Sunday, November 30, 2014

wet machines

I was born a butcher’s son. I could lay open and rend into meat a hog before I was eight years old. I saw the inside of many things. I had patience and a steady hand.

When I was apprenticed to a barber surgeon, I saw the inside of men. Hogs and men are not as different as you might like them to be.

Animals are wet machines.

The much feared Necromancer taught me little before I grew weary of his ignorance. How could such a powerful fool have existed?

He was a machine. I tossed a rod into the gears, and he no longer functioned.

Then all his books were mine. I did not leach my power from the books like that pile of musty bones. I turned them towards my own machinations. I leveraged new strengths from their pages and my own meticulous research.

Insects give me the most trouble. Do you know how complex and varied are their forms? It has taken me ages to ponder through their workings.

Now the staff is completed. I have my final batch of subjects. This grimoire will be my penultimate gift to this ridiculous world. I pen it even as the first queen gestates.


Andron Comutus 

Saturday, November 29, 2014

burning bright

The fire jumped to life. From a spark, to a sharp breath, to a roaring inferno it rose. Hard dancing sanguine light leapt to and fro. Under lit trees threw their shadows skywards.

The great pyre burned. Old resinous wood cast unthinkably bright light as a pillar of thick black smoke cut through the starry sky.

The warning pyre burned.

Young men rattled their spears and bounced on their heels. The youths nearly shook with tense-sprung energy. Barely more than boys they slapped each other’s backs and grinned fiercely.

Old men looked grimly into the darkness. Scars and bones ached in the cold night air.

The war pyre burned.

Friday, November 28, 2014

naked eye

Their voices echoed distantly; faint vibrations Thim scarcely noticed. The colors were all he saw. The light was all he knew. Scintillating, violently bright opalescent fire filled his awareness.

Beyond thought, he was a naked eye.  He saw. He was then no more than this.

His companions left him there, in that place deep below. One left him in the light with a sigh of regret. One offered a grunt and walked away in indifference. The other left slowly, feeling secretly relieved.

Thim stood, staring. He barely noticed when he died.

Thursday, November 27, 2014


Shadowed sheets slowly slide down the corner of the mattress. Echoing vibrations of primal remembrance shake through each shuddering breath. Flush with sweat and simply smiling she lies backwards and slowly finds herself. Time and cares creep back into a nagging awareness of small obligations and idiotic demands. 

But, for a shining space of unknown time they had slipped the bounds of future and past and lived free from consequence.

(c) 2014 Edward Lockhart