Whispered Spells and Elvish Steel - an Anthology of Fantasy SD Shorts

Shards of Darkness

A/N: Fantasy Smackdown, round 1 entry, theme: urban fantasy, prompts: mention of old ox yoke in story, use of pics #1, 2, 3, & 8.

The dreams, they were always the same.  The whispering voices, the dancing light, and the shimmering images.  Never the same voice, or kind of light and the images were constantly changing.  But those three elements were always there.  The whispers, the dancing light and the images.  It was enough to drive her crazy.

And that feeling of frustration was enough to push Rhyl from slumber yet again.  Sitting up with a sigh, she glanced out the window.

The sun was setting, throwing spears of crimson and gold through the heavy clouds that loomed over the city, while shadows stretched from the towers downtown over the cityscape.  It was the advent of nightfall for most of the city's inhabitants.  But for Rhyl, it was early dawn.  And unfortunately close enough to her time to rise that she swung her legs out of her bed and placed her bare feet onto the floor.

"Yet another day wasted," she muttered with a frown.  Then she was throwing herself to her feet and striding to her closet.

A quick few moments to dress in her characteristic shades of gray and black, a quick tug of a brush through her shoulder length straight white hair and she was heading out the door of her small, westside apartment.  Her destination: her favorite coffee shop down in the Old Rail District, a few blocks from her building.

She was just settling into a booth, a chipped ceramic mug of straight black coffee in her hands, when a lean, lanky form slid onto the seat across the table from her.

"Damn, Rhyl, isn't this a little early for you?"

"Good morning to you too, Carter," was her dry reply before Rhyl took a long sip of the steaming beverage.  Ah, a blend of South America's finest, creating a symphony of flavor and layers of complexity in her mouth.  How she loved coffee!

"Since when do you come and meet me at the coffee shop?"

"Since I felt you leave your ward almost two hours early," was Carter's quick response.  He held up a big hand where a sinuous red rune was etched on the back.

"Blood bonded, remember?  It triggers an alert when you do something unusual."

Rhyl grimaced at seeing the sigil on the back of Carter's hand.  How could she forget?  She had made the mistake of tangling with that dirty werewolf down on Cooper's Street and getting herself slashed.  Then she had compounded it by walking into a nearby clinic to have it taken care of, instead of seeking out a covert healer.  A drop of her blood onto Carter's hand while he was bandaging it and the rest was history.  She had blood bonded a human.

"Serves you right for not wearing your encounter gloves when dealing with blood products, doctor," she bluntly noted, fixing the lean human male with her bright, indigo eyes.

Carter shrugged and settled back in his side of the booth.  He was a wiry, pale-skinned fellow, with a square jaw, a flash of dark hair and obsidian eyes.  Handsome enough, if one was into humans.  And a doctor, no less.  Yet, if Rhyl had her way, she wouldn't have him in her life.

"What can I say, Rhyl?  It was slow that night, and you were this exotic, rather hot-looking chick that I wasn't going to let Simpson get his hands on, that dirty old bastard.  How was I to know you were some sort of mystical creature, with the ability to form a psychic link to me with a little bit of blood."

Rhyl sighed and took another long draught of her coffee.  It was a conversation they had had perhaps a dozen times since she accidentally bonded him eight months ago.  And she was fairly certain she'd have it another dozen times in the next eight months.  Just not today.

"Whatever, man.  We've got a bigger problem to deal with," she said, putting her mug down.

Carter leaned forward with a frown at her tone.

"You had the dream again?" he asked and Rhyl nodded.

"I didn't want the portent to be right.  But I can't deny it any longer."  She barely stifled the urge to rub at her face with both fatigue and frustration.

"The Dark Masters are summoning the Shadowborn.  And since I can hear their siren's call, I'll somehow become involved in their newest grab for power.  Just like the oracle said I would."

Carter shook his head.

"I'm telling you, Rhyl, we need to tell my people about this," he said insistently.  Rhyl's eyebrow climbed.

"And what are they going to do about it, Carter? Outside of a few small groups, you round ears don't even know the Ethereal exist!  If you go marching into a police station and tell them the Dark Masters are gathering an army to try and conquer the world, they'll throw you into a cell and order a psych evaluation."

"Then we go to one of those groups that know about you and your kind," he said doggedly.  "Surely the Weavers or the Spirit Talkers will believe you,..."

Rhyl made a dismissive gesture with her hand.

"Eight months in my world and you think you're an expert on the nuances and pitfalls of our existence," she snorted derisively.  "For all we know, many, if not most of those groups are in league with the Dark Masters.  They want power just as badly as the Masters do."

"Fine." Carter threw up his hands.  "I give up.  I know nothing about your world.  So do you have a better plan?"

Rhyl sighed and took one last, long pull from her coffee cup.  When she put it back onto the table, her expression was thoughtful.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact I do," she said, looking over at Carter.  "We do what I should've done when I first started having the dreams."  She pushed the mug away from her and slipped out of the booth.

"We go to the Elder Council.  They'll know what to do!"