The Maelstrom


  The bowels of Deepholm belched forth their rage unadulterated into the sky. The Temple of Earth shook in iterations of increasing magnitude and Hellbeorn attempted to filter out the ruckus, entirely unsuccessfully. The heart of the Maelstrom was not the best place to get some rest, it seemed.
  “It’s curious,” said a soft voice – Anineteenth’s voice – from the bunk above.
  “What is?” asked Hellbeorn.
  “I’m so tired,” she continued, “We’ve been travelling for months to find this place, but all the exhausting fatigue that has been building up only serves to keep my awake now.”
  “If you stop thinking about it you’ll be asleep in no time,” Hellbeorn lied, knowing exactly what she was talking about all too well.
  “I’m not so sure,” she continued, “it’s like I’m worried that if I lose my vigil now I’ll wake up and we’ll be topside again, our journey far from complete.”
  “That won’t happen, I won’t let it. We have a purpose here. A purpose that requires us to be awake and alert and altogether with it, so do your best, Anine.”
  “I’ll try, Hellbeorn,” came her disembodied reply. The great canyon in the sea rumbled again, stirring them both from what little peace that had managed to slip into since the last time and reminding them exactly where they were, what fragile, tentative instance they were holed up in. Eye of the storm was never more appropriate. The sooner they could quiet the sea, the sooner they could leave this Moses-inspired vortex that sat in the middle of it, before the walls caved in and swallowed them whole.


~ by Joseph Blame on March 25, 2011.

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