(Previously, on another shard...)
Lazy summer sunlight bathed the room, streaming in through the large double windows in orange sunset rays. Mal wiped the cool cloth against the back of her neck for the umpteenth time. Would that summer would just close already, but even the sea's steady breeze was mild and somewhat sticky, as if in mockery.
The irony of the "paradise" beyond the doors was not lost on her, along with the numerous filled bookshelves surrounding her. How many times had she joked that it would be heaven to be locked up with books to read? She chewed on that thought as she stood and walked to the open doors that opened to the taunting wind.
Calm serenity without, calm serenity within, but still the smoldering coals of anger lingered within her. How many years had she been imprisoned here? As the last of those orange rays winked out on the horizon, she wondered - how much longer?
A small scratching from the back of the room snapped her attention.
What's this now? Mice?
She turned and walked toward the back wall to investigate, grateful for the cooler breeze that was starting to fill the room in the dimming air. Truthfully, she was also grateful for the distraction. There were only so many times one could read Lord British's "Virtue" without going mad.
The scratching grew louder as she drew near and she bent to study the wall where the noise was escaping, her brow furrowed in thought. No mouse here. The foundation was solid stonework. She knew that because she'd formerly scoured every inch in search of even a trace of magical energy.
She was bent over inspecting the baked brickwork when the first small hole erupted with a poof of dust just at eye level. Hasting backward in surprise, she nearly lost her balance, barely managing to maintain her dignity as she grabbed hold of a desktop. In the now darkened room, she could see that a slender green vine had punctured the wall. Straightening, she dusted particles of sandstone from her dress ( and her dignity ) and returned to the wall to inspect the offending foliage.
And then the wall exploded in at her.
She was better prepared this time, skipping backward as larger bits of sand and stone filled the air with a cloud of dust. The only light from the lamp post outside spilled in, illuminating the dusty smog. She coughed a few times to clear debris from her throat as the dust settled, drifting slowly to the floor like airborne silt. As the air cleared she noticed the large hole in the wall and the figure standing within.She dusted herself off hastily as the stranger emerged from the black opening. She stared in silence for several moments and although it was mostly dark in the room Mal could see that her ( for it was a woman ) eyes were violet, almost luminescent.
"You don't belong here." That was all the strange woman said she scanned the room, seeking something. Finally, she turned toward Mal. "Where is he?"
"Where is who?" Mal asked. Behind her, she felt about for anything on the table that might be used in defense, hoping the woman wouldn't notice. Not for the first time, she cursed her abductor. Her "other" had stolen her most sacred possession - her ability with magic.
"Minalan." Mal froze for but a moment as the name dropped. But then a half laugh, somewhat bitter to even her own ears, escaped.
"He is not in this place," she stated calmly.
"The magic doesn't fail." As Mal considered the implication of those words, a soft scuffle sounded behind her.
Both women turned toward the noise, to behold a small boy peering at them in the dim light from across the room. He was clutching a stuffed dwagon in one arm as he watched them with open curiosity. His gaze kept transferring to the ruined wall and back. Instinct moved Mal more into position between the strange woman and the child, her truly most sacred possession.
"Ah," said the stranger, " Well, that explains things. Come along, now." The woman's words were calm, not unfriendly, but expectant.
Mal, her instinct heightened, moved to the child and took his hand protectively. She didn't like this situation at all, had been dreading the helplessness she might be forced to experience without her power. She was effectively pinned, now, with her son in play on this stranger's chess board. She was tense, even somewhat angry.
"Where," she bit out the word threateningly, her own tone foreign to her. Mal noticed now with her dark-adjusted eyes in the streetlamp light that the stranger's hair was completely white.
"Do you really wish to remain in this... prison?" The white haired lady gestured to the library with a sweeping hand.
The woman's expression was mild as she turned back to the hole in the wall, as if to leave them there . Something about the woman calmed Mal, perhaps her apathy, but she hastened to follow, towing her son without fear.
"Where are we going?"
"We're taking you home."
"Who ARE you?" Mal asked as the woman vanished back into the wall and the woman's reply came from the hole as one hollow syllable.
"Ceinwyn."
Lazy summer sunlight bathed the room, streaming in through the large double windows in orange sunset rays. Mal wiped the cool cloth against the back of her neck for the umpteenth time. Would that summer would just close already, but even the sea's steady breeze was mild and somewhat sticky, as if in mockery.
The irony of the "paradise" beyond the doors was not lost on her, along with the numerous filled bookshelves surrounding her. How many times had she joked that it would be heaven to be locked up with books to read? She chewed on that thought as she stood and walked to the open doors that opened to the taunting wind.
Calm serenity without, calm serenity within, but still the smoldering coals of anger lingered within her. How many years had she been imprisoned here? As the last of those orange rays winked out on the horizon, she wondered - how much longer?
A small scratching from the back of the room snapped her attention.
What's this now? Mice?
She turned and walked toward the back wall to investigate, grateful for the cooler breeze that was starting to fill the room in the dimming air. Truthfully, she was also grateful for the distraction. There were only so many times one could read Lord British's "Virtue" without going mad.
The scratching grew louder as she drew near and she bent to study the wall where the noise was escaping, her brow furrowed in thought. No mouse here. The foundation was solid stonework. She knew that because she'd formerly scoured every inch in search of even a trace of magical energy.
She was bent over inspecting the baked brickwork when the first small hole erupted with a poof of dust just at eye level. Hasting backward in surprise, she nearly lost her balance, barely managing to maintain her dignity as she grabbed hold of a desktop. In the now darkened room, she could see that a slender green vine had punctured the wall. Straightening, she dusted particles of sandstone from her dress ( and her dignity ) and returned to the wall to inspect the offending foliage.
And then the wall exploded in at her.
She was better prepared this time, skipping backward as larger bits of sand and stone filled the air with a cloud of dust. The only light from the lamp post outside spilled in, illuminating the dusty smog. She coughed a few times to clear debris from her throat as the dust settled, drifting slowly to the floor like airborne silt. As the air cleared she noticed the large hole in the wall and the figure standing within.She dusted herself off hastily as the stranger emerged from the black opening. She stared in silence for several moments and although it was mostly dark in the room Mal could see that her ( for it was a woman ) eyes were violet, almost luminescent.
"You don't belong here." That was all the strange woman said she scanned the room, seeking something. Finally, she turned toward Mal. "Where is he?"
"Where is who?" Mal asked. Behind her, she felt about for anything on the table that might be used in defense, hoping the woman wouldn't notice. Not for the first time, she cursed her abductor. Her "other" had stolen her most sacred possession - her ability with magic.
"Minalan." Mal froze for but a moment as the name dropped. But then a half laugh, somewhat bitter to even her own ears, escaped.
"He is not in this place," she stated calmly.
"The magic doesn't fail." As Mal considered the implication of those words, a soft scuffle sounded behind her.
Both women turned toward the noise, to behold a small boy peering at them in the dim light from across the room. He was clutching a stuffed dwagon in one arm as he watched them with open curiosity. His gaze kept transferring to the ruined wall and back. Instinct moved Mal more into position between the strange woman and the child, her truly most sacred possession.
"Ah," said the stranger, " Well, that explains things. Come along, now." The woman's words were calm, not unfriendly, but expectant.
Mal, her instinct heightened, moved to the child and took his hand protectively. She didn't like this situation at all, had been dreading the helplessness she might be forced to experience without her power. She was effectively pinned, now, with her son in play on this stranger's chess board. She was tense, even somewhat angry.
"Where," she bit out the word threateningly, her own tone foreign to her. Mal noticed now with her dark-adjusted eyes in the streetlamp light that the stranger's hair was completely white.
"Do you really wish to remain in this... prison?" The white haired lady gestured to the library with a sweeping hand.
The woman's expression was mild as she turned back to the hole in the wall, as if to leave them there . Something about the woman calmed Mal, perhaps her apathy, but she hastened to follow, towing her son without fear.
"Where are we going?"
"We're taking you home."
"Who ARE you?" Mal asked as the woman vanished back into the wall and the woman's reply came from the hole as one hollow syllable.
"Ceinwyn."