A Random Sliver of Fauster: Microexcerpt 1:1 from DEOMANS IN THE AFTERGLOW
Claire felt ill. But it was a different kind of sickness, a
painful hum that resonated within the tenement structure of her withered new
body. And she immediately lamented at the thought of having put her faith in a
demon.
She moaned within the mushy prison, her mind crackling with fear, her heart
broken, her will reduced to a whimper. The dank pudding that now held her
suspended had no floor beneath, no walls within reach. Each attempt to move
resulted only in awkward slips, limbs sliding through the muck like a hot knife
through butter only to have the space previously occupied collapse and fill in
with an endless supply of gurgling dankness.
The place had an irritating familiarity.
Something tugged at her belly. The tenacious grip of the muck intensified,
struggling to hold her down as she continued to be yanked up toward a dim
light. The brightness swelled, gleaming patches filling in like molten puzzle
pieces, until she finally slipped all the way through and spilled out into a
warm space. She lay on her back, gasping for air as the light took on color and
distinct shapes formed before her eyes. And then the swaying limbs of an almost
terrestrial forest came into focus.
“Hello, and welcome,” a timid voice said.
A middle-aged man with apple cheeks smiled down upon her, more with his pale
blue eyes, hitched up at the corners in crow’s feet, than with his mouth. The
hair atop his head was a flaming shock of orange, his face a shotgun blast of
freckles covered in ruddy clumps of stubble. A tiny pack of brightly colored
butterflies swam circles around his skull.
He put his finger to his nose. “Shhh. Please be still.”
He was dressed like a woodsman, complete with an axe in the outstretched arm
which he now held high above his head. He placed his free hand on her hip and
gave a broad, disturbing smile.
“This won’t take but a moment.” And with that, he brought the axe swiftly down.
It cleanly and expertly severed the thing jutting from her belly, leaving only
a small nub behind. Miraculously, Claire felt no pain, only a slight pressure
followed by a bizarre moment of disorientation. In the leaves beside her, the
snaking remains of what looked like a collection of vines or corded tree roots
flopped about, a gurgling of blood and pus fizzing from the cut ends. The
wriggling mass slinked away, drawn back down into the sucking earth like a
mouthful of noodles.
“What the Funk and Wagnalls...”
Copyright 2009, TedFauster.com. All rights reserved
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A Random Sliver of Fauster: Microexcerpt 1:2 from DEOMANS IN THE AFTERGLOW
Palontine put his paws to his head. Magick travel always made him sick to his stomach. He remained still for a moment to regain his senses. When his stomach settled and his eyes cleared, he stood in awe of what was before him.
He’d arrived in a flash of light to find the interior of Far Pass Keep in shambles, ransacked, all the entombed fixtures and furnishings smashed to pieces. And to make matters worse, the pysanky egg lay cracked on the ground. He picked up the shards, not sure what had happened.
He cursed to himself when he realized what he’d done. Maltheus had warned him to hold tightly to the egg. Thanks to his weak constitution he must have dropped it upon arriving. Now there was no way home.
Something clanged in the adjoining room...
A repugnant scent hit the air and the fur on his neck stiffened. Quietly, he reached up to slide the battleaxe from his pack. With the mighty weapon held firmly in his paws, he crept toward the archway that led to the next room.
The rooting continued. He peered around the old stones and caught sight of the beast that stood hunched over the shattered remains of a steamer trunk, poking through silken cloths with its bulbous fingers.
The ice giant had yet to see him. But it was only a matter of time before it would smell his presence as well. The wulgars were mighty beasts, Palontine himself standing some nine feet tall. He’d heard tales of Amorites as tall as seventeen. This one was easily twice his height. When the vile beast stiffened and sniffed the air, the wulgar rushed in.
The giant would not be so easily taken. As the broad head of the axe came swinging around, the beast lashed out with its mace, a molten glob of solid iron that panged against the smaller weapon, sending a shivering vibration down the wulgar’s arms. He nearly lost his grip as the axe bounced back like a mere fire iron.
The Amorite countered with a blow of its own, a might punch to the head that sent Palontine sailing away into a heap of broken furniture. He scrambled to his feet and shook off the blow, just as the towering beast gave a howl and came rushing forward.
A support arch in the ceiling was just low enough. The imbecile creature dashed straight into it, catching the tip of its conical skull on the unassuming architecture. Several blocks cracked loose and fell to the floor. The stunned creature buckled and dropped to its knees as Palontine rushed out the next archway and into the main hall.
Angry howls followed. Seconds later, the giant came bursting through the opening, but once again it was snagged by the old structure, catching its broad shoulders in the arch. Before it could squeeze through, Palontine rushed forward and brought his axe down.
The blow caught the creature in its chest, splitting its stinking hides. But the encasement of plasticized armor beneath was immensely thick, and the wulgar succeeded in slicing only a shallow amount of the beast’s own hide below. Even so, a cascade of yellow blood poured out as Palontine wrenched the axe free and took a step back.
The giant groaned and howled, at last forcing its bulk through, broken bricks and dusty clumps of mortar blasting away. The wulgar reared back and readied for another attack, but the sallow skinned giant poked out with the enormous mace and caught him square in the chest.
It hit like a battering ram and sent him tumbling. The stunned wulgar smashed into the far wall, leaving a heavy indentation in the crippled bricks. Despite an ache in his back unlike any he had ever known, Palontine’s nostrils flared. His face grew warm as he growled angrily and rushed forward.
Amorites were not known for their tact, relying on brute force to overpower their opponents. Out in the open, such creatures were a deadly force, advancing as slow moving walls of flesh and muscle, pounding everything in their wake. But in confined spaces they were clumsy and easily confused. Using this to his advantage, the wulgar dropped into a slide just before he crashed headlong into the hollering beast. With the battleaxe clenched firmly in his paws, he slid beneath the giant’s widespread stance with the bladed edge held high.
The sturdy axe sliced through the softer flesh, and with a great honking sound the oaf collapsed to its knees. Taking no more chances, Palontine propelled himself off the far wall and tumbled back through the air, using the entire momentum of his bulk to bury the battleaxe deep into the creature’s spine. The giant shuddered then crashed to the floor.
The heaving wulgar wrenched the axe free and stood for a moment to regain his breath. If there were more of the beasts afoot he was surely done for. Even one was too strong. He had been lucky, he knew, and although his heart raced at the thought of such a triumphant victory, he wasted no time in finding out.
The fallen beast was already yellowing the tiles. Having noses nearly as keen as the wulgars, any other giants in proximity would be quickly drawn to the spot of their fallen comrade. With haste, Palontine sheathed his dripping weapon and loped off down the long hall.
Copyright 2009, TedFauster.com, All rights reserved
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