PrologueA Chapter by Kate P. Lamb
The peaks of the
At the very base of the mountain, in the center of an amphitheatre of rock, a figure stood triumphantly over a mass of black fur. Breath rattled painfully through the creature, and the figure smirked, kneeling next to it. It appeared to be a large canine. “You’ve lost, Abitio…” The figure smirked, raising his blade. “And now it’s time to end you.” With a fluid motion, the man brought his blade down, causing a spurt of scarlet blood to coat his face. Grey eyes glittered excitedly, and a wide smile parted his lips. “I’ve done it.” He breathed, looking skyward as tumulus black clouds began to gather overhead.
The figure looked down again, the eyes now a hard shade of steel grey. Drawing his blade again, he cut away at the beast’s middle, and began hacking at the ribcage, intent on getting the bone away from the muscle. More blood soaked into the ground, and the body convulsed as the brain emitted the last of the nerve impulses before it finally fell still. A careful slice along the beast’s throat released a torrent of blood, which the figure stooped to collect into an empty water bag. He then rose and flicked his blade clean of blood, a smirk on his lips. “Halfway there.” He murmured, unable to keep the longing from his voice.
The figure carefully gathered now dead bush branches from around the animal and piled them overtop the carcass; then unwound a bull horn from his side, and let a smouldering ember roll out from the hollowed interior. Patiently, he built a fire in four spots around the body, and then stood back to watch it burn. Almost as soon as the fur began to catch, small, light-blue orbs began to appear around the figure and the corpse. The figure looked up, looking around slowly. He licked his lips excitedly. The globes emitted a strange light, and blinked in and out of sight. They hovered lazily, bobbing up and down on the ebb and flow of an invisible tide, some slowly trailing their way to different areas, their movement fluid, unhindered by the bindings of this world. More seeming to accumulate each second, however, the figure turned his attention from the spheres back to the burning mound of flesh and bone; watching the billows of revolting-smelling black smoke rise in plumes up into the air, becoming indistinguishable against the mass of black clouds overhead.
© 2010 Kate P. Lamb
Added on January 6, 2010
Last Updated on September 21, 2010
Tags: Chronos Roulette Historical Fict
Kate P. Lamb
Calgary, AB, Canada
AboutEnjoy reading and spending time with Nature. Studying for my BA as of Fall 2012, then hopefully onto graduate school to become a Naturopathic Doctor. Published poet, working on a fiction novel and ano.. more..