Wednesday, August 16, 2006

story: Innè

Innè
by Ricard di Costa

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The unrelenting chase had all but beaten us. In a room overcome with shadows we paused. I gripped with one trembling hand a curious book, "The Flame of Rnyga". With the other, my cherished companion, Innè, a young girl. We had survived on the book's cryptic power those few perilous hours. In dodging the Beast of the house we had come to treasure the wicked and beautiful rituals held within it, and within ourselves.

"In his pursuit of us," breathed my weary cosset in my ear, "the Beast has left me weak. We have ascended and recanted a dozen flights and flung ourselves about this prodigious House for such a time! I cannot--"

"Rest now, child," said I, "For a moment at least, we have discomfited him."

I had no wish to weigh further toil on my frail abettor, but our pursuer lay closer than I dared divulge. I hid the book away in my cloak, and with my remaining strength bore up my sweet one full in my arms.

No sooner had I brought her face to mine, than there came Bedlam echoing through the great House, just some few yards behind. In a second I was on my feet, and bid them out pace my fear. The bright slap of my naked feet on dead gray marble added to the cacophony of the Beast.

My beloved cried, "It is here! It is here!" and wrung her ams tighter round my neck.

"I have you! I have you!", was all I could manage, though my desire was to cover her completely, to posses, for the moment, both our souls in a single body.

Our breathing and crying coalesced, and the roar behind us grew staggering. My heart and my darling in my arms were baptized in hideous black light as the Beast thrust his full weight forward to catch us up.

"Inithanab iotachen! Bolegoth camithata eratu!" My mouth was not my own- my angel twisted herself so tight to me in that venery as to drive the air from my lungs, and with it the bewitchment that rang out from us.

Now- there is nothing. No light. No sound. No Beast. Though that black house lay far behind, I still carry my beloved, and she still breathes the air in my lungs.

"Can there be no soul but ours?" we asked.

Darkness.

"There can be no soul but ours."

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Composer, Artistic & General Director @ Turing*Shop
http://www.TuringShop.com

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