I'll be posting the reboot of my 6-year-old pagan inspired novel, The Red Thread Tapestry" in this topic. The posts will push the character limit and make take a while to load on slower connections. Please enjoy and if you feel so inclined, let me know what you think (if you're not comfortable posting thoughts on it, you can always PM me with questions or clarifications.) Anyway, I hope you like it!
---
The Red Thread Tapestry
I
The ringing clang of hammer to blade rang out in the hot, dusty air. The bladesmith paused to stand beside the forge for a moment, to wipe beads of sweat from his brow before continuing his tradesman’s song. He felt himself shiver despite the heat: something stroked his consciousness as it had every day since he took up his hammer to aid the mining company’s lone cutler, forging or fixing eating knives for the workers who often spent weeks at a time in the darkened depths. Though the hours were long and the breaks few, there were tradesmen willing to kill their fellows for a position at a mine known to bring better than usual pay for such employment and seemingly endless work.
The black depths, which loomed just beyond the sun-reached halls in which he labored, were bored long before he or his father’s line dreamed of anything more than hunting or foraging.
The black cavern, known to the humans that toiled within as the Under-Mount, stretched far beyond the means of mortals. Whether it was nature or the strange creatures in their forest home that rendered the seemingly endless caverns, the majority of men who worked within seemed to care for little else than the precious ore and crystals they harvested in exchange for their daily bread. A few among them, with eyes able to look beyond what the waking world presented, felt the occasional pangs of the past and rarely traveled beyond where sunlight could reach.
A light came to the bladesmith’s black-bearded face that did not pulse from his fiery forge. The constant ringing came to an end as he looked up to see the forms of one of the mine’s foreman and a few of the more burly miners behind a dust-coated lantern.
“Yes?” the blade smith coughed as he stood and stretched his massive arms and ox-strong back in the tall mineshaft.
“We found something in one of the deep pockets. We need your particular expertise,” the thin, brown-haired foreman curtly spoke.
“Did someone break a pick? You need to see the blacksmith for that,” the bladesmith spoke and did his best to keep his tone even as the foreman cast him a mocking look. The bladesmith had seen that expression on the carefree young man turned foreman’s face many times in their 30 years of tense friendship, but despite the familiarity, an inner heat always found its way to his cheeks.
The foreman, born Jacob Wallace to his Gods-fearing parents, looked to the bladesmith’s rune-adorned garb and nature-made charms with a blunted sneer.
“Not that kind of expertise…” Wallace paused, emphasis placed on the implication between his words. The bladesmith paused and cast his deep-brown gaze like a warning spell. The foreman remained silent for a moment and resisted the urge to take a step back.
“I can't help you. Find one of the others,” the bladesmith gruffly spoke as he turned to continue his work.
“This is not a request.”
“What makes you think I can help you where they can’t?” the bladesmith gruffly spoke and crossed his hairy arms.
“I know your devotion to the new ways is stronger than most. Besides, these whelps couldn’t tell a specter from a simple shadow,” the foreman asserted.
“Just do it, Brun. Shut him up,” one of the minors, similarly dressed in rune-bathed but work-worn clothes, pleaded, causing several other workers to grunt in agreement. The blade smith known to his village as Brun Bladesmith, looked to his friends and drinking companions with a twinge of betrayal in his rich, brown eyes before laying down his hammer and following the plain, clean-dressed foreman and his men deep into the mountain.
As the workers traveled into the darkness, Brun could feel strange energy flowing along the walls. His perceptive eyes could pick up small, flashing lights that the miners attributed to the mundane sparks from simple tools or a tired mind. But Brun waded through the space as if the energy was a slowly flowing river that caught him at the knees. He could barely speak words of greeting to his fellow workers as they addressed him, settling on a weak wave of the hand and a groggy nod.
When Wallace finally motioned to the strange object within one of the deepest places human could reach, Brun felt an unseen wave nearly knock him to his knees.
“Are you well, Brun?” Wallace asked, nudging his childhood friend forward while signaling his men to stand in the exit. Brun stared, wide-eyed, at the magnificent structure, which slightly glowed with its own inner light. The great, clear crystal stood at three times the height of Brun, whose shoulders stood taller than most of the hunched forms in the mine. As he took a step forward, Brun heard a faint whisper. He paused to hear its words, but the voice seemed to leave on an unfelt wind.
He could see strange runes carved into the base of the crystal in a language not spoken by any mortal man or woman. Brun shook his head.
“This…this should be left alone.” Brun took a deep breath as he did his best to maintain his composure in the face of such overwhelming energy. Wallace sneezed and wiped his nose with the back of his rough-woven sleeve before effortlessly walking to the crystal that lay plain and mundane in his sight. Brun’s breath caught in his throat.
“Should it? It’s old, that’s certain. We couldn’t tell if the writings were deliberate or just formations in the rock. I assume you find them to be written by more than running water. But the real question is, CAN it be extracted?” Wallace stroked his chin as greedy eyes glowed at the mental sight of the pay such a crystal could provide. Brun’s eyes filled with a strange wetness as the warning whispers returned, louder and with sharper tones.
“You wanted my expertise? End those thoughts and leave this be.” Brun took a deep breath as felt the strange runes flare with a gentle golden hue. At once, the waves of energy began to abate, replaced with a warm, almost loving air. Brun felt a soft, phantom hand on his heart and an encouraging tone in his keen hearing. “Something’s protecting it…us from it.”
“Oh?” Wallace asked with a raised brow. The most he could sense was a hanging chill, the smell of rock and dust, and the occasional vibration from the clanging halls.
“Y-Yes. I can feel the words; something evil is in this mountain. The more we take, the closer it gets, that’s what these writings tell me,” Brun shook his head, as he felt a warm, perfumed embrace overtake him. The smell of daffodils and honey soothed his tense form as he turned to the foreman. “Did you hear me?”
“I heard you,” the foreman quickly grunted, attention focused on the gently humming structure. He tapped it with his top knuckle and took in the sound. “You must admit, this thing would feed all our families for a harvest at least. Do you sense whether or not it would react if struck?”
“Damn it Wallace…”
“Watch your mouth or I’ll have you and the rest of your fey-blooded rabble out of my mine by nightfall,” Wallace spoke with less force than his voice would have bore for anyone other than the trembling Bladesmith before turning back to the crystal. Though he and the other miners present lacked the perception of Brun, Wallace did hear the lurid song of the crystal and felt the warmth its bounty could provide far stronger than any voice the energy of the runes could utter in his spirit-less mind. Through the warm thoughts, a hint of inspiration broke. Brun felt his stomach lurch as a brightness came to Wallace’s eyes. The foreman turned to the bladesmith and out-stretched his hand.
“Give me one of your hammers.”
“You can’t…” Brun hissed with a dry throat as his hand made no motion to reach for one of the small, rune-carved hammers at his hip.
“Just, give me one of your hammers. I know you probably blessed with it with some foul witchery. It may actually be useful if those scribbles do hold any power,” Wallace reasoned as he motioned with his fingers for Brun to hurry in passing the tool. The tickling-sweet energy tugged at his muscles like a child’s hand as Brun reached for one of his hammers. The tendrils of hidden magic softly pleaded for him to drop the tool as he passed it to Wallace. Brun felt a stinging of guilt as the energy shifted to desperation; his shaking hand felt the item within stripped from its strong but momentarily weakened grip.
Wallace nodded in thanks as he turned his vision back to the tall and jagged crystal formation. His eyes, aided by his mortal-made light, scanned the surface of the crystal for any breaks or imperfections to exploit. The golden runes began to glow brightly, but his mortal eyes saw nothing but dim-faded carvings. Brun shook his head as the energy began to softly rake across his mind.
“Don’t do it, Wallace,” Brun’s voice broke as he felt his heart begin to race. The golden-yellow runes began to snake around the crystal, flowing upwards like bloody branches, “You can’t see it?”
“Quiet,” Wallace mumbled with entranced eyes. In his trance-like admiration, his hand moved. The yellow rune-trails seemed to hurry to cover the entire crystal as the mortal-made tool of wood and metal rose. Brun covered his ears as a desperate cry rang out in his mind. The hammer came down on the crystal, in a small gap in the forming web of woven energy.
The ring that came from the strike chimed like a bell through out the mine. Miners paused; other workers raised their brows in question as the sound resonated and crashed into the walls until the sunlight took the sound into its burning reach. Despite the cacophony, Wallace’s ears were deaf to the shrieking voice in Brun’s mind; his heart was unable to feel the fear that seemed to thread through the mine like a deep red chain. All his eyes could see was the shining crystal and the bounty within.
Foreman Wallace brought the hammer down again, causing Brun to take a step back, feet guiding the rest of his shaking form back towards the exit. Wallace felt a shiver of another sort, as the vibrations from the hammer-strike crept up his arm with a clean ring in his mundane hearing.
“Such a sound,” Wallace smiled and turned to his worker who appeared pale in the flickering lantern light. “What’s the matter?”
Brun shook his head as Wallace turned to look at the spot where the rune-carved hammer twice struck. He raised the instrument a third time, and as it came down, Brun felt as if his mind would be torn in half. Wallace recoiled as he felt a small, spider-crack form beneath the hammer. The ringing and the red chain of fear did not escape him that time as the fog in Wallace’s mind began to clear. The foreman took a step back as the small spider-crack began to grow.
The other men looked on with a mixture of awe and terror as parts of the massive crystal began to break away. As shard upon chunk of stone fell before them, the faint inner light began to break through the cracks and grow in brightness. The runes at the base blazed in vain as the creature within slowly began to shake its stone-wrought prison. The men brought their arms to their eyes as the small chamber took on a white light as bright as a clear dawn.
“Get down!” Brun shouted, instinctively pulling his employer and friend to the stone-cold ground. At once, what was left of the crystal’s base shot upwards, cracking against the high ceiling and coming down around the men. The clear bullets seemingly missed their mark, coming down in a perfect circle around the cowering mortals.
The glowing creature seemed to hold the loose shape of a beautiful woman made of stars. The figure sank to her bright knees, barely able to hold her form as misshapen hands reached towards the men who crawled on their backs through the crystals and towards the exit.
The trembling creature received no joy, comfort, or gladness from her accidental rescuers as she continued to shift from a more solid bundle of energy to a cloud of light and smoke. The being seemed desperately in need of something to cling to, to usher its shifting form fully into reality. Celestial hands tried to cling to the solid rock for stability, but bonding with it only served to return her to imprisonment.
Though it seemed to desperately cry for aid, the being made no motion to possess or tear soothing flesh from the men, despite their trembling state. The only thing real enough to clothe her shifting form was the profound terror that flowed from the mortals like teeming lifeblood and filled the room with a crimson cloak of energy.
Wallace cringed as red threads began to unravel from his form. Though the long threads caused him no pain, he began to shake and scream at the sensation. The white being’s star-touched fingers seemed to call the threads of pure terror as more and more began to pull from the men and into her shaking grip.
“Wh-What have you done?” Brun rasped as the red threads of human fear, terror, ill intent, and anger began to stitch the loose, weakened being’s form back into something that could dwell in the mortal realm. As the threads wove around the bright form, the inner light began to dim. Pale, human-like skin held the loose light and stars within, out of mortal sight. White structures atop her head seemed bathed in a fiery red hue as they transformed into what looked like curly hair. The celestial body became draped in layers of black cloth, obscuring any pleasing feminine feature that might have been seen.
A black mask was painted about the being’s eyes with in unseen brush. The mask and the strange eye symbol that appeared in the center of the being’s forehead looked similar to depictions of firebirds from children’s stories in the men’s returning sight. The red threads formed into a large, strange blade attached to a chain at her hip. The weapon in the being’s grip resembled the triangular shovels mortal men used to dig graves for those who chose to return to the earth.
When the ordeal was over, and the strange light was gone, three figures were all that remained in the strange pocket. Wallace’s men fled for help as Brun and his employer were frozen with fear. The cracked lantern still flickered in front of them, making the pale visage occasionally flash in the darkness. Wallace’s skin tingled, but all he could feel after the fear-filled threads were pulled was his own salty sweat. There was silence, save for the echoing steps and calls for help echoing through the mine like a cracking stone.
The being, black cloaked and red-eyed, took a step forward. The clicking of the chunky metal heel on her boot came before the slight chinking sound of metal chains around her ankles as she slowly moved through the remnants of her rune-locked prison. The men looked up to see rivers of curly blood-hair framing the pale, firebird-masked face.
She cast them a dark smile, ember-like eyes flickering with their own terror-energy before nodding towards the exit. The men shuffled backwards before returning to their feet and running out of the pocket as quickly as their trembling legs could carry them. The being was alone in the pocket, making no motion to follow. She turned toward where the cracked lantern still glowed and moved to pick it up. The cool metal contrasted the warm flame within as the strange, red being lifted it to her pale face.
She did not inhale -- with no lungs to take in air, nor did she break the candle that fed the flickering light. Her eyes focused on the struggling fire as it dwindled to nothing in the presence of her will. Alone in the darkness, the creature turned its attention to the silent exit. When the sounds of fleeing men no longer came to her keen hearing, the strange being from the white crystal moved to meet the light of day.
I changed the first sentence to: "The ringing sound of hammer to blade carried in the hot, dusty air." to avoid any redundancy with sounds.