WIP: Forsaken Powers – Elara’s Quest
Continuing to share the opening scenes from my current work in progress, Technomancer. This is the novel I’m working to complete during NaNoWriMo.
A palpable stench assaulted Elara’s senses, a noxious blend of decay and filth. The pungent tang of rotting food mingled with the rank aroma of spoiled garbage, its sickly sweetness clinging to her nostrils and forcing her to wake, gagging. Decomposing organic matter gave way to a sharper, more pungent smell – the unmistakable stink of putrefying meat and fish. The sour, acrid odor of urine added another layer to the cacophony, a reminder that this was a place where nature fought a constant battle against decay and filth. It was a smell that spoke of neglect, disarray, and the unyielding passage of time.
Elara groaned, and forced her eyes open, afraid to see what foul place she had been thrown into now.
“Goddess, help me,” she pleaded softly as she spotted the barest hint of moonlight edging its way into the filthy alleyway she awoke in. Garbage was obvious in the large metal bins pushed against one wall. Dirty rainwater, she hoped it was water, puddled the rough street, and she heard strange sounds from the distant opening. A few lights shown through the mouth of the narrow passage.
She took hold of herself, realizing she was still naked except for the silver anklets with their tiny jewels and moonstones. She reached out with her mind, seeking the cool comforting connection to the powers her goddess had granted. The barest trickle of power would clothe her. It was one of the first lessons an acolyte learned, weaving the moon beams into clothes.
For the first time since learning the weave, her goddess’ power eluded her. The loss of her connection hit her as hard as the wizard’s fist had. She struggled to sit up and hugged her knees to her tightly. Where was her patron? Why had the connection been lost? How?
Alone. She could sense none of her sisters in the order. She could not feel Mother Nightbloom, the only woman she had granted the appellation of mother. Elara had always had someone of the order on the periphery of her awareness. Even in the dungeon of obsidian, she could feel a tenuous connection to the women of the temple in the Enchanted Forest. Of course, there it had been nearly overwhelmed by the emotions of the other prisoners. Now, it was simply absent. The magnitude of her loss sent a shiver through her soul, and she felt unbidden tears touch her face.
Alone. Not only were her friends and sisters gone, but her goddess was also as well. The usual sense of comfort and reassurance was absent.
She sucked in a deep breath of the putrid air, wishing for some hint of home, only to remind herself of the many lessons from her training.
“Have pity for others, but it has no place in your actions,” Mother Nightbloom had instructed. “Do not waste time pitying your circumstances, do something about them!”
She focused inward, seeking the place where she felt the peace of the goddess. This too, she had been deeply trained in. Her years as an initiate had prepared her mind and body for the trials of being an acolyte. Her years as an acolyte had honed powers that mere mortals could only imagine. She had reached the final trials to be anointed a priestess five years earlier than most expected to achieve that rank. She would not be deterred.
Elara reached out once more, focusing on the memory of the power granted to her. She resisted the urge to strain for it, opening herself and waiting until she felt the lightest of touches on her awareness. The power was there, but faint like an echo in her mind. Regardless, she willed that trickle to manifest. She felt the soft caress of cloth on her skin and opened her eyes.
It was not the full gown of a priestess as she had envisioned, but a short dress of blues and greens. At least it covered her nakedness. She felt drained from the effort but forced herself to stand and move away from the stench of the container hiding her from the main street. A crate of some strange material was a few steps further down the alley. She sat, exhausted, but determined to try once more to weave the moonbeams.
Before she could reach the meditative state of calm again, a new sensation intruded upon her. A longing, not for the goddess, but for a man. She relaxed her mind, trying to fathom who the man was. It was not the magician who had raped her before casting her out, that much she was certain of. She shuddered at the thought of the evil man’s touch even as she realized she could feel his seed leaking from within her. She needed a bath.
No, the man she sought was not a magician, but someone of power from this world. She knew she needed to find him. A man of power, but she could think of no name, no face, no way of identifying him. She only felt the need to search and find.
A geas! That evil bastard was using her to find someone, she realized.
She knew of spells to impose a geas. Only the highest priestesses were allowed to use them, but she knew the signs. The flames of her anger were blown brighter. Her goddess had truly forsaken her if she could not fight this compulsion on her mind. While she wanted to resist the pity welling up in her throat, her loss was all consuming. For the first time since being raised as an acolyte, she cried with the nearly silent sobs from her childhood.
Alone and abandoned again.
What do you think? Does it make you want to read more? Drop a like or comment and let me know what you think. All feedback is appreciated.
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