Stormchild: Emeline and the Forest Mage

what was and is and is to come

Her kiss so sweet so sharp so sure

Äbädä the ageless

She'll have your soul

The voice that sang embodied a woman. The river woman. Sweat dripped from Färin's limbs. Her skin was moist under his, each thrust a burst of pleasure, each touch like the heavens. He swept her hair from her face. They shared breaths. Her brown eyes stirred Färin's thumping heart.

"Färin," she breathed. A shiver of ecstasy shook him. Holy Fathers. He was hers, she his. He smiled the most honest smile he'd ever smiled.

"I will have your soul," she whispered. The whisper turned to a hiss.

Färin frowned.

Her eyes swirled, whirlpools of desire. The texture of her chest changed, and when he looked down, he recoiled at the green scales covering her torso. What the...?

Claw-like fingers gripped his neck and squeezed, hands larger than a woman as delicate as she should have, bumpy green with long nails on each finger. Was it still a her?

He choked. No air. Her eyes swirled and swirled, but the lack of oxygen! Panic coursed through his body and he clawed at her—its—repulsive maws. "Stop," he shouted, but it came out as a hoarse whisper.

The creature's smile spread to unnatural proportions, its jaw of sharp needle-like teeth gleamed.

"Help," he croaked. His body jerked of its own. Death. He was dying. His vision started to darken, his hands slacked though he willed them to strike out. His eyelids drooped though he fought them open. Stop! He willed it to end, but there was no hope of that.

Then a shadow loomed over the creature's face. Hands peeled away the claws grabbing his throat and he gasped and swayed dizzily at the wave of oxygen. Still straddling the woman, he breathed as deeply as possible, but when he realised where he sat he immediately scrambled off the green body. The thing no longer moved. It lay still and lifeless, and Färin wondered at that. Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice screamed 'run,' but it was distant and hushed. As he stood rubbing at his neck and inspecting the woman-shaped creature's body, he realised he remembered this dream. This had happened before. Äbädä.

A chill ran up his spine. He was dreaming, of course. He looked around, noticed he was naked and cursed, and noticed also that where he stood a shaft of light illuminated them, but beyond the small circle of light there was only darkness.

In the darkness he heard strange noises. Instead of the echoes of water dripping or the clicks and screeches of cave animals, he heard whimpering. The whimpering tugged at his heart string like only one thing could, and in a moment he forgot about the green-blue corpse at his feet and lunged into the shadows.

'Sheyå?' he called, searching, feeling the rocks. 'Sheyå! Where are you, I hear you!'

The whimpering paused. Ahead he heard a whisper of words, breathy and indistinct. He ran.

'Is that you Färin?' Sheyå whispered somewhere in the shadows.

A tear broke through the hardness of his heart and spilled from his face. 'It's me. I'm here. Everything's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay.' Frantically he searched for her, straining his ears, focusing on the textures his fingers encountered. And he could not find her.

'Where are you?' he asked.

She sniffed and he heard her moving. 'I'm scared,' she said. 'It's so dark.'

Another tear welled up and with it a wave of emotion. 'I know dear, I know. Tell me where you are so I can find you.'

'It's cold,' she whispered, 'and so wet.' Her little voice trembled and she sniffled again.