UnSeelie Nights Chapter Two Page 1

In a room which should have been dark due to the threads of pain woven into the loom Amara dutifully spun war, famine, and plague into earthly life.  White washed walls rounded out the room to reveal no sharp edges could be found.    Bright light flowed from everywhere and nowhere.    White silken spools bled into heavy crimsons, grey and black.   

  Her delicate fingers pushed the threads down tight, only to loop the next row.  Calm and methodical, her long fair hair was braided and pushed out of her way.    Amara stood tall, ethereal and lithe over the loom never loosing her concentration once in all the time of the world.    She glowed with the same inner light as the room. 

  Amara steadily created the fate of man as they created their reality.  It was not in her to judge good or bad of humanities vanity for she was only a weaver of their reflection in the world.   

  A child’s death softly passed over the tapestry.    Yet despite this loss among thousands a day, jewel tones began to play about the row.    Amara blinked as vivid greens and ambers began to blend into cyan and gold.    A worried frown marred her lovely brow.   

  It’s too soon, she thought.    Amara touched the thread of Tarraine, her essence moved into the knight’s journey. 




  Time disappeared for Thomas as his world was turned upside down. 

    “Tarraine.” 

  The ethereal voice startled him.    He glanced around to see who had spoken but found no one. 

  “For the love of God, get me out of here.” 

  At first Thomas heard the steadily scratching along the walls of the tunnel.  His heart stopped then sped up as he froze in fear as loud howls reverberated down the shaft.  I must have died in the Holy Lands and this is hell, Thomas mused as he placed his hands over his ears.   


  “I demand you stop that damned noise.”  Thomas grated out.    A bright light flashed through him and his voice spoke a language Thomas knew, yet did not know, coming out in a roar.     

  Suddenly all was quiet.    Thomas could feel the tension and waited in anticipation for the next move.    A buzzing sound flew past his left ear, just the barest hint of gossamer brushed against his cheek.    The noise was like a hive of bees tickling his ear drum with a language he could decipher.    Thomas barely felt her weight as she flitted just within sight.    She surprised him with her delicate tiny beauty which hardly filled the palm of his hand.    Her amber butterfly wings fluttered about her.   

  “You’re too small to make such a hellish sound."  Thomas grinned down at her. 

  Like a sigh, the sylph touched his eyes and tears ran down his face.  She drank from his enthrallment and suffering.   

  Thomas closed his eyes awe struck.  When he finally opened his eyes, he was standing on a high cliff overlooking an undulating midnight sea, its waves caressing the jagged rocks.    The Hunter’s moon overwhelmed the night with its illumination, casting a spell on the realm below.    It reminded him of Cyprus and he wondered if he was dreaming or waking.    The lapping of the waves soothed his tattered spirit and Thomas dropped to his knees.   

  Anticipation filled him as he waited for a day break which would never come.  No morning light had ever shone on this horizon.  Finally, he rose from where he knelt and began the trek down the moors.  He did not know where he was going or even if he was still alive.

  “Blessed Holy Virgin.” 

  He wondered if he was dreaming or saved.   

  From nowhere a mist rolled up the hill and a woman as radiant as the moon appeared.  She glided along the path toward him.  Fair braided locks blazed which an inner lunar glow.  Tendrils danced with life although there was no breeze.    Serene and beautiful spirit and for the first time in a long while Thomas felt at peace.   

  He knelt and bowed his head in supplication to her divinity.  She had to be the Blessed Virgin come to his aid.