Queen of Daggers, pt 2

Crossposted to Fiery Notes.

When she rematerialised a few moments away from the temple, Maiso did not hesitate. The usual disorientation that followed a displacement was shaken off in her determination to reach her destination. She went immediately to her small hiding place just inside the borders of the city to an old and hidden shrine. It was here that her God and Master had first spoken to her all those many years ago, and she had protected it ever since. He had met her in many places, but this remained one of their favourites.

Despite the bravado she proclaimed, she had not expected to see those eyes again, and especially not so soon. Had the years really passed that fast? They would have had to, for the child to become a woman. By Mio, but that had been a shock. She had taken the form of the girl without knowing who she truly was. That was a mistake she intended not to repeat again.

As soon as she stepped into the shrine, a feeling of peace and tranquillity fell upon her. The steps she took towards the altar assured her thus. The God was here, and he was present. Sometimes she had to call upon him, but today he was here. She felt the day’s surprise falling away.

“My Lord, thy servant begs your permission,” she went down on one knee before the tablet decorated with flowers.

“Speak, child,” he was in an unusually generous mood today.

“As thy ordered me, so I returned,” holding her hand in front of her, she slashed her wrist.

The black blood fell into the bowl in front of her, draining her and the memories of the woman she had earlier taken. The woman’s memories were many, and privately she had wondered if the Lord meant to kill her, for she was very sure that she would run out of blood before the woman’s memories were drained, but the Lord did as he would.

“That is enough, Sister,” a tender hand closed over her bleeding wound, the scaly blue green skin contrasting pleasantly against her own light green skin. The newcomer also healed her wound by his touch, holding her wrist firmly. “Father, you will drain her if she continues,” Maiso could only look at the handsome young man as he held her wrist. She was already feeling dizzy from the loss of blood.

There was silence for a moment, and as Maiso’s strength returned, she sought to remove the man’s hand from her. Yet his hand was firm and he stood a great deal taller than her. He was more reptilian in look than she was; her human heritage as shameful as it was, had given her body a slight hourglass shape even when she was in her true form before the God and short dark hair over her head, in what the humans called a boycut. He, on the other hand, was merely tall and powerful; he lacked the muscularity the humans had, but his body was slim and he was hairless.

“Take a care of this child, my son. She is dear to my heart. My child, listen to him, for he shall be my voice in the absence. Be prepared; the Daughters of Death know you still live and they will hunt for you. You must find the Keys before the Daughters find you, and take hold of the Gateways by the coming of the Third Moon.”

The presence left, leaving Maiso bereft and empty. The bowl was empty though, in front of her, even though she knew that it was half-filled earlier. He had accepted her offering at least.

“Come now, Sister. We have not time,” the male pulled her to her feet gently and left the shrine holding her closely. There would be time enough for introductions later.

As they left, Maiso could feel an illusion spell settling upon her. By the time they left the shrine, she had reverted back to her previous human form of a tall, black-haired woman with grey eyes. He, she sneaked a glance, stood taller than she was, with dark hair, a chiseled face and boyish eyes. Yet there was a care about him when he supported her.

He hailed a cab and directed the man to her apartment. Within moments, not even being able to ask how he knew her address, she was asleep.

2 Responses

  1. DMJ January 14, 2009 / 1:03 AM

    If anything, I am always in awe at how much you can write and how you force yourself to write. That’s some serious willpower right there.

    Geminianeyes: It’s not so much me forcing myself to write as it is a compulsion. If I don’t write, it feels like something went horribly wrong.

  2. DMJ January 14, 2009 / 10:51 AM

    In that case, that compulsion is what I sorely need in my life.

    Geminianeyes: Well, I suppose it comes from treating my characters as real human beings. Or as real as they want to be, which is why the compulsion exists. :3

    BTW, you’re not free from this Friday to Sunday, right?

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