“What the hell’s a maelstrom?” Anonymous
woman asked but her interlocutor’s
icy prison prevented speech and that must
have smarted, or perhaps his modular
state accounted for his rolling blue eyes.
Winds whipped her as the roof tore free and rose,
lifted by winds encircling a black eye.
The sun, reduced to a brown mote that rose
centered in that eye; its shine’d burned off; left
a cinder, a spherical splinter in
that sky-swallowing eye that left no cleft
unseen from horizon to horizon.
Her thoughts tumbled like wave tossed shells that fell
on her mind’s sand beach, and Maelstrom, it spelled.
~ ~ ~
“I figured that out–” she said as winds tore
with invisible hands at her own mind.
Letter by letter it snatched the word ‘fore
she could find its source and reply in kind.
She’d given up her name but not her pow’r.
“Time to go your frostiness–” shrill chanting,
a canon at the second, cut off her
monologue with its discordant howling.
Each wail lashed at identity’s core, scored
wounds that bled mem’ry and dreams, draining life’s
essence, leaving her excoriated
psyche cracked and breaking up, as her life,
long lived, stutters like a flame being snuffed.
Bits of her sloughed off; holding on was tough.
~ ~ ~
But hold she does and seek winter’s mantle.
Somehow it’s tied to that all-consuming
eye, that evil mind’s drive to dismantle.
Her magic’s questing, finding snow’s cloaking
power and breaking its seal so winter’s
ice crown falls from the Storm King’s surprised brow.
Falling, it changes to an owl, winter’s
bird of choice, its winging far to crown now
a new Storm King and lay the mantle on
another’s shoulders thus freeing the deposed
Storm King, her cadet blue eyed flame whose gone
quite white; his breaking prison poses
no obstacle now that winter’s mantle’s
not feeding it; they’ve still got a battle.
~ ~ ~
Ice shards swept up by wind, turn into knives
that spin, slice flesh as they rocket by, turn,
and come again like group of scorned wives.
More join the first batch and their cold cuts burn
as the ice prison shatters and out falls
the former Storm King; his elemental
magic’s gone but his mind, its power falls–
guillotines the maelstrom’s purely mental
hold freeing Anonymous woman ‘fore
her being’s frayed beyond recall; pieces
falling into place, shroud her naked core
and shield it from that swirling eye, release
her from its stranglehold; sweet relief, bowled
her o’er, made her stagger ’till he caught hold.
~ ~ ~
“Now’d be a good time to do that translate
thing and shift us to somewhere friendlier
to life and limb ‘fore it makes us blank slates–
enslaved puppets who, to its will, adhere.”
Anonymous woman gathered her wits
behind her former husband’s mental shield.
She called up her map, added a grid, split
her attention ‘tween here and far afield.
She selected a car’bbean green square,
ran its coordinates through equations.
Simple algebra yes, but she didn’t dare
attempt transcontinental translation
without working it through first, else tragic
things result when bad math mixed with magic.
~ ~ ~
Coordinate geometry’s result
startled her but she fed it into spells
she’d copied long ago out of a dolt’s
second hand grimoire; she fed pow’r to spells
she’d used to arrive and with a cry, for
she’d not thought to scry, the spell grabbed her waist
and flung her and Istan across space; for
she’d forgotten to account, in her haste,
for the planet’s curvature! So they sped
like thrown balls that gravity snagged and dragged
dirt-wards at high velocity–with dread.
She’d many magical tricks bagged, none tagged
for such a problem, but on the fly, try
she did; their fall slowed; with relief, she sighed.
~ ~ ~
The story continues on Monday, 1/25/2016.; Sarn returns tomorrow.
This post is part of Quest. For other posts in this lyric novella, visit the TOC.
If you enjoy this style of writing, check out Stars and Angels Sing:
It’s also written in verse (sonnets of course!) and set in Shayari. It’s on sale now! Get your copy here.
~ ~ ~