poe spotted the hospital patients just below them. He only knew because of the orderlies flanking the four corners of their group. Even the patients were dressed in elegance. Poe used his power to find the two Sound Arks. A girl and a man—Shiri and Jude. Poe discerned that Shiri’s power was in some type of drums—Jude’s, a piano. He wondered if these newest Arks even knew that. The Sound Scribbler sat between them.
Even Kane was dressed up. A black suit, matching the other Sound Arks and Poe. To see Lark in a buttercup yellow gown befitting her youth and innocence, pleased Poe. And she wore it with such exuberance, he hardly recognized the broken girl he’d first met.
“When does it start?” Kane asked in a loud whisper.
“Soon, I hope.” Poe glanced at his Scribbler for the twentieth time. Contessant Juliet. How on earth she found the name anything but beautiful, dumbfounded him. His heart sped up as it always did when he gazed on her. She was breathtaking in the violet dress that reminded him of an enchanting flower in the Paranormal Forest. The material flowed over her, smooth and bright where it accentuated her shape in various layers and hues. His eyes lingered at her breasts and an ache stung him at remembering he’d not ever see her again after tonight. No, in mere hours.
As though sensing his gaze, she looked at him and smiled. But Poe saw something in the bright blue depths that troubled him. A fear. He’d not spoken of their future or lack thereof and neither had she. He felt that it was the best way to handle it and now he worried he was wrong and filled him with panic—a need to ask her questions, allow her to voice her fears, soothe her.
The lights finally dimmed on the audience and brightened on the stages. Poe’s breath rushed out with dread as his Scribbler pulled something out of her gown and handed it to Kane. “Use this to write whatever you’re given. Whenever you’re given it.” She then fished out a piece of paper and Kane took both with a nod.
A curtain rose on the upper stage, revealing a ready orchestra. The lower stage remained empty. For the performer’s, Poe guessed. An entire hour later and still nothing of significance had happened regarding their purpose there. Poe was ready to scream from the dreadful anticipation. Nobody knew how this was going to go. Would they get the keys—whatever they actually were—and leave with them? Go to yet another destination where they might use said keys? Regardless, if something didn’t happen soon; he’d have to excuse himself to the lavatory!
Divinities!
The music stopped abruptly and both stages went entirely dark. Poe noticed the Sound Scribbler leaving his seat and his heart went back to racing. Poe grabbed the Scribbler’s hand and pointed out the Sound Scribbler’s movement, pulling Kane on his lap. He wanted him close in case something went wrong with whatever was to happen.
Endless minutes passed and a single light flipped on, illuminating a single person on the stage. Male. In tights and no shirt. Poe stared hard. ‘That’s him,” he whispered.
“Who?” Scribbler asked.
“The Sound Scribbler.”
“Oh my God,” she gasped, worried. “What’s he doing?”
“I have no idea.” Poe glanced about to see if anybody noticed one of the hospital patients had ventured onto the stage. Was his performance expected?
Music exploded into the auditorium, a traumatic burst of emotion that sent the Sound Scribbler flying into the air in a frenzy of acrobats.
“Oh my God!” Scribbler said. “He can dance!”
Could he ever, Poe thought. Why in the world could he was the question. Majestic leaps and twirls continued in a phenomenal show, every part of his body an intense expression that stole one’s breath and demanded rapt attention. Poe realized there was something on the stage--sand perhaps—that flew up into the air with his every leap, appearing as smoke at various times.
“I see it!” Kane whispered, writing on his paper.
Poe leaned and looked at what he drew and glanced at the Sound Scribbler. How was the boy contriving that? “I don’t’ see it,” Poe said, astonished.
“In the sand! It’s in the sand, dad!”
Poe finally saw it. Everywhere the Sound Scribbler touched the stage, sand swirled and formed a musical note design along with other symbols unfamiliar to Poe. Kane’s head bobbed with his quick work. “I’m running out of room!” he cried, flipping the paper over.
The music suddenly stopped and it all went dark.
Poe was at the very edges of his seat, waiting.
“Sound Arks, come. Scribbler… 8th Ark… Kane…. come.” The voice of the Sound Scribbler whispered through the entire place it seemed. Slowly, soft orange light illuminated the Sound Scribbler who now reached toward them. Strands of the same orange energy attached to each he’d called, directing their steps to the stage.
Poe looked about as they went, finding the onlookers… asleep.
“He made them all sleep!” Kane whispered. “Wow!”
Indeed he had. For how long was the worry. Judging by the urgency in the tugging light, their window of opportunity wasn’t a long one.
The Sound Scribbler eyed each of them with a sober but relaxed expression as they filed on stage.
Gasps came from the two patients as they slowly walked up the steps to the platform. “Oh my God,” Jude whispered, next to the dark haired girl looking around in wide-eyed awe. “I remember.”
“I remember too!” Shiri said in shock. “Lark! Cado!” She suddenly froze at seeing Duane then let out a sob as she ran and threw herself in his arms. “Oh my God, what happened to me?”
“We all forgot,” Duane rasped while hugging her tight. “When we entered the Scribbler’s realm we entered a trap.” He lifted her and spun her around. “Are you okay? God I missed you!” Poe watched him kiss her, realizing they were in love. Lost to each other for seven years. Poe would prefer dying, rather than living without memory of his Contessant Juliet. And yet… if he were alive, there was always the possibility that he’d be rescued from such a horrific fate.
“You will all remember now,” the Sound Scribbler said in his own voice. “The noble 8th Ark has come from Octava to restore all of you.” Poe didn’t like the sudden outburst of attention they all lauded him with, but he was grateful for their obvious relief and joy.
The Sound Scribbler gave two sharp claps. “Find your instrument upon the stage and return to me quickly.” He turned to Kane. “You, my young sir, will orchestrate.” The Sound Scribbler pulled a short stick from his pocket and stretched it into a longer one with his other hand.
“Wow,” Kane whispered, taking and examining the shiny black stick as the man faced him toward the stage.
“This is where you shall perform.”
“Got it!”
The Sound Scribbler turned, his eyes on Poe’s Scribbler. He approached, his gait graceful as if in dance. He angled his head at her. “She is beautiful through and through.” His words were astonished, reverent.
“She is,” Poe agreed.
“What… do I do?” his Scribbler asked, looking from the Sound Scribbler to him.
“You liked the pen I gifted you?”
She nodded. “Very much. It was lovely, thank you.”
The Sound Scribbler nodded slowly, seeming pleased. “Most excellent.” He looked at Poe and pointed to his right. “You will stand here, noble 8th Ark. After you say goodbye.”
“Goodbye?” Scribbler whispered in surprise. “You mean… they’re going back now?”
“Yes,” Sound Scribbler said, his tone sorrowful.
She released a breath of shock, looking from Poe to him. “I-I… had I known, I would’ve prepared, I would’ve gotten ready.”
Poe’s heart broke at hearing her mask her panic. It had begun. Her heartache.
“I mean I had a small story,” she went on as though the Sound Scribbler might change things for her. “I-I just wanted to read it to him before he left. A goodbye gift. Please,” she whispered, on the edge of frantic. “I even used a real pen, your pen, to make it perfect, it was perfect.” She clutched the Sound Scribbler’s arm now. “It was my first romance story.” She looked at Poe, tears streaming. “I wrote a real romance, can you believe it?” She gasped the words with a shaky smile. “I wrote a real romance because of you!”
Poe’s vision blurred and he lowered his head, fighting to breathe through the million shards of pain cutting his heart.
“I am sorry,” the Sound Scribbler said, grabbing her hands. “So very sorry.”
She spun to Poe now and flew into his arms. “Poe! I’m sorry. I planned this different, I thought we had more time. I was going to be strong!” she sobbed. “I was going to be brave and strong for you!”
She shoved out of Poe’s tight embrace and flew to Kane who stared at her with sad eyes. She collapsed to her knees before him. “What about Kane!” she cried, turning to the Sound Scribbler. “He can stay if he likes, can’t he?”
“He must return. He is not made for the Scribbler’s realm. He will die if he stays.”
She let out a choked sob. “He surely can’t die.” She took his face in her hands and kissed it all over. “I love you! I love you! I’m sorry I’m not stronger, I meant to be.”
Kane petted her head with a hand. “It’s okay to cry mommy.” His own tears poured. “Daddy said so.”
“It’s time!”
The Sound Scribbler’s words came like a crack of thunder and the Scribbler kissed Kane and hurried back to Poe, grabbing Poe’s arm.
The Sound Scribbler set the 7 Arks at exact points around Kane who wiped his eyes on his shoulder.
“Begin!” the Sound Scribbler boomed.
Kane looked back at Poe and his mom once more, worry knitting his brows.
“You can do it!” his Scribbler sobbed and smiled at him. “Mommy’s watching you.”
Kane gave a sad smile and stared down at the paper with the music notes. He began orchestrating, and this time when the Sound Arks played, power tickled along Poe, getting stronger as each engaged their instrument.
Poe closed his eyes, seeing it. It began with the mixed notes from the violin and cello, weaving together, stroking and persuading the necessary elements from the air. They were creating a portal. That’s what the notes were for.
Shiri beat the drums with her bare hands and the racing, irregular heart-beat pounded a living force into these gathered particles.
Jude marked vital points along the portal walls, his fingers flying over the keys, indicating there were many points. With a swift stroke, Cado raked his fingers over his guitar strings and orange flames exploded around him, massive arcs that latched onto the elements and spun them in a fury.
Joe and Duane blew at the deepest chambers on their instruments and directed the fiery particles to the points Jude had created.
Poe felt the sudden urge to perform the One Voice. Soon, the deep and high notes seemed to spread the energy thin until the portal finally appeared behind them, a shimmering liquid of light.
“Back up, Contessant,” he ordered, not wanting her somehow harmed.
She took a few steps back, sobbing without restraint. “I’ll talk to you when you’re in Octava!” she wailed like a broken child. “I promise to write your story, I’m sorry I stopped. I’ll write you the best story, I-I’ll make you a classic, the most famous ever and you’ll never die!” she cried.
With every tear that fell from her eyes, Poe felt his soul disintegrating. He wanted so badly to tell her she was wrong, just so he didn’t have to be utterly alone going off into non-existence.
His Scribbler covered her mouth in shock and Poe felt the shimmering wall slowly thinning to reveal Octava beyond.
A sudden scream ripped the air and the blasting fervor of music stopped all at once.
“Nooooooo! Help me! Noooooo!”
Poe realized it came from Kane, on his knees, holding his head. “He’s coming! The bad man is coming!” He thrashed his head and Poe looked around for who or what he meant.
“Kane!” his Scribbler screamed in horror.
Poe jerked and froze at finding another person standing where Kane had been. A young man with no shirt, no hair, and skin bearing thick scars, the kind that came from repetitive medical procedures. Poe’s heart stopped at seeing silver scrawl upon the young man’s chest.
It was Kane.
“The boy’s Scribbler has written!” the Sound Scribbler said in quiet dread. “He intends to stop the return of the Arks!”
Horror filled Poe as he stared at the young man, face twisted with hatred. What had they done to him? What morbid things had they done to him? Years of torture forced upon his body and mind in an instant, written into existence in an instant. And then he realized it. The blood lust and loathe was aimed at Poe—the man Kane called dad. His scribbler had written their love
right out of his little heart.
A familiar energy began to rumble deep inside of Poe. He’d felt it at the hospital when he’d first rescued him. The pain and anger. No… the rage. Poe let it mix with his power until it was a hurricane force inside him. Poe held his hand out to Kane and a white staff slowly materialized. “Son of Insurrection,” he whispered. “Remember who you are.”
The boy suddenly ran at Poe in a murderous rage and Poe caught him by his throat in one hand. Poe shot his power inside him and rode it with a hungry vengeance down that line leading to Kane’s insidious Scribbler. At finally reaching him, he seethed the command into that irrevocable place inside him, “This boy is mine. I stake claim on him. See my mark upon his body. He is Kane Poe, son of the Muse Master. I order you to release him.”
The tie to Kane’s Scribbler obliterated and Poe released his neck. Kane dropped to the floor in agonizing screams, thrashing and holding his head.
“Fight him Kane,” Poe ordered, knowing the abhorrent Scribbler fought to re-connect.
“It hurrrrrrrts!” he screamed.
Poe slammed the tip of his staff onto the floor, flooding the boy with more of his power. “Fight him!” he roared. “Close the doorway!”
His Scribbler came from the left in a tackle, covering the boy’s body with hers. “Kaaaaane!”
Terror filled Poe as the 7 Arks began to play again. He jerked to find the Minister of Sound waving his glowing wand from the other side of Octava, finishing it.
The power of the 7 Arks began to fill Poe again. What if Kane didn’t make? What if his Scribbler was torn asunder being too near? He watched in panic as his Scribbler dragged an unconscious Kane back to where he’d once stood, then ran back out and latched onto Poe’s body.
Poe wanted to shake her off but the power was too great. His being was gripped by it as his two identities slowly tore apart.
He closed his eyes and connected to his Scribbler, booming the order. “Move Contessant!”
She suddenly gasped, looking up at him and Poe realized too late what he’d done. By connecting with her, she’d connected to him and the knowledge of his end. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No!” she screamed. “Noooooo, nooooooo! You can’t die! You can’t die! I need to tell you my story! I need to tell you!” She shook him hard.
