Daily Snippit: High/Second World Fantasy

[UPDATE: Now edited for spelling, grammar, but the incoherence is still there. ^_~]

When I’m Nyquil’d up I can dance the horrors in my head in line. Make the sing and bow and play to words upon a page. I read too much Hitchcock as a child and my nightmare muses dream in wrath and blood-drenched laughter.

Original works, not fanfic. Given freely to all to read, but still under copyright, so no copying! Ha. Rough draft, be warned, written while Nyquil’d. Death follows, head ye well.


Sleep, sweet dreams so close, so far I can touch them. Floating on the edge of dying, bound by chains of silver thread. Mercurial bands that bind me, hold me, force me to another’s will. A little death to sake my hunger, furry, sharp and vapid. He cannot keep me here forever.

“You’re sure it’s safe?” The older man looked at the writhing blue spirit, encased in the silver cage. “What happens if it, she–”

“Nothing.” The younger man snapped the book closed that he had been reading and dropped it on the desk with a thud. A tiny cloud of dust, woven through with tiny lightnings arose and then subsided around the magical tome. “I spent five years on this, Kerith, five years. I’ve crossed every t, dotted every i, the bindings are secure.” He tapped the top of the cage and watching the trapped spirit pulse and shudder. “She’s mine and she’ll stay that way.” He gave the cage an almost loving caress, “Forever.”

“It’s not natural.”

“Of course not, that’s the point.” He turned and gave the older man a thoughtful look. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“No, no.” Kerith tore his gaze away from the cage and met Harn’s gaze. “You’re right, as always.” Kerith patted his nephew’s shoulder and the younger man smiled with genuine affection. “Your mother always was the brains, you know, and you’ve got her head for planning. I don’t suppose you’ve gotten her to make one yet?”

“Not yet. She’s been through two mice and a rabbit already. I think it’s time we looked for larger prey.” It was a predatory smile now, one the older man returned with enthusiasm. “A hunt then?”

“A hunt!”

– – – – –

The prey was easily found, and even more easily entrapped. A few coins to buy the bottle and a short wait for someone to notice it lying unmarred in the alleyway. The drunkard barely had time to register the taste of the draught before the potion worked its magic. Now paralyzed, the man was limp and proved more complicated to move than had been expected. Kerith was forced to use a strengthening spell just to get him on the horse. The tiny wisp of magic went unnoticed by the guard patrols and the two were able to retreat, their terrified victim in tow.

– – – – –

A great gush of life. So thick and vibrant. A river of light to bathe in, swim in, drown in. but no, the silver wires still bind me. Cutting. Burning, driving back to life what so dearly yearns to be dead. He shall pay for this. The singer. I shall make him beg for death, and show him what it is to burn. Yearn. Tormented in the nearness of release.

The blue mist churned and boiled and finally, after a long pause, gave birth to a golden egg trapped neatly within the silver cage. Kerith and his nephew celebrated with a glass of brandy, then began the laborious process of extracting the egg. If it had been true gold, they would have never brought it out, but it was not. What it was exactly, neither was sure, but Harn had deduced from years of research that it would dissolve in water, after a time. Then the water might be run past a hammered sheet of copper and the gold would reappear upon in. Drawn in by the common spirit of the metal. It was a slow process and it was nearly a month later before the last of it had been transferred.

(To be continued…)


And now I’ve lost the thought, so I suppose this is the snippit for today. I have more, of Kerith and Harn using the not-gold to awake the fire salamander that is the heraldic symbol of their house. Of the battle between the blue spirit and her captors. Of the battle between houses as the House of Fire petitions to re-admittance in the Circle of houses. (They lost their membership when their house totem died.) There is more death and bound spirits, and magic, and some political wrangling, and a whole bunch of other goodies locked inside my head. But I am sick, and I am sleepy, and I shall write no more tonight.

Martha Bechtel

My name is Martha Bechtel and I write fantasy and science fiction stories, paint small model horses silly colors, cast resin and plaster magnets, code random code (and Wordpress plugins)... Come on in and join in the fun!

This Post Has 2 Comments

  1. darqstar

    Wow, this comes off as really creepy. Is that the goal? Cause if so, it’s really working.

    1. Martha Bechtel

      Yup! Gothic and creepy and leaning towards horror in places. Now I just have to hammer it into something coherent. ^_^

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