A Lament of Moonlight by Travis Simmons

Author:Travis Simmons [Travis Simmons]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wyrding Ways Press
Published: 2015-03-24T07:00:00+00:00

Heat seared the air around Abagail which seemed to fill her lungs with fire, rather than air. Everywhere she looked, towering flames rose up around the edge of the well, crisping the bottom most leaves of the great tree. The grass of the plains around the well were blackened and smoldering. The fire tinged the sky high above her with a violent red that she never thought she would forget.

Abagail stood on the rim of the giant well once more, and watched as all around her as the multitudes of races warred. The once verdant lands of Eget Row ran red with blood and fire. The rivers and streams that flowed out from Elivigar were polluted with death.

A sound in the north drew her attention, and Abagail watched as a great winter storm reared up in the distance, and attacked the smoking land with ice and frost. The frost giants came. Great rivers of frost and ice raced through the fire cracked earth. The banks of the Elivigar crystalized. The air grew colder, but where before the air was nearly too hot to breathe, now it was too cold, burning her lungs in a different way. She shivered, her breath coming out in frozen plumes. The tree behind her popped violently as the chill settled into its depths causing the water of the well to surge around the rim and slosh to the polluted lands below.

The smell of smoke drew her attention to the south. Fire raged up from the plains to the south. Where before ice and frost had dominated, fire once more regained its footing. Blackened smoke rose high into the air carrying on it the smell of flesh and burned hair. Within the clouds of soot, Abagail saw legions of fire giants and twisted devils making their way into the fray.

But then the sounds of battle faded, as if her ears were being muffled with cotton. The smell of death and the fear of war ebbed away from her and Abagail knew only peace. A great shadow fell across the land, smothering out the sun, blanking out the moon, both of which were always present in Eget Row.

When she looked up Abagail saw the giant form of a silver and white wolf before her. It was much larger than it had been when she met him in the Fey Forest, easily large enough to dwarf the storm giants she’d just fought. He looked down on her with his aqua eyes. The smoke and the frost that were raging around the well, taking out the other races of the Nine Worlds didn’t touch his white and silver coat.

She felt a weight in her hand, and Abagail’s attention was diverted to a cruel looking weapon that she held. The spear was clasped in her polluted right hand. Long and thin it ended in an angry curved blade, the edges chipped away. Along its length were markings, runes as she came to understand them: the language of the gods. But this language seemed perverse, not something the gods would speak at all.

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