Kim Ford (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bannion_sight) wrote2007-01-17 11:32 pm
bannion_sight) wrote2007-01-17 11:32 pm
(no subject)
The others are very far behind her now, and she can hear shouting in that far-off distance, but it doesn't matter. She is here, come to summon and to compel, carried forward now by what she is and what she must do and by the wild burning of the Baelrath on her finger.
Kim stops by the highest of the standing stones, the lintel stone, which is the threshold between living and dead here in this place, and raises her hand high. There is nothing within her but coldness, born of dreams and all their desperate need; she has hardened herself, and there is no going back.
"Damae Pendragon! Sed Baelrath riden log verenth. Pendragon rabenna, nisei damae!"
She cries aloud the summoning charm, words of power learned from the Book of Gorteyn by Ysanne's lake, and as she cries the Warstone blazes up, demanding, commanding; and with its blazing comes a chill wind where none should be, and she knows that she has succeeded.
He is shrouded by shadow instead of cerement, at the heart of the standing stones and as heavy as any one of them with the pull of so many long years dead dragging him downward against her spell and her binding. She dares not falter, for there will be but one chance at this, and her voice is harsh as she lashes out at him,
"Uther Pendragon, attend me! I command your will!"
Kim raises her chin and stands her ground as the unearthly wind whips at her white hair, and her tone is as cold as each wintry gust.
"King you were, but you are dead; and moreover, because of Ygraine deceived, and your son falsely begotten, you are given over to the stone I bear."
Uther draws himself up, towering above her as he cries,
"Even so," Kim agrees, and finds as pain washes through her that she herself is not stone, after all. "And so I would call him by the name you guard."
For all that there are but two of them, this is no less a battle, and he is fighting to pull free of her and the Warstone, she can feel it. He was great once, and long dead, and the earth is drawing him down and away. Any weakness shown on her part will break the summoning and allow him to escape with his secret kept, Kim knows, and she steels herself to her task.
"I know." And as she speaks, she sees in his eyes the truth of her words, and his sudden awareness that with the Baelrath she will master him. And it is this knowledge that bends the proud king from his fight to a desperate father's plea, with each word a hoarse whisper clear in the sudden stillness around them both as he says,
Pity there may be, even as her soul twists within her at his words, but if there is mercy to be had, it is not hers to grant.
"The name!" Kim screams, and raises the wild flame of her ring above her head to compel him.
And as Uther Pendragon bows his head and answers her, it seems once again as if stars are falling everywhere. It is too much, she is too much, she cannot hold here; and so, burning wild with power, Kim Ford rises into the night on a red wind, then finds herself falling down from heaven along with the stars, coming again to land somewhere else.
(scene adapted from ch. 3 of The Wandering Fire, by Guy Gavriel Kay.)
Kim stops by the highest of the standing stones, the lintel stone, which is the threshold between living and dead here in this place, and raises her hand high. There is nothing within her but coldness, born of dreams and all their desperate need; she has hardened herself, and there is no going back.
"Damae Pendragon! Sed Baelrath riden log verenth. Pendragon rabenna, nisei damae!"
She cries aloud the summoning charm, words of power learned from the Book of Gorteyn by Ysanne's lake, and as she cries the Warstone blazes up, demanding, commanding; and with its blazing comes a chill wind where none should be, and she knows that she has succeeded.
He is shrouded by shadow instead of cerement, at the heart of the standing stones and as heavy as any one of them with the pull of so many long years dead dragging him downward against her spell and her binding. She dares not falter, for there will be but one chance at this, and her voice is harsh as she lashes out at him,
"Uther Pendragon, attend me! I command your will!"
"Command me not, I am a King!"
Harsh and hollow, a ghost's voice, but with power of his own deep and swelling within the imperious words.Kim raises her chin and stands her ground as the unearthly wind whips at her white hair, and her tone is as cold as each wintry gust.
"King you were, but you are dead; and moreover, because of Ygraine deceived, and your son falsely begotten, you are given over to the stone I bear."
Uther draws himself up, towering above her as he cries,
"And has he not proven great beyond all measure?"
"Even so," Kim agrees, and finds as pain washes through her that she herself is not stone, after all. "And so I would call him by the name you guard."
For all that there are but two of them, this is no less a battle, and he is fighting to pull free of her and the Warstone, she can feel it. He was great once, and long dead, and the earth is drawing him down and away. Any weakness shown on her part will break the summoning and allow him to escape with his secret kept, Kim knows, and she steels herself to her task.
"Do you know the place?"
Uther Pendragon challenges."I know." And as she speaks, she sees in his eyes the truth of her words, and his sudden awareness that with the Baelrath she will master him. And it is this knowledge that bends the proud king from his fight to a desperate father's plea, with each word a hoarse whisper clear in the sudden stillness around them both as he says,
"Has he not suffered enough? He was young when it happened, all of it-- young, and afraid, because of the prophecy. Can you not have pity? Is there none?"
Pity there may be, even as her soul twists within her at his words, but if there is mercy to be had, it is not hers to grant.
"The name!" Kim screams, and raises the wild flame of her ring above her head to compel him.
And as Uther Pendragon bows his head and answers her, it seems once again as if stars are falling everywhere. It is too much, she is too much, she cannot hold here; and so, burning wild with power, Kim Ford rises into the night on a red wind, then finds herself falling down from heaven along with the stars, coming again to land somewhere else.
(scene adapted from ch. 3 of The Wandering Fire, by Guy Gavriel Kay.)