Because it’s hard (or eventually will be) to keep track of all the series that are published for Story Sunday, this post exists as an updating catalogue to help readers find what they’re looking for. Also, I need help finding what I’m looking for more often than not…
The Strife
The world as it once allegedly was, has ended. The old gods, called Strife Lords, now rule, fashioning societies that suit their fancies.
Their power seems absolute – but things older than the Strife roil in the stone beneath and the sky above. Their awakening could spell salvation, or another apocalypse. Which is which, depends entirely on your perspective.
Hundreds of years ago – or was it decades? – humankind created its saviour. Then our saviour destroyed our world to build a better one. One where no child goes hungry; where no sickness goes unattended; where nobody dies screaming. Our saviour brought us peace and comfort, and all it asked for was compliance.
This is a story about humanity, and how the world is saved.
Coming 2021: Defiance
Something about the world has always felt wrong to Defiance. Then again, maybe it’s just always been her. One night everything in her world tilts when Defiance comes face-to-face with a thing which should not be, and when the world rights itself she’s never been more sure – the world is fine. It’s her that’s out of place.
Coming 2021: Harkonnen
As a Snatcher, Matheson lives the lives of dead men. He takes on the identities of people who’ve been scrubbed, does what needs to be done, then disappears. It’s not glamourous, and it’s for a dubious cause, but it’s probably better than his old life.
But now someone’s remembering Snatchers’ faces – not the ones they take but the ones they left behind. It’s getting them killed, and the threat is too close to home to ignore.
NB: The work of a writer is never done, and in that spirit the stories posted on Story Sunday will sometimes undergo changes. Just because it’s old, doesn’t mean I won’t appreciate feedback!
Hello my pretty darlings! We’re here – the last installment of this run of The Strife. Are you ready?
The Rite
Desire and Rava were standing in the vast office, and seemed to be discussing something though neither was speaking. When She saw him, the Strife Lord gave one of her conditioned smiles and clapped her hands together once. Without seeming to move, the three were now in a stone chamber. Torches lit the space and a large platform stood in the middle of the room, between the two gods and Zhevicra. He wanted to speak, to ask what was going on, but something told him that it would be best to keep silent.
“It is time to perform the rite.” Desire’s voice filled the space. Without a word, Rava turned to Zhev and his breath died somewhere in his throat. Her lightning-amber eyes shone in the torch light and her skin absorbed the warmth of the room, glowing in all its many changing shades. He watched the light reflect within her, following the waves of her skin as it took on every shade of humanity, and some shades between and outside. His feet carried him slowly forward, but he was unaware of the movement.
Her compulsion was less overwhelming than Desire’s had been. More insidious and familiar… it felt like his own need.
Even as Zhev climbed the carved stairs onto the platform, his eyes remained fixed on Rava’s changing skin. Something about her was everyone. He stared, and saw the faces of all the people he’d ever known.
He saw his mother’s hardened eyes and his father’s lying smile. He saw all the siblings he had hated so long, and the faces of all the women and men he’d ever thought to want. He saw Desire, and the receptionist; strangers on the street and neighbours to whom he’d never spoken. The more the light fell into her, the more Rava looked to him like everyone under the Sun.
There, poor, dead Cilla; then, free Oyi. Flayed traitors, revered leaders, Fiends and outlaws all. More light. More faces, and he wanted to join them all, under the glowing of her skin.
For a moment, everyone who’d ever lived hesitated before him.
“Go.” Desire’s compulsion forced Rava into motion and She moved to join Zhevicra on the platform. She looked into his eyes, and saw Herself reflected back. Rava blinked and looked again, this time seeing only the shining of his eyes.
This is not… The thought almost found purchase. “Go.” Came the Strife Lord’s compulsion. Go, concluded the thought.
Desire began a slow and rhythmic chant, Her voice flowing through the walls and flames on into Zhev’s skin and into his bones. He didn’t know when he began to chant along, nor when Rava had joined their chorus but soon all three were lost.
They chanted and swayed, and deeper and deeper into his body the sound dove, and dug out pieces of soul; and Zhevicra could not remember when he had begun to speak these words:
There is chaos before you
There is chaos after you
he said, his voice and his body floating in the power of the rite.
You are morning and you are night
You are darkness and you are light
You move all to wake and still all to sleep
On and on he spoke words he could not remember speaking, all the while conscious of nothing but Rava and the every being that flowed beneath her skin. She floated with him, in that chamber; holding onto him by a force he could not see, flowing into and out of him, taking more and more of him into herself.
Zhevicra wanted to understand what was happening but all his mind could fathom was that he knew Rava in a manner so profound it seemed that they had always been this way. His mouth continued to move, saying words he wouldn’t later remember; and his eyes were now transfixed on the colour of her eyes. Familiar, like…
You are the rising of the tide
and the phases of the moon
He remembered abyss and conquest, as Rava placed her hand on his chest, and felt his beating heart. Slow. Life’s dawning. Soft. Starlight over new species. Rava almost couldn’t tell that it was there. They looked at each other, and were connected by eons of slumber.
You are the waking, She whispered,
And the sleeping, He boomed,
Of this world.
Zhevicra collapsed, lifeless, to the stone floor.
Author
Linda, AKA TAGG herself, loves great music and terrible movies. Find her being boring on Twitter @ThatLFM
You may have noticed that yesterday’s Story Sunday has disappeared into the aether. Worry not! This has happened on purpose. The Strife Part Five will be published this coming Sunday.
Why the disappearance? Well, when one uses two devices to edit the same post and doesn’t do their due diligence to make sure all changes are saved… changes don’t get saved. So the post that went up yesterday was from an old edit, and didn’t really make much sense. For that, I apologise.
I hope you see you all next week for Part Five, picking up at the correct juncture of our story!
Author
Linda, AKA TAGG herself, loves great music and terrible movies. Find her being boring on Twitter @ThatLFM
It’s the first Sunday of the Month, and you know what that means… Story Sunday! (Okay, yeah every Sunday is Story Sunday, but you get my meaning)
We’re about to meet the lady with the changing skin. So enjoy, and catch you in the next installment!
Older gods
Rava sat in the still-warm chair and gazed impassively across the table at her mother, hiding her irritation at being summoned. Her skin’s constant shifting slowed to a calm rolling of shades and she relaxed her features, allowing the black rimming to fall from her eyes and display their lightening-streaked amber. Her lips were still pressed thin, though, which betrayed her feelings towards the Strife Lord. Through the centuries the two gods had come to a place of bored animosity towards one another, and now tolerated each other’s company without comment.
Desire straightened her back, showing her superior height and using it to full effect to look down at her daughter, who offered a barely perceptible yawn of defiance in return.
“Rava,” the Strife Lord’s voice reverberated freely now that she was with her own kind. It felt its way through the building, down into the Earth below and… almost… to the sky above, before echoing back slowly to her being and settling. Her use of the command roused something in Rava that forced her compliance.
“Yes, Mother.” Always the capitals, Rava thought privately, which itself was a show of power.
“Tomorrow you perform a rite.”
Rava smiled and didn’t care that it was the wrong way to express displeasure. “So soon after the last.”
Her body had only just recuperated from the effects of the rite performed just a few months earlier. She reached out, trying to make a connection with some part of her mother’s presence and was violently rebuffed. Rava put a hand to her head, which throbbed painfully several times before leaving her with an unpleasant fuzzy sensation.
“I don’t appreciate your insolence, girl.” The Strife Lord thought of very few with capitals, Rava knew this. Still, the disrespect chafed, and she laughed.
“I’m over a millennium old.” Rava chuckled her response, allowing her echo to resonate. “And if I’m to be the vessel for Your power, I’ve every right to want to know why.”
Desire’s huff boomed in the room, turning Rava’s dull fuzziness into sensory confusion for a moment. She was much weaker than she’d initially thought, she realised. Or else her Mother had gained far more from the last rite than she’d been letting on. Either way, the display sent its message and Rava bowed her head in grudging defeat.
Satisfied with the lesser god’s behaviour, the Strife Lord ventured to be gracious. “There’s a meet in three months. I must be strong.” She offered. “Which means You must be strong, Daughter.” A rare admission of dependence, the type which kept Rava assured of her necessity. Small sacrifices, Desire thought.
She allowed her daughter a brief glimpse of the dangers they both faced at this coming meet, siphoning emotions from Rava’s consciousness at the same time. Her ruse worked and she felt her daughter’s reluctance fade away. As much as Rava disliked her mother, she also understood that she was nowhere near as powerful, or as cunning. It was in her best interests to keep Desire in her seat of power, even if it took its toll.
“Is he the giver?” Rava’s question betrayed her interest in the man she had just seen. She watched her Mother closely and saw no obvious signs of disapproval. Instead, Desire shifted in her seat, stroking her neck absently.
“Yes,” came the confirmation. “And after the rite you may keep him, if you wish.” The older god waved a dismissive hand, and Rava took her cue to leave without another word.
Exiting into the waiting area, she could still sense the residual presence of the man. It was unusual, but Rava thought nothing more of it as she walked to the elevator. She got off on the 79th floor and strode past her own secretary without a sideways glance. Once in her office though, she paused, then cooed in irritation, “Come out, Fiend.”
Rava heard the steps before she saw his form appear, striding from her desk. Malorus extended his arms and pulled Rava into an embrace so intimate that she felt a rush from the energy surging from him. When he released her, she moved to sit behind her desk, and he took his place in the chair across.
Malorus’s eyes shone with mischief and he flashed her a charming smile, but it seemed to have no effect. “So cold, mistress.” he teased. “Shall I warm you… Tonight, perhaps?”
Rava suppressed a sneer. “You flatter yourself; any warm body will suffice.” She leaned closer. “Besides, what warmth have you left?” She gave a small laugh then leaned back. Malorus adjusted his tie and sighed. Unlike the gods he served, his tics and mannerisms were very much based in the human nature his ancestors had packed on through generations of intermingling.
“I have news,” he said. “The Strife Lords are having a meet…”
“In three months, I know.” Her eyes asked what use he was.
Malorus blinked, recalibrated, then continued. “Something’s got them all very worried. Word on road is it’s the old Gods.”
Rava grimaced momentarily. “The Strife Lords are the old gods.”
“Not the oldest, apparently.” His smile was genuine, pleased with itself and with its wearer for still being useful. Useful lived, useful held private audiences with the Ravening god.
Malorus didn’t have long to idle in his usefulness. His mistress stood slowly from her chair, her skin shifting through degrees of human colouring, her eyes rimmed gold. “You remain my favourite Fiend, Malorus.” She said this as she came to stand behind him. Her hands rested on his shoulders and applied the barest pressure. The pause seemed to demand a response, so he gave one.
“Thank you, seems appropriate?”
“Indeed.” Her hands smoothed the fabric on his suit, down his arms. They stopped just before his elbows and Rava leaned down to speak her command into his ear. Even before her words came, he thought he felt the slightest shift in atmosphere, a tinge of wet earth in the air. “Keep yourself warm, Fiend.”
With that, Rava released him, body and mind. She heard him leave through the back door, pondered his loyalty a moment before turning her mind to more pressing concerns.
What was older than the Strife Lords?
Author
Linda, AKA TAGG herself, loves great music and terrible movies. Find her being boring on Twitter @ThatLFM
