From my story, "Blood and Ash": “It’s always farther,” Boudica muttered. The ever present ash covered her – covered them both – a crumbly shroud. “The closer that we get.” Only the red and black of their wounds showed against the soot. ...“We’ve met before, you know. Met every day since you died. With every passing day our meeting comes sooner, as your acceptance of your death draws near. For whatever reason, our blood and our fates are tied here.” “You are one of the Celtings,” Beowulf said. “Aye,” Boudica replied. “And you are a Geat.” “I am the ring bearer of Hygelac.” “I know,” Boudica said. A grim smile crept through her ash. “The fire you seek - It is the dracan’s fire, the burning of your Hall and your thanes, your shield men and your…” Boudica doubled over. Coughing spasms claimed her. The sordid bile of her wound drained away. Only the rasp of her breath held constant as a trembling took her. Beowulf seized her. “…For me it is the burning of my tribe, my people.” Boudica held steady as an agonizing breath passed through her. “Beneath the torch of a roman legion.” She turned up to him. Where her mouth should have been, where the rot of poison hadn’t taken it, the ghost of a smile remained. It still showed at the corners of her eyes. “I’m hoping you will disappear when I reach them.” The corners of Beowulf’s eyes softened. “But you will find no solace there,” a woman’s voice said, soft but strong, and thick with ash. “Either of you. For there is but a phantom, a wisp.” The woman stood amidst the burnt out hollows of the forest, wrapped in a hooded bleak cloak that clung to her like damp flesh, the dracan’s or perhaps the roman’s, fire shimmered like a tapestry behind her. The woman pulled away her matted cowl. Barren flesh, tortured and burned, cried out until something less than her humanity remained. “My name is Joan,” the woman said. “And I’m here to rescue you.”
Posted on: Tue, 02 Jul 2013 04:03:50 +0000
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