(no subject)

[bannion_sight]

As the crimson blaze fades, Kim Ford finds herself standing in the place of her dreaming.

There is no lake of glass here now, nor island rising from still waters, but the soft music of gentle waves yet whispers with the wind through green, green grass here on Glastonbury Tor, which in an earlier time had been called Avalon and whose shores had sheltered a fallen warrior and dying king.

Before the Warstone's light dies utterly she turns, raising her hand toward Stonehenge, so far away. Kim reaches out with the power as she has done before, gathering the other four in and sending them through the crossing, borne on the last wild red light back to Fionavar without her.

And then the ring goes dark on her finger, and the only light on this windy height is that of the thin crescent moon and bright sparks of stars in the night above.

Comments

[bannion_sight]

Kim's shivering now, and not just from the chill and the breeze. She's been waiting so long for this moment, all of them have, waiting for her to know the time and the place and to finally come to do what must be done, but this, this--

--oh, this.

She's under no illusions, not here and not now, and with the Warstone dark on her hand and her Seer's sight gone from her, Kim Ford feels not a little overwhelmed at the horrible weight of the ancient curse that she's about to invoke, as so many have before, in time of darkest need.

But there is that need, for once there had been a mountain, and now there is not, and with the Unraveller freed and everything at risk, there's no room to turn away. Not now. She thinks, briefly, of Jennifer in Starkhadh. Of Bran Davies, and his anger, and his fear, and his love for his father.

And then Kim Ford draws herself up and cries aloud into the night the single awful word, the summoning name of the Warrior:

"Childslayer!"