An excerpt from my new (and yet to be released) title... One hand withdrew into the inky depths. Behr held his breath and willed the hand to reemerge, making a very small motion to bid its return with his finger. With all his will he cheered the progress before the loss, before the hand disappeared. The second hand and one leg suddenly broke the surface as if the man had leapt from the other side. He struggled against some unseen leverage plied against him, clinging and pulling. His torso came into view with the profile of his face, as rivulets ran from black to grey draining thin from his skin. A large wound in the gut showed, black and red-sore. The look in his eye was of wild desperation. He pulled with all his strength. Strain etched its lines into his ashy face as he reached and failed to grasp the table’s edge. He fell again; losing any ground the magickal surface tension gave him. He was gone and black ripples swimming over the altar top swallowed all trace he had ever been. Sadness flooded the room. Something else seized Behr. Again, he willed his master forward or upward, yes it was upward. Upward. He raised himself to his toes and gave a small, silent hop. A second later, the surface of the table shattered. Atop the table lay a naked, mortally wounded Maramore.
Posted on: Thu, 13 Jun 2013 19:53:19 +0000
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