strength ebbing. “Hmmm, yes. And look where that’s gotten me.”
He grew quiet, and Ryan realized those would be his last words.
Marilyn was standing before an open window of her country chateau, gazing out into the well-manicured courtyard. She had returned to France almost immediately after the Council meeting, waiting only for Ryan to depart, which occurred as soon as the girl had left Abigail’s quarters.
She had been here only a few hours, and was standing before the open window enjoying the beauty of her country when she felt it coming. Instinctively, she grasped the window sill in front of her tightly, bracing herself for the onslaught.
It rushed toward her, accelerating to an impossible speed, then exploded through the window, ripping through her, burning and shredding everything in its path, leaving only an echo of agony behind.
Marilyn stood frozen, gripping the window sill. Her vision gradually returned to normal. The pastoral scene in front of her was unchanged.
But in fact, everything had just changed.
Ala felt the warmth of her mother sun on her ebony skin, and welcomed the deep, mossy smell of the fecund earth. It was renewal for her; she kneeled and dug her hands into the rich, dark soil of her homeland.
She stood and her consorts stood by respectfully, grateful for their Queen’s return. One brought her an elaborately decorated cloth with which to wipe her hands. She took the cloth, honoring the ritual. The hand movement slowed, however, and then stopped. Several of the consorts looked at her with concern as a strange look crossed her features. The cloth dropped to the ground as if in slow motion.
Ala turned to the west, just in time for the wave of agony to overtake her. It sliced through her like shards of ice riding the edge of a bitterly cold wind. It took her breath away, and although she had no need of this air, she felt the loss as keenly as if she did.
She gazed off into the distance, her eyes dark with the knowledge of an approaching storm.
Kusunoki was deep in meditation. His mind was a placid pool, reflecting all and reflecting nothing. Although he had not required oxygen for centuries, he still utilized breathing techniques in his practice. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, the tempo undisturbed by anything in the external world.
Hundreds of years of studied concentration had yielded a mind so perfectly trained that nothing could disturb the utterly still surface of that inner pool. But even so the surface began to tremble, as if agitated by some great force at a distance. Kusunoki attempted to return to stillness, but the surface of the pool began to ripple, then shake violently, as if the force was rapidly getting closer. Kusunoki tried to calm the surface through his iron will, but it was too late, and the pool was caught in a maelstrom, sucked upward into a twisting, violent whirlwind, spraying liquid everywhere.
Kusunoki opened his eyes. He was seated in his meditation chamber, alone. His breathing, which had become harsh and ragged, was stopped. His fists were clenched so tightly that the skin across his knuckles had split wide open. The silence was complete, and the only movement in the utter stillness was the stream of blood that slowly made its way down his arm until it dripped to the floor, forming a perfectly still pool.
Abigail had returned to her private estate, which was decorated in much of the same cool elegance of her Council chambers. As she settled into a pale blue settee, she wondered if the anticipation of an event lessened its impact, or amplified it.
She turned her head ever so slightly to one side. She was about to find out.
The effect was definitely not the former as the anticipation of the force did nothing to lessen its crushing blow. It was impossible to say if the anticipation had amplified the effect because it was of such magnitude, comparisons of size lost meaning.
Abigail let the anguish pass through her like a raging torrent, doing what
He grew quiet, and Ryan realized those would be his last words.
Marilyn was standing before an open window of her country chateau, gazing out into the well-manicured courtyard. She had returned to France almost immediately after the Council meeting, waiting only for Ryan to depart, which occurred as soon as the girl had left Abigail’s quarters.
She had been here only a few hours, and was standing before the open window enjoying the beauty of her country when she felt it coming. Instinctively, she grasped the window sill in front of her tightly, bracing herself for the onslaught.
It rushed toward her, accelerating to an impossible speed, then exploded through the window, ripping through her, burning and shredding everything in its path, leaving only an echo of agony behind.
Marilyn stood frozen, gripping the window sill. Her vision gradually returned to normal. The pastoral scene in front of her was unchanged.
But in fact, everything had just changed.
Ala felt the warmth of her mother sun on her ebony skin, and welcomed the deep, mossy smell of the fecund earth. It was renewal for her; she kneeled and dug her hands into the rich, dark soil of her homeland.
She stood and her consorts stood by respectfully, grateful for their Queen’s return. One brought her an elaborately decorated cloth with which to wipe her hands. She took the cloth, honoring the ritual. The hand movement slowed, however, and then stopped. Several of the consorts looked at her with concern as a strange look crossed her features. The cloth dropped to the ground as if in slow motion.
Ala turned to the west, just in time for the wave of agony to overtake her. It sliced through her like shards of ice riding the edge of a bitterly cold wind. It took her breath away, and although she had no need of this air, she felt the loss as keenly as if she did.
She gazed off into the distance, her eyes dark with the knowledge of an approaching storm.
Kusunoki was deep in meditation. His mind was a placid pool, reflecting all and reflecting nothing. Although he had not required oxygen for centuries, he still utilized breathing techniques in his practice. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, the tempo undisturbed by anything in the external world.
Hundreds of years of studied concentration had yielded a mind so perfectly trained that nothing could disturb the utterly still surface of that inner pool. But even so the surface began to tremble, as if agitated by some great force at a distance. Kusunoki attempted to return to stillness, but the surface of the pool began to ripple, then shake violently, as if the force was rapidly getting closer. Kusunoki tried to calm the surface through his iron will, but it was too late, and the pool was caught in a maelstrom, sucked upward into a twisting, violent whirlwind, spraying liquid everywhere.
Kusunoki opened his eyes. He was seated in his meditation chamber, alone. His breathing, which had become harsh and ragged, was stopped. His fists were clenched so tightly that the skin across his knuckles had split wide open. The silence was complete, and the only movement in the utter stillness was the stream of blood that slowly made its way down his arm until it dripped to the floor, forming a perfectly still pool.
Abigail had returned to her private estate, which was decorated in much of the same cool elegance of her Council chambers. As she settled into a pale blue settee, she wondered if the anticipation of an event lessened its impact, or amplified it.
She turned her head ever so slightly to one side. She was about to find out.
The effect was definitely not the former as the anticipation of the force did nothing to lessen its crushing blow. It was impossible to say if the anticipation had amplified the effect because it was of such magnitude, comparisons of size lost meaning.
Abigail let the anguish pass through her like a raging torrent, doing what
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