fantasy – A Year of Time

We enter the glade and form our circle. Above us the stars burn. No one speaks, no one looks at each other. Silent, we stand, in silence we witness and slowly the moon passes over the glade. Its light bathing us, refreshing us, rekindling our powers which had dwindled over the last month.

Once it has passed, we turn taking our leave. All solemn, all silent.

Then to my left someone softly giggles. It is melodious, infused with joy and it is sacrilegious. I freeze, stalling in my procession and glance at the chuckler. She is looking straight at me, her face dark in the shadows of the trees, but her eyes stare brightly at me, and she smiles. Her teeth are white and starlight pours from her. I am chilled, though not with dread, something flickers in my chest. An ache. A yearning. She is beautiful and unashamedly powerful. I turn and hurry from the glade.

Over the next lunar cycle, I busy myself with my healer duties. I try to push the giggler from my mind. She is one of the Lunar Circle; one chosen to take in the powers of the moon and practice the sacred art of healing. A venerable duty. Our place in the circle is an honour. We were picked as children and trained by our predecessor whose place we now stand in. We have always been kept apart. This keeps us safe. Not knowing the other parts of the circle ensures that it can never be broken. I shouldn’t have glanced at the giggler, and she shouldn’t have been looking at me.

I try not to think about her, but I wake at night to the echo of her laugh ringing in my room. I draw my quilts tighter in attempt to shield myself. But what am I shielding myself from? I burn and as I burn it seems like her smile hangs in the dark above me. A bewitching moon cast smile.

I don’t sleep.

Slowly the moon moves through her cycle.

Back to the glade I go. My powers are weak, I am drawn out, wearied, but I am also excited.

I keep my eyes on the ground as I join the circle, then as the moon reaches her zenith and I cast my gaze skyward, I risk a glance to my left. She is there. Her radiant red hair tumbling down her back. She is looking at me and her look tells me she knew I would glance her way. I blush to the tips of my toes, my face smolders. She smiles and my heart nearly bursts from my chest.

Another lunar cycle. Another month of no sleep. She haunts me. Every red head I see could be her. I rush after a woman in the market, but when I reach a tentative hand out to touch her shoulder she turns, and she isn’t my lady of the moon. Her face is tired, bitter and holds none of her magic.

The moon is full and to the glade I go.

This afternoon I took my time as I bathed and dressed. I wanted to look more than myself to be worthy of her.

I steel myself; I don’t look her way. I want to, but I don’t. I am too afraid of what I will see, what I may unleash. The moon clears the glade, and I am sated, but not in the way I wish. As one we turn and take our leave. My spine tingles telling me she is near, just yards from me in the darkness. I can smell her, lavender, sage and something spicy. My hand stretches out instinctively and there it finds another. Fingers curl round fingers and I am undone.

Circle of women in a forest at night – Bing Image Creator 25th June 2024

Neon Sign Museum Edmonton – my own photo 2023

A flickering sign had drawn me down the narrow alley. Some wizards work, from many years ago, the spell now fading, but still effective, a naked woman grinding her behind against the capital A of the word Art.

Florin nudged me, a smutty look on his face. ‘The Art Store, a place to experience the culture of Nylryi.’

There was nothing about this dump that promised culture or indeed art, we were in the heart of the slum district, but we needed a place to lay low and The Art Store appeared to be just that.

We pushed our way through the beaded curtain which jingled and swayed. A dwarf bouncer sat on a bench beyond the curtain, their beard slick with beer froth, their axe propped against the smoke-stained wall, they nodded at us as we passed, confident, not worried about a halfling and skinny human. Inside the air hung heavy, a mixed scent, something sweet, body must and a metallic tang – perhaps blood.

A stage, sat at the center of the room. An unnatural purple haze radiated from it, illuminating the crowd, though the further you got from the stage the less you could see of the patrons. The customers were a mixed bunch, humans, trolls, dwarfs, a couple of goblins, a hunched over creature with scaled skin, we wouldn’t be noticed here. They sat nursing drinks, talking quietly amongst themselves, or playing cards, not one of them showed the slightest interest in our arrival. This was a good sign, perhaps word hadn’t gotten out that Ironbeard had put a price on our heads.

We found a table, greasy and wobbly in the midst of the crowd and Florin flicked his wrist, summoning a serving girl. We ordered drinks, which I suspected would be poor, but when they arrived, I was surprised by the quality of the wine.

Suddenly the air crackled with anticipation. A spotlight sliced the haze, illuminating a figure who was descending from a hidden platform above, an elfin woman. My pulse quickened. She was a vision. Her skin was polished alabaster, it shimmered with flecks of gold. Long sun-bleached hair framed her heart shaped face, a face that many would readily bleed for.

Her costume … well, there wasn’t much to it, clung to her curves like the possessive hands of a lover, but for the most part we were treated to an expansive view of her toned body. She alighted on the stage and bestowed a playful smile upon the crowd, all of whom had fallen silent and then in a honeyed voice she teased, ‘Admire as much as you can. Most people don’t admire enough.’

Well, that was a lie, there wasn’t a soul here who wasn’t admiring. Next to me Florin sat frozen with his drink forgotten halfway to his mouth, his eyes riveted on the near nude goddess.

And then she started to dance, and I, like everyone else, was captivated. It was the way she moved, every step, every turn, every twist was a symphony of grace. The music pulsed, not leading her steps, but responding to her flow. She shaped the music, it was enthralled to her, as was I. This wasn’t just dancing; it was a story. A story of a faraway land, she taught us ancient rituals with a twist and spin. She wove desire and hunger into the tale, and I leaned forward, eager. The crowds’ bored stupor had vanished and had been replaced by a primal fascination. We were all drunk on her.

When the music finally ended, the room shook with thunderous applause, and bestial calls. I joined the chorus, I needed more.

The woman basked in our desperate pleas with a smile on her face. It was cruel, she had given me a taste of the sweetest nectar, she had let me sip, but she had snatched it away before I could quench my thirst. She raised her arms, stretching out her long slender body, the light dancing over her form, and then she ascended back to the heavens from whence she came.

Silence, the crowd’s voice had deserted it. I shook my head, I felt drunk, yet I had barely touched my wine. I wasn’t alone in this trance, a glance around the room showed me that my fellows in the crowd were as numb as I.

The Art Store had promised nothing, well nothing other than smut, but it had delivered. No, she had delivered a sensual transcending.

‘I didn’t expect that,’ Florian said his voice raw and rasping.

‘Nor did I,’ I breathed. Surprised I had been able to draw breath enough to speak. A hand fell upon my shoulder, its grip like an iron vice, a gravelly voice growled in my ear, ‘and I didn’t expect to find you two so easily, it is a day for surprises it seems.’

Mind Burble

This piece was written for a workshop, the requirements being it had to less than 800 words and it needed to include the quote ‘Admire as much as you can. Most people don’t admire enough.’ This is a from one of the many letters Van Gogh wrote.

I wanted the reader to be as absorbed in the dance as the main character, for you to forget that these two were actually being pursued.

I think will return to the characters here, though only for other short stories set in their world.

Thank you for reading.

Category: fantasy

Moon Cast Smile

The Art Store

Mind Burble