Read Online Mistress Of The Ages (In Her Name, Book 9) by Michael R. Hicks - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael R. Hicks
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voices of the Desh-Ka who still survived.
Staggering to her feet in the wailing gale, the blood that poured from her body swept away in a fine mist that was consumed by the motes, she raised her arms to the sky that she no longer had eyes to see. She opened her mouth, breathed in deep, inviting more of the motes into her body, and screamed. At first it was a scream of anguish, of loss. Then it became a rage-filled wail that exploded from her bleeding lungs.
A torrent of lightning burst from her hands. Had any of the priests or priestesses of the Desh-Ka been witness to the spectacle, they would have fallen to their knees, struck dumb with awe. The power that Keel-Tath sent into the angry black cloud around her was more than the entire priesthood at its height, all working in unison, could have conjured forth.
More and more energy poured from her tattered body as she channeled the power of the Desh-Ka Crystal of Souls. Had the energy been focused at a single point, it could have driven a sun-hot spear right to the moon’s cold heart, shattering it like a glass marble struck with a mighty hammer. Instead, it swirled around her in a mimicry of the black wind, which now howled at incredible speed across the moon’s surface from every point of the compass, drawn to her like iron dust to an irresistibly powerful magnet.
The storm of lightning and dark matter became a colossal funnel cloud whirling above her, its power holding what was left of her body upright while she, in turn, somehow kept it rooted to the ground. She had stopped screaming, for her lungs had been sundered and she no longer had breath to give. Her heart, attacked by the vicious particles, gave a last shuddering beat before it hung still in her chest. Her mind floated in the center of the growing maelstrom, for in that one place could she find peace.
It was then that the tiny black motes began to bind themselves to the lightning that yet crackled from her hands, still growing in intensity. Flaring in brief white sparks, the transformed motes began to fall from the cloud like a galaxy of tiny stars shining against the glossy black obsidian of the moon’s surface.
More and more of the white stars flared into life, many of them traveling down the funnel toward her as if seeking out the source of the energy that had given them life. As they englobed her in blinding luminescence, the pain in her body eased, then disappeared, replaced by a comforting warmth. Where the black motes had torn her apart bit by tiny bit, so the white motes rebuilt her. Her heart began to beat again, and her lungs drew breath. Her flesh and skin were again made whole, as were her eyes and mouth.
An intense sensation of heat, not enough to cause pain, around her neck drew her attention. Reaching with unsure hands, she felt something that had not been there before. It was a smooth round band, a collar. As she ran her fingertips along its smooth surface, the heat quickly faded.
Opening her eyes, she saw the walls of the funnel cloud swirling around her at an impossible speed, about as far away as the edge of the crater had been when she had come to this spot. But the crater was no longer there. She stood, instead, on a field of stars that looked exactly the same as they might had she been suspended deep in space. But this was so clear, the stars — every one unique — so bright, she felt she could reach out and touch them with her fingers.
“What we accomplished in ages past,” a familiar voice said, “you will multiply a thousand fold, perhaps more.”
Keel-Tath turned to see Anuir-Ruhal’te standing beside her. “Are you here?" she asked. “Are you real?”
With a sad smile, the ancient oracle said, “I am only an echo of what I once was, my only purpose to await your coming.”
Reaching out a hand, Keel-Tath tried to touch her ancient progenitor, but her hand passed through Anuir-Ruhal’te as if she were nothing but mist. “What is this place?” Keel-Tath
Staggering to her feet in the wailing gale, the blood that poured from her body swept away in a fine mist that was consumed by the motes, she raised her arms to the sky that she no longer had eyes to see. She opened her mouth, breathed in deep, inviting more of the motes into her body, and screamed. At first it was a scream of anguish, of loss. Then it became a rage-filled wail that exploded from her bleeding lungs.
A torrent of lightning burst from her hands. Had any of the priests or priestesses of the Desh-Ka been witness to the spectacle, they would have fallen to their knees, struck dumb with awe. The power that Keel-Tath sent into the angry black cloud around her was more than the entire priesthood at its height, all working in unison, could have conjured forth.
More and more energy poured from her tattered body as she channeled the power of the Desh-Ka Crystal of Souls. Had the energy been focused at a single point, it could have driven a sun-hot spear right to the moon’s cold heart, shattering it like a glass marble struck with a mighty hammer. Instead, it swirled around her in a mimicry of the black wind, which now howled at incredible speed across the moon’s surface from every point of the compass, drawn to her like iron dust to an irresistibly powerful magnet.
The storm of lightning and dark matter became a colossal funnel cloud whirling above her, its power holding what was left of her body upright while she, in turn, somehow kept it rooted to the ground. She had stopped screaming, for her lungs had been sundered and she no longer had breath to give. Her heart, attacked by the vicious particles, gave a last shuddering beat before it hung still in her chest. Her mind floated in the center of the growing maelstrom, for in that one place could she find peace.
It was then that the tiny black motes began to bind themselves to the lightning that yet crackled from her hands, still growing in intensity. Flaring in brief white sparks, the transformed motes began to fall from the cloud like a galaxy of tiny stars shining against the glossy black obsidian of the moon’s surface.
More and more of the white stars flared into life, many of them traveling down the funnel toward her as if seeking out the source of the energy that had given them life. As they englobed her in blinding luminescence, the pain in her body eased, then disappeared, replaced by a comforting warmth. Where the black motes had torn her apart bit by tiny bit, so the white motes rebuilt her. Her heart began to beat again, and her lungs drew breath. Her flesh and skin were again made whole, as were her eyes and mouth.
An intense sensation of heat, not enough to cause pain, around her neck drew her attention. Reaching with unsure hands, she felt something that had not been there before. It was a smooth round band, a collar. As she ran her fingertips along its smooth surface, the heat quickly faded.
Opening her eyes, she saw the walls of the funnel cloud swirling around her at an impossible speed, about as far away as the edge of the crater had been when she had come to this spot. But the crater was no longer there. She stood, instead, on a field of stars that looked exactly the same as they might had she been suspended deep in space. But this was so clear, the stars — every one unique — so bright, she felt she could reach out and touch them with her fingers.
“What we accomplished in ages past,” a familiar voice said, “you will multiply a thousand fold, perhaps more.”
Keel-Tath turned to see Anuir-Ruhal’te standing beside her. “Are you here?" she asked. “Are you real?”
With a sad smile, the ancient oracle said, “I am only an echo of what I once was, my only purpose to await your coming.”
Reaching out a hand, Keel-Tath tried to touch her ancient progenitor, but her hand passed through Anuir-Ruhal’te as if she were nothing but mist. “What is this place?” Keel-Tath
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