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{Turquoise Woman again. The rippling tides of Man's affairs are tedious to me.
You struggle to no avail. In the end, you all die. But your words are fascinating.
I have been reading DreamSinger's strange journal. In a vain effort to rescue my adopted son, Samuel McCord,
from the Hell to which he had written him, DreamSinger has traveled there himself. Once there,
though he has given himself the gift of absorbing the speed, strength, and toughness of all he met, he was soon surrounded by doomed, angry souls.
Death, astride the fading unicorn, Epona, has saved him for the moment with her fatal scream. Let DreamSinger's journal take us from there ...}
I said low, "That was ... impressive."
"Hush! Attack is coming from the skies."
I looked up, and my jaw dropped. She wasn't joking. Attack was putting it mild.
I was being flanked from above. From the West came a flying swirl of seven strange women, their short white hair fluttering in the wind of their soaring.
Brilliant green dresses parted as they flew, showing long alabaster legs. Their gray cloaks flapped violently like fabric wings.
Red eyes flashed as they spotted us. They erupted in a terrible wailing that seemed to me like an ear-piercing combination of a goose's screech, a wolf's mournful howl, and the utter hopelessness of an abandoned child's cry.
As they swept down from above, the leader stiffened and waved back her sisters. "No! This one hast healed a unicorn. We are the Mna' Sige. We do not war on such a one as this. Come, sisters!"
The Mna' Sige closest to the leader pointed with a long, scragly finger to the East. "It is too late. We must stay to sing his Death Song. Look hence, the Klage-Weib."
I turned towards where the apparition pointed. Even Epona gasped in horror. My scalp prickled.
When I'd used up all my fingers and toes, I stopped counting the Klage-Weib. But their numbers were the least of my worries; the worst of them was the creatures' size.
Three stories high and the width of two Mac trucks, they seemed to blot out the flame-boiling skies. The Klage-Weib wore rotted grave clothes with hair the color of sin and moon-white skulls for faces.
Epona stumbled and nearly fell. She was past her limits. Her over-taxed heart was going to burst.
Death whispered in my ear, "It is no coincidence I chose her to ride."
"No!," I cried.
I placed my palm on her quivering flesh and spoke as a storyteller of Lakota myth, "And so to spare Epona's life, he poured all his borrowed speed, strength, and endurance into his friend."
A drain seemed to open within me, leeching me of most of my strength. Epona surged forward with a gasp of pure joy and relief.
Death murmured in my ear, "Icicupi {'sacrifice' in Lakota.} If you choose to live like a Lakota warrior, then you will die like one."
***
You struggle to no avail. In the end, you all die. But your words are fascinating.
I have been reading DreamSinger's strange journal. In a vain effort to rescue my adopted son, Samuel McCord,
from the Hell to which he had written him, DreamSinger has traveled there himself. Once there,
though he has given himself the gift of absorbing the speed, strength, and toughness of all he met, he was soon surrounded by doomed, angry souls.
Death, astride the fading unicorn, Epona, has saved him for the moment with her fatal scream. Let DreamSinger's journal take us from there ...}
I said low, "That was ... impressive."
"Hush! Attack is coming from the skies."
I looked up, and my jaw dropped. She wasn't joking. Attack was putting it mild.
I was being flanked from above. From the West came a flying swirl of seven strange women, their short white hair fluttering in the wind of their soaring.
Brilliant green dresses parted as they flew, showing long alabaster legs. Their gray cloaks flapped violently like fabric wings.
Red eyes flashed as they spotted us. They erupted in a terrible wailing that seemed to me like an ear-piercing combination of a goose's screech, a wolf's mournful howl, and the utter hopelessness of an abandoned child's cry.
As they swept down from above, the leader stiffened and waved back her sisters. "No! This one hast healed a unicorn. We are the Mna' Sige. We do not war on such a one as this. Come, sisters!"
The Mna' Sige closest to the leader pointed with a long, scragly finger to the East. "It is too late. We must stay to sing his Death Song. Look hence, the Klage-Weib."
I turned towards where the apparition pointed. Even Epona gasped in horror. My scalp prickled.
When I'd used up all my fingers and toes, I stopped counting the Klage-Weib. But their numbers were the least of my worries; the worst of them was the creatures' size.
Three stories high and the width of two Mac trucks, they seemed to blot out the flame-boiling skies. The Klage-Weib wore rotted grave clothes with hair the color of sin and moon-white skulls for faces.
Epona stumbled and nearly fell. She was past her limits. Her over-taxed heart was going to burst.
Death whispered in my ear, "It is no coincidence I chose her to ride."
"No!," I cried.
I placed my palm on her quivering flesh and spoke as a storyteller of Lakota myth, "And so to spare Epona's life, he poured all his borrowed speed, strength, and endurance into his friend."
A drain seemed to open within me, leeching me of most of my strength. Epona surged forward with a gasp of pure joy and relief.
Death murmured in my ear, "Icicupi {'sacrifice' in Lakota.} If you choose to live like a Lakota warrior, then you will die like one."
***
I'm hoping the first group will war with the second group, thus reducing the number of opponents he must face.
ReplyDeleteIf he must die, he does so with honor. But there HAS TO BE AN OUT. There just has to be....
DreamSinger's path is full of twists and pot-holes. And in a very real sense, no Lakota dies alone.
ReplyDeleteHmmmm, I don't know if that's supposed to cheer me up or console me....*pouting*
ReplyDeleteIt takes courage to kill of a character, especially one that's so well loved and central. But it's understandable sometimes, and, in some cases, necessary. Doesn't mean I like it. I just understand....*looking defiantly at the screen*
Words Crafter : The Lakota have a saying : there is no death; there is only a change in worlds.
ReplyDeleteAnd tomorrow night's post echoes that. A ride through Hell never ends where we think it will. Ask Virgil.
I, for one, am hoping the Lakota are right about the change in worlds. Great post, as usual and I hope you are feeling well.
ReplyDeleteVery exciting.
ReplyDeleteStepping up the action! I'm in love with the warrior side; you know how I enjoy battle. And the build up is exciting.
ReplyDelete......dhole
I haven't had a chance to stop by in a while so I had to do a bit of reading to catch up. Wow am I glad I did! Great story, and a perfectly spooky picture to go with it!
ReplyDelete