Creatrix

Chapter 1 - Endless Nightmare

Anika lifted her head, gasping for air as if she had been drowned in her dreams, and took in a breath as sharp as the wounds and words from the night before. She jumped up from her bed, heart pounding, head roaring, and her eyes hot and red. The images were still blazing on the back of her skull: sickening; she would force another reality into existence. 

A ripple danced deep within her, urgent, almost unstoppable; it told her; to stop pretending, to face up to real life, to stop hiding from the truth – she tried to ignore it, deny its existence, but this tremble persisted. Summoning her entire concentration, she willed and forced it aside. Again she pushed it deeper down, fully aware that it demanded resolution. She would deal with it, but not yet. 

She got up and shook the horrible memories from her head, letting the nights torment slip away, and began her morning routine: opening up her Lightcrystal and shifting into a reality where she felt strong and self-assured. She might have been pretending, but breath-by-breath she became stronger. 

She held her Lightcrystal, oval shaped to fit into her palm perfectly and under-lit with a soft turquoise light, slid the magic rings over her fingers, and activated the unit. As Anika whispered her password, her world faded to nothing; her confidence, once again, was true and effortless.

* * *

It was morning here too and outside the village was full of activity. Children ran across the street, their mother called them back, a pan clattered on stone, the dull thwack of a wood-axe, and then, from across the street, singing a low tune, she heard Sully’s deep voice, like syrup and sand – so clear, and so soothing. 

Anika found comfort in her yurt, she had chosen this particular dwelling for its simplicity; unlike the town dwellings, she could move this temporary structure, and liked the idea of being nomadic; she could move on whenever she wanted.  She enjoyed being in this illusion of her own home; it was nurturing. Many times she had run here for safety and found it. The white canvas was tarnished a stiff smoked brown and it hugged against the curved body of the structure. The walls, made from chunky ash poles and trellised together with hundreds of knots, strained against the canvas. The ribs, hazel poles stripped and dried to a warm gold, stretched up to support the crown, a wheel with a window to the morning sky. The whole thing was like a giant mandala and it gave Anika a feeling of peace. 

Standing in the centre of the space, soaking up the serenity, her image was beautiful. She was a tall, creamy skinned woman, dressed only in soft leather, with striking, hazel eyes and auburn hair. She looked down her body, at the curve of her breast sloping down to her waist and over her hips. She was  shy of this shapely figure; she often kept it hidden under her armour or robes.  She trailed a finger over the curve and watched a lazy cloud drift across the window; it was astounding how real everything seemed. 

The air was stuffy; a musty blend of wood-smoke and linseed, and the burner was still warm. She considered kindling the coals to cook some breakfast, but her stomach lurched at the possibility. Her mouth was rough and dry, so she poured herself a glass of warm spring water, gulped it down; it was strange, refreshing. She walked over to the door, unlocked and threw back the lid of her oak chest, lifted out her light chain mail and began to dress. Sliding the chain easily over her head, she caught her breath; the armour was cold against her skin, yet offered the protection she would soon need. Taking out her plate mail, she lifted it over her small frame and secured it to the chain.

For an instant, a sinful smile flickered across her face and a grim expectation crept up on her. Excited; she crammed some food, a dagger, and some small bottles of life essences into her pack, then carefully placed her razor chains on the top. Yearning for the thrill of the battle, the rage and fury unleashed, the rush of the kill, her heart pumped hard. She needed to fight something big today, to take down something mighty; it would make her feel powerful and in control. Pushing the canvas back from the doorway, she felt the east wind brush her cheek and sensed that the wind had changed.