An old project, revisited.

This is an old Work in Progress (WIP) that I shelved several years ago. The first draft is about two-thirds complete, about 70K words or so. I'm not sure it's worth finishing, but I'm kinda' fond of the plot arch.

The Dominion
by Liam J.
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Chapter one
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Shivering against a fierce north wind, the old woman paused on the game trail and pulled a woolen cloak tight about her stooped shoulders. Feverish joints vigorously protested the foul weather and steep climb, but she ignored the discomfort. “Hurry on, old bones,” she mumbled. “Work calls.”

In the distant valley below, a solitary wight paid tribute to the dismal night, its shrill screech ringing through the forest of blue spruce and fur. The old woman raised her head sharply and cocked her ear to the wind. "An omen, that, she thought, and not one I welcome. Still, I be thankful that I be here, and it be down there!"

Aided by the soft glow of a hand lantern, she surveyed the ground at her feet, and after a moment, nodded. Staring into the gloom beyond the light, she breathed deeply. The air carried along the sweet, fresh scent of fresh snow and evergreen. Clean, yes. This place will do well enough.

Heedless of the cold drizzle, she knelt upon the earth and opened her oilcloth shoulder bag. From it, she took a small bronze brazier and sat it atop a convenient rock. She produced flint and steel from a leather pouch at her waist belt. Rummaging around in the shoulder bag, she found and removed a long twist of dried bark and arranged it in the brazier just so. A deft strike of steel against flint, a tendril of smoke... Fire. Quickly, the old woman pulled a handful of dry twigs from the shoulder bag and fed the flame.

For a long moment, she watched. The flickering yellow fingers of flame carried a message and with proper coaxing, they would reveal that message to her. Fire never lied to one of its own, but it would need her assistance, her skill in the Lore, to provide the answers she sought. Though the old woman was determined, she was also nervous. Using the Lore in this manner always carried dangerous consequences.

Whispering a brief prayer to the near-forgotten Eld, she carefully traced a warding sign of protection in the air with a palsied finger. The sigil cast an eerie silver glow over the small clearing, until at last, the wood seemed to accept and absorb the magical offering. The spruce, aspen, and larch shook ice from slender leaves and needles, and stood taller against the night sky. The trees would serve as silent sentries for the woman, guarding against menaces of the corporal world. That would have to suffice. Not that it would do much good, if They were loose in the World of Shadows.

Not truly satisfied with the meager precautions, but having no other choice, she proceeded with the scrying. Finally, she produced a small oiled pouch from within the heavy folds of her tattered robes. Inside the pouch were the tools of her trade; powders and finely ground herbs, small bone implements and other consecrated artifacts. All were potent talismans of her trade; tools of the Wizren.

She sprinkled the powders onto the fire in ritual order. Muttering nearly inaudible words of Power, she stared into the flames, asking silent questions, and dreading the anticipated answers. In the flames, she sought confirmation of her worst fears.
Intently, she watched the dancing flames and the soft tendrils of spiraling smoke. In a scrying of this nature, Fire spoke the message, and smoke served as the courier.

After a moment, she laid a large, folded leaf atop the flame and watched as it smoldered. The pungent odor of dreamberry filled her nose. The old woman leaned over the brazier and pulled the cloak over her head to trap the smoke. Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes and focused on the acrid aroma. She knew from past experience what to expect, though the knowledge hardly prepared her for the wave of nausea that followed. The ground spun violently beneath her feet and the old woman braced against the all too familiar sensation of falling.

As she willed herself to remain upright, the nausea retreated and gradually, the world grew still once more. She opened her mind’s eye. This was the most sacred and potent of all the Wizen rituals, the ability of far-seeing with the Third Eye.
Her ethereal vision was slow in coming. At first, she saw nothing save a great billowing fog, impenetrable and forbidding. Summoning her will and holding words of Power in her heart, the old woman pressed on. Layer by layer, she penetrated the veil, each step bringing her closer to the final truth. Close…so close.

Without warning, it slammed in her, the unmistakable reek of evil. Despairing, she realized there was no need to search any further. She had her answer, the answer she had feared from the onset. Mentally, she willed herself away from the malevolent fog. It was time to return to the world of the living and prepare her kin for the days ahead.

The old woman mentally pushed away from the fog, when she felt a thin, razor-sharp awareness reach out, probing for her. Instantly, she recoiled from the taint within the touch, then her heart sunk beneath the weight of realization. Despite all the precautions, all her careful preparations, she had been discovered. She fled.
From behind, she could feel the fog part, spewing out a great swirling miasma of malevolence. It pursued her, of that she had no doubt.

Summoning a word of Power, she cast it at the great, formless entity. She harbored no illusions regarding her abilities and knew she could never hope to defeat one of Them, but she needed time to distance herself, to close her mind’s eye and extract herself from the vision. The word of Power should have been sufficient to slow the creature. She should have more than enough time to...to... Suddenly her heart sank.

Over a translucent shoulder, she watched in horror as the Word stuck the taint and was swallowed up, disappearing with no discernible effect. She knew in that instant that she was lost. The abomination would overtake her well before she could reclaim her body.

Instead of terror, the old woman felt a sudden and profound sadness. She was far beyond any fear of physical death. Her fear was for the living. Who now would serve as harbinger of the terrible days ahead? Who would warn her people and prepare them? There were others attuned to the Power, but none with her experience or gifts in the Lore. Perhaps… In that instant, she knew what must be done.

Her spirit came to an abrupt halt, no longer concerned with futile thoughts of flight. Instead, she would expend her final energies to send a message... a warning.
As the evil rapidly approached, the doomed Wizren gathered her remaining will and allowed her mind’s eye to search a final time. However, this time, she sought not the evil but a kindred spirit. Somewhere, there has to be someone...

Blindly, she cast her warning. So intent was she upon the desperate task, she never saw the abomination tower above her, hover for a brief second then descend. As the great evil fell upon the old woman, as her life was crushed from both ethereal and mortal existence, she felt her sending strike home. Somewhere...someone knew that the taint had once more entered the world of mortals.