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Aug. 17th, 2005 01:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
triple_flameEspecially for Jackie (and anyone else who's desperately interested):
Chapters 13 and 14 of Sleeping Dragons.
13.
'Not again!' Thought the part of Kristen that realised this was a dream. She stood in a wooded clearing that was all too familiar to her, also familiar was the soft breath behind her, only barely audible on the gentle breeze. Steeling herself she turned to face the one that was in the dream with her. "Mystandre. What do you want?"
The Dragon looked down at her in silence for a while, "Azdeha was awoken, we all felt it. I wished to know that you were unharmed." Kristen gave a snort, "Yeah, right, because we still mean so much to you. I don't know how you're still getting into my dreams but I thought I'd made it clear you are not welcome here."
"And yet I cannot help but notice that you do not have your mysterious benefactor here tonight. Could it be that he has deserted you?" Mystandre raised a hand to the place on his cheek where he had been cut in one of Kristen's previous dreams. "You wonder do you not, cannot help yourself, why did he not help you before? Where was he when your beloved Circle Daybreak stood in greatest peril? You try to avoid admitting it, but you know I will awaken soon, I will not desert you."
"I don't want you to be there for me, I don't want you to be anywhere near me in the first place! Why can you not understand that?" There was frustration in her voice, perhaps even anger but the presence of Elenár, now stronger than ever, within her stopped her feeling fear in the presence of the Dragon.
As though she had been conjured by the thought, the older woman appeared, walking out of the tree line to stand at Kristen's side. "He never was good at understanding when he was told 'no'. Mystandre, she is not ready, you do not understand what your people did to the rest of us, the reputation that the Dragons still have. A reputation now made worse by the fool who awakened your dear brother."
"Azdeha was not dear to me, he was arrogant and careless. There is no point in ruling the lesser if you do not also guard them; as long as someone else brought him things to hunt he was content to see humans as meat alone. There was a reason I helped your sisters send him to sleep, we were all better off without him. Then you all betrayed me. Oh of course they would not tell you the bargain they had made, nor would they tell you that they had no intention of keeping it, that would be foolish. You had honour and, for all that you still deny it, you loved me."
Kristen found herself feeling sorry for the bitterness in his voice, it was clear he thought that he was the injured party somehow. Her own loyalty kept her from sympathising too deeply though, he was still a Dragon, they were known to be arrogant, manipulative, evil. This was, like as not, just one more trick. "I can feel the earth stirring again, Gaia herself calls to those buried deep within her. The old powers are waking, your own heart tells you that, and nothing can stop what must be." Mystandre had carried on through her thoughts, not noticing or not caring that she was barely listening. Of course it could be that he was focussed on Elenár once more, Kristen could still not be sure if he appreciated the exact position of his former love and the girl whose dreams he was invading. Seeing that the two were happy to concentrate on one another as though she was not present, Kristen took the opportunity to study the Dragon; it was the first chance she had had since her original dream, the one that had sent her flying first to Thierry then to the Council. His face was still flawless, no sign of the scar that he had worn before Elenár arrived, did that mean that he had not been injured yet? It would make sense, after all, what could injure a dragon in such a way that it would be marked millennia later? The hair was straight though, perhaps the years had somehow robbed it of its wave just as they had paled his skin to a shade closer to that of a made vampire than any living creature. The sword was nowhere in sight, nor was the bike...horse...whichever he felt like appearing with at the time she supposed. Of course that, she thought, begs the question how in the Goddess name does he know what a motorbike is? Kristen shook her head, logic didn't seem to have much of a place here, maybe he had pulled the image out of her head, and maybe he had dreams of his own.
"...This is not the place to argue Mystandre, the child is not yours yet and this mind no longer belongs to me alone. My time has gone, we are not immortal, if you truly wake then you must find Kristen yourself and speak with her. She and I share a soul but we are not the same person, I will not allow you to force me to make choices for her." Elenár's voice held an edge of anger now and her words were enough to make Kristen overlook the tendency to refer to her as a child. The Dragon bowed, "So be it then, I shall leave and she and I will continue this when we meet face to face at last. Farewell Elenár, Kristen..." He paused over her name, it was the first time Kristen could remember him actually using it rather than calling her by some endearment. "We will meet soon."
His final words dropped into blackness as the scene faded, Kristen's eyes opened to the red and gold room she was becoming used to. "Well that's something," she muttered to herself, "At least I think he just promised to stay out of my head." Of course he seemed so certain that they would be meeting in the flesh soon that it wasn't as comforting as it might have been otherwise.
14.
Beneath the ancient sands a form stirred. Vast indigo wings shivered, disturbing the dust of millennia and a single deep blue eye blinked slowly. An almost subsonic rumbling began and the sands shifted.
Myst opened his eyes to a blackness that not even draconic vision had a chance of piercing. He remembered the cave he had been left in, not lured and entrapped like so many of his brothers, no, he had walked in with head held high, a disdainful sneer on his face for the witches who thought they could command him. Then he had intended simply giving them a few years respite, perhaps waiting until the original spell casters were dead and returning to take his rightful place amongst their descendants. In the last fifty years he had begun to understand that he had made a catastrophic mistake. It seemed that the witches did not over estimate their power, nor had the loss of one of their inner circle weakened them sufficiently that their binding would not take hold on him.
For fifty years his mind had drifted in and out of consciousness and for fifty years he had watched the world; learning of the changes that had occurred, things that he had not dreamed were possible. At first he had sought only for other shapeshifters, curious as to the status of his erstwhile subjects in this new world, unable to believe the messages his mind gave him he had begun seeking witches, the descendants of the thrice cursed Hearthwoman were easiest to uncover, the family beauty and power undiminished by time. Thus did he discover that the humans had indeed wrested control of the planet from the supernatural races, the Night World as they had apparently taken to calling themselves. What puzzled him the most though were the new minds that he felt, not 'shifter, certainly not human and the faint traces of witch gave him no clue either. For a full decade he followed them and those around them, learning that they were called vampires, learning snippets of their origins and much about how they perceived their place within the world. It was enough to draw a wry chuckle from his sleeping thoughts, these upstarts thought themselves capable of creating a new world order? They had already lost their power once.
Some eighteen years ago he had felt a soft pulling at the edges of his thoughts like the strains of some half remembered melody. Curious, he chose to follow it, chasing down paths of thought that were not his own and always with that faint tugging to guide him until a memory floated to the surface of his mind to make sense of the song. The soul of Elenár Stormlight had been reborn. At this Myst smiled in his sleep, the thought of renewing his acquaintance with the witch leading to pleasant dreams for a time. It was at this time that he began to test the limits of his awareness; his mind slept less now although still his body would not obey his commands. Always practical and ever aware of his own abilities, the dragon chose to ignore his body for now, concentrating instead on sending his mind from it, it was a trick that he had learned once, long ago and found little use for; after all, at that time none would dare bar a dragon from where he wanted to go. Only two years previous he had perfected the trick, first using it to travel some of the land, to see for himself what he had seen through the eyes of others and only then choosing to walk the dreams of his witch.
The body she now wore had dreamed, remembering the last time they spoke, hearing words dredged from the mists of time that suddenly threatened to become a reality. Until that point mind and soul had not recognised one another, he had attempted to talk to the mind that evening but been interrupted, driven out by some other presence. A silent snarl curved his lips, he would hunt out that one and see to it that he saw the error in crossing the will of a dragon. Myst had watched the ritual, rejoicing in seeing the true form of Elenár again yet feeling pangs of sorrow at the death of the one he had known, no matter that it had happened more than an age ago.
More recently another name had caused him to stir, Azdeha, arrogant, foolish Azdeha who thought that physical power was all and cared nothing for the subtleties of more cerebral abilities. The one who had left the witches to their own devices because he was convinced that they could never overcome the might of the Shapeshifters, Azdeha who had let them gather the power to do just that right under his nose! Something, someone had broken the chains of slumber on him and tried to use him to capture a witch girl, a Harman, Hearthwoman. The words of his own prophesy rang in Mystandre's ears. Since then though something had changed; small movements came easier to him, his thoughts ran faster and further like someone tossing on the very edge of wakefulness. Last night he had sent his presence to Elenár again, Kristen as she insisted on calling herself now. The part of her that was still, would always be, Elenár had cast him out, banished his dream presence and told him to seek her out in the flesh. He smiled, he had never been one to disappoint his witch.
Twenty eight thousand years. His mind registered just how long he had slept and the figure was staggering, no wonder then that the world was so much changed. Still, the stars had not changed their form in the sky and his powers had only grown; he was awake and the time had come for him to walk the earth once more. He was not the fool his brother had been and a mere child, even one who wielded such power as the silver haired princess who had struck down Azdeha, would not destroy him. The humans needed someone to keep them in check or the Night World would not have to try too hard to destroy the world as these humans knew it.
A fine rain of sand fell from the roof as the massive form within the cave shifted. The growling became louder and the rain grew heavier, when the sand had risen above his ankles and the first glimmers of moonlight touched his scales, Myst spread his wings to their full extent and powered into the air surrounded by a crackling aura of black fire.
That night the American news channels ran stories about the "mysterious aircraft" that had been sighted somewhere over the Arabian deserts.
The Night World and anything belonging to it are not mine nor do I make any claim to them. They are the property of LJ Smith.
Mystandre, Kristen, Elenár are my own creations.
Chapters 13 and 14 of Sleeping Dragons.
13.
'Not again!' Thought the part of Kristen that realised this was a dream. She stood in a wooded clearing that was all too familiar to her, also familiar was the soft breath behind her, only barely audible on the gentle breeze. Steeling herself she turned to face the one that was in the dream with her. "Mystandre. What do you want?"
The Dragon looked down at her in silence for a while, "Azdeha was awoken, we all felt it. I wished to know that you were unharmed." Kristen gave a snort, "Yeah, right, because we still mean so much to you. I don't know how you're still getting into my dreams but I thought I'd made it clear you are not welcome here."
"And yet I cannot help but notice that you do not have your mysterious benefactor here tonight. Could it be that he has deserted you?" Mystandre raised a hand to the place on his cheek where he had been cut in one of Kristen's previous dreams. "You wonder do you not, cannot help yourself, why did he not help you before? Where was he when your beloved Circle Daybreak stood in greatest peril? You try to avoid admitting it, but you know I will awaken soon, I will not desert you."
"I don't want you to be there for me, I don't want you to be anywhere near me in the first place! Why can you not understand that?" There was frustration in her voice, perhaps even anger but the presence of Elenár, now stronger than ever, within her stopped her feeling fear in the presence of the Dragon.
As though she had been conjured by the thought, the older woman appeared, walking out of the tree line to stand at Kristen's side. "He never was good at understanding when he was told 'no'. Mystandre, she is not ready, you do not understand what your people did to the rest of us, the reputation that the Dragons still have. A reputation now made worse by the fool who awakened your dear brother."
"Azdeha was not dear to me, he was arrogant and careless. There is no point in ruling the lesser if you do not also guard them; as long as someone else brought him things to hunt he was content to see humans as meat alone. There was a reason I helped your sisters send him to sleep, we were all better off without him. Then you all betrayed me. Oh of course they would not tell you the bargain they had made, nor would they tell you that they had no intention of keeping it, that would be foolish. You had honour and, for all that you still deny it, you loved me."
Kristen found herself feeling sorry for the bitterness in his voice, it was clear he thought that he was the injured party somehow. Her own loyalty kept her from sympathising too deeply though, he was still a Dragon, they were known to be arrogant, manipulative, evil. This was, like as not, just one more trick. "I can feel the earth stirring again, Gaia herself calls to those buried deep within her. The old powers are waking, your own heart tells you that, and nothing can stop what must be." Mystandre had carried on through her thoughts, not noticing or not caring that she was barely listening. Of course it could be that he was focussed on Elenár once more, Kristen could still not be sure if he appreciated the exact position of his former love and the girl whose dreams he was invading. Seeing that the two were happy to concentrate on one another as though she was not present, Kristen took the opportunity to study the Dragon; it was the first chance she had had since her original dream, the one that had sent her flying first to Thierry then to the Council. His face was still flawless, no sign of the scar that he had worn before Elenár arrived, did that mean that he had not been injured yet? It would make sense, after all, what could injure a dragon in such a way that it would be marked millennia later? The hair was straight though, perhaps the years had somehow robbed it of its wave just as they had paled his skin to a shade closer to that of a made vampire than any living creature. The sword was nowhere in sight, nor was the bike...horse...whichever he felt like appearing with at the time she supposed. Of course that, she thought, begs the question how in the Goddess name does he know what a motorbike is? Kristen shook her head, logic didn't seem to have much of a place here, maybe he had pulled the image out of her head, and maybe he had dreams of his own.
"...This is not the place to argue Mystandre, the child is not yours yet and this mind no longer belongs to me alone. My time has gone, we are not immortal, if you truly wake then you must find Kristen yourself and speak with her. She and I share a soul but we are not the same person, I will not allow you to force me to make choices for her." Elenár's voice held an edge of anger now and her words were enough to make Kristen overlook the tendency to refer to her as a child. The Dragon bowed, "So be it then, I shall leave and she and I will continue this when we meet face to face at last. Farewell Elenár, Kristen..." He paused over her name, it was the first time Kristen could remember him actually using it rather than calling her by some endearment. "We will meet soon."
His final words dropped into blackness as the scene faded, Kristen's eyes opened to the red and gold room she was becoming used to. "Well that's something," she muttered to herself, "At least I think he just promised to stay out of my head." Of course he seemed so certain that they would be meeting in the flesh soon that it wasn't as comforting as it might have been otherwise.
14.
Beneath the ancient sands a form stirred. Vast indigo wings shivered, disturbing the dust of millennia and a single deep blue eye blinked slowly. An almost subsonic rumbling began and the sands shifted.
Myst opened his eyes to a blackness that not even draconic vision had a chance of piercing. He remembered the cave he had been left in, not lured and entrapped like so many of his brothers, no, he had walked in with head held high, a disdainful sneer on his face for the witches who thought they could command him. Then he had intended simply giving them a few years respite, perhaps waiting until the original spell casters were dead and returning to take his rightful place amongst their descendants. In the last fifty years he had begun to understand that he had made a catastrophic mistake. It seemed that the witches did not over estimate their power, nor had the loss of one of their inner circle weakened them sufficiently that their binding would not take hold on him.
For fifty years his mind had drifted in and out of consciousness and for fifty years he had watched the world; learning of the changes that had occurred, things that he had not dreamed were possible. At first he had sought only for other shapeshifters, curious as to the status of his erstwhile subjects in this new world, unable to believe the messages his mind gave him he had begun seeking witches, the descendants of the thrice cursed Hearthwoman were easiest to uncover, the family beauty and power undiminished by time. Thus did he discover that the humans had indeed wrested control of the planet from the supernatural races, the Night World as they had apparently taken to calling themselves. What puzzled him the most though were the new minds that he felt, not 'shifter, certainly not human and the faint traces of witch gave him no clue either. For a full decade he followed them and those around them, learning that they were called vampires, learning snippets of their origins and much about how they perceived their place within the world. It was enough to draw a wry chuckle from his sleeping thoughts, these upstarts thought themselves capable of creating a new world order? They had already lost their power once.
Some eighteen years ago he had felt a soft pulling at the edges of his thoughts like the strains of some half remembered melody. Curious, he chose to follow it, chasing down paths of thought that were not his own and always with that faint tugging to guide him until a memory floated to the surface of his mind to make sense of the song. The soul of Elenár Stormlight had been reborn. At this Myst smiled in his sleep, the thought of renewing his acquaintance with the witch leading to pleasant dreams for a time. It was at this time that he began to test the limits of his awareness; his mind slept less now although still his body would not obey his commands. Always practical and ever aware of his own abilities, the dragon chose to ignore his body for now, concentrating instead on sending his mind from it, it was a trick that he had learned once, long ago and found little use for; after all, at that time none would dare bar a dragon from where he wanted to go. Only two years previous he had perfected the trick, first using it to travel some of the land, to see for himself what he had seen through the eyes of others and only then choosing to walk the dreams of his witch.
The body she now wore had dreamed, remembering the last time they spoke, hearing words dredged from the mists of time that suddenly threatened to become a reality. Until that point mind and soul had not recognised one another, he had attempted to talk to the mind that evening but been interrupted, driven out by some other presence. A silent snarl curved his lips, he would hunt out that one and see to it that he saw the error in crossing the will of a dragon. Myst had watched the ritual, rejoicing in seeing the true form of Elenár again yet feeling pangs of sorrow at the death of the one he had known, no matter that it had happened more than an age ago.
More recently another name had caused him to stir, Azdeha, arrogant, foolish Azdeha who thought that physical power was all and cared nothing for the subtleties of more cerebral abilities. The one who had left the witches to their own devices because he was convinced that they could never overcome the might of the Shapeshifters, Azdeha who had let them gather the power to do just that right under his nose! Something, someone had broken the chains of slumber on him and tried to use him to capture a witch girl, a Harman, Hearthwoman. The words of his own prophesy rang in Mystandre's ears. Since then though something had changed; small movements came easier to him, his thoughts ran faster and further like someone tossing on the very edge of wakefulness. Last night he had sent his presence to Elenár again, Kristen as she insisted on calling herself now. The part of her that was still, would always be, Elenár had cast him out, banished his dream presence and told him to seek her out in the flesh. He smiled, he had never been one to disappoint his witch.
Twenty eight thousand years. His mind registered just how long he had slept and the figure was staggering, no wonder then that the world was so much changed. Still, the stars had not changed their form in the sky and his powers had only grown; he was awake and the time had come for him to walk the earth once more. He was not the fool his brother had been and a mere child, even one who wielded such power as the silver haired princess who had struck down Azdeha, would not destroy him. The humans needed someone to keep them in check or the Night World would not have to try too hard to destroy the world as these humans knew it.
A fine rain of sand fell from the roof as the massive form within the cave shifted. The growling became louder and the rain grew heavier, when the sand had risen above his ankles and the first glimmers of moonlight touched his scales, Myst spread his wings to their full extent and powered into the air surrounded by a crackling aura of black fire.
That night the American news channels ran stories about the "mysterious aircraft" that had been sighted somewhere over the Arabian deserts.
The Night World and anything belonging to it are not mine nor do I make any claim to them. They are the property of LJ Smith.
Mystandre, Kristen, Elenár are my own creations.
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-18 12:37 pm (UTC)