I have been in a heavy writing mode, and cannot seem to stop. For today's blog, sit back and enjoy this (very) rough little snippet of who knows, things to come?
"That's it, Alistar. Now try the move at a diagonal angle."
Alistar gripped the sword handles lightly in each hand, feeling for the balance upon his palms as he readied to make the toss his sensei requested. Having to perform in two months time required him to have the pattern perfected.
He half-stepped, swung the swords in a tight arc, then flicked his wrist to make the first toss when the mirrors along the wall shattered. He stared in shock. The tossed sword, forgotten, bounced on the ground nearby. The blade in his left hand felt heavy as his hand gripped the handle.
Lights flashed then went out and a terrible heat enveloped him. His Master cried out and an ominous crunching sound echoed around him, as if large jaws were munching bones. The noise made the hairs on his arms stand up and a shiver to course down his spine.
A sudden force from behind thrust Alistar forward, toward the void that had once been the mirrors of the studio. He stumbled and fell into the yawning hole. Moments later, he landed on solid ground, his feet hitting hard, making his teeth snap. Trying not to panic, he closed his eyes against the darkness. The smooth ground beneath his bare feet felt slick, like glass, but beach-sand hot to the touch. He stepped lightly, but if he didn't find a cool spot soon, the soles of his feet would burn.
The heat made his whole body sweat and choked the airways of his throat. He slowed his breaths, but even this was agonizing.
The silence around him seemed deceiving. He wanted to call out, but kept silent. Something, or someone, waited for him to speak, to move, to attack. He kept up his guard, ready to strike at the first hint of trouble.
"Master," he called softly, testing his surroundings as well as needing to find his sensei.
Out of mercy for his feet, Alistar continued to move. He progressed slowly and always alternated the direction of his steps. The pain in his feet grew, but he pushed away the sensations to focus on his sightless surroundings. He almost jumped when his little toe brushed a soft edge. Not sure if he had touched a different kind of ground or an attacker, he made as if he were continuing his same easy steps, but reached out with his foot and brushed against the edge again. Becoming bold, even as his heart thundered in his ears, he stepped closer, then directly onto the soft surface.
Immediately, his foot encountered the blessed coolness of dewy morning grass. He firmed his step and eased his other foot onto the soothing surface, but it was hard not to let down his guard. All he wanted to do was lay on the wet grass and roll around.
"Go ahead," a soft feminine voice whispered against his ear. "Lay down."
His body went still and alert.
"Who are you?" he asked, matching her whisper. He could hear his heart rushing through his body. Damn it, should he have attacked instead of spoke?
"I am who you need me to be, Alistar. I can be your enemy, or I can be your savior. It will be your decision to make."
"I don't understand."
A soft kiss landed on his lips. The kiss mesmerized him, consumed him. He leaned forward, wanting more, but met nothing.
"I don't need you to understand, Alistar. When I come to you next, you will tell me."
He shook his head, upset that a mere kiss could distract him. His damn sword arm hung loose by his side, his hand about to lose his grip. "Wait," he said a little louder. "Who are you? What do you mean you'll tell me later? Let me see-"
Alistar's words were cut off as his body was again thrust, this time backward. He stumbled, confused and disoriented. When he regained his footing, he found himself back in the studio, as if the past moments never happened. His sensei walked out of his office and stopped when he spied Alistar.
"Where in God's name have you been, Alistar? I've been worried about you. You walked out in the middle of our lesson a month ago and no one's seen you since. Are you okay?"
Alistar let his body sink to the mat beneath his bare feet.
He'd been gone a month? No. He didn't think he'd ever be okay again.
Have a great week everyone!
IWSG: Fearless Writing
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