These stories may contain graphic descriptions of sexual contact and behaviour. If stories containing such acts may be illegal where you live, or you are not of legal age where you live, stop reading. Otherwise, enjoy. Feedback welcome at kirkjr@hotmail.com
Shaper's Mist, Introduction
"How boring." the thought wafted through the empty stone chambers. "Why did I ever bother? Thousands of years pass by, and still nothing changes" the thoughts continued, echoing in the vast, empty stone walls.
To the human eye, the inner chamber of the ancient temple was large, dark, and showed no sign of habitation. Hundreds of years had passed since a human being had set foot in the room. The room could have easily held every remaining inhabitant of the city surrounding the temple, but for now it was utterly empty. No doors or windows opened into it, no secret passage allowed anyone or anything to enter or leave. Despite that, the room was occupied.
On a low dais, set in the exact center of the room, a stone chair was carved out of the same rock that made up the rest of the room. In the chair, sat a being in human form, unmoving in the all the time since the last doors, the last of the great windows that had once let in the light of the world, had mutated into cold stone, shutting out the rest of the world.
Like the stuttering of the feeble-minded, those thoughts wafted through the room, over and over, unheard even by the one which created them. Outside the chamber, at the base of the great stone tower which served as the town's temple, a crowd had gathered. Nearly every inhabitant of the once great town had come to listen once more to the high priests, and to offer again, a sacrifice to their Shaper, their god.
Almost 10,000 people stood there, quietly waiting as three priests climbed the steps to what had once been the temple's entrance. Fifty years ago, almost 50,000 would have been gathered. Fifty years before that, almost 200,000 would have taken turns coming to the great temple. Now, those few who remained alive waited quietly, believing that once again, they were wasting their time, but refusing to give up that glimmer of hope that this time, they might reach the ears of their Shaper.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the three priests reached the top of the thousand steps. The High Priest, an aging man, well into his eighth decade, grasped the shoulders of the two priests on either side of him for support. A low cry of pain gurgled in his throat at the site of the few people in front of him. Each year, their numbers decreased, and soon, there would be no more. The two handsome priests on either side of him turned to give him more support. On his left, the beautiful blond went as pale as his hair, while his dark haired twin whispered, "Elder, are you all right?"
Taking a deep breath, the high priest whispered "I will be fine, son. I pray that this will be the last time we must do this." Gathering himself together, the elder priest raised his hands to the sky and began.
"Ancient people of Tylera. We are gathered once again to raise our voices in prayers of hope. Today, we are fewer than we were before, but still we are here. We are alive." as he finished the last part of the intonation, he lowered his arms to his side and waited for the crowd's response.
"We are alive." the crowd chanted as one "Circled by the mists of fate, separated from all others. In the bosom of the Shaper, we live."
Taking a deep breath, the tall young blond priest stepped forward and began "Since the time of the Wreckers, the Shapers have guarded the world. As the world changed from a place of sustenance to a place of death, the Shapers gave us succor."
Again, the crowd chanted "We are alive, circled by the mists of fate, separated from all others. In the bosom of the Shaper, we live"
As the blond priest stepped back beside the high priest, his dark haired twin stepped forward, reared his head and cried out "Yet, even the Shapers may be deceived. After the time of the Wreckers, the world lived in peace for a time. However, as the world we live on grew more desolate, the Shapers began to argue about how to guard us, their people. Finally, the Shapers of the East declared dominion over all people and tried to force their will on the others."
Stepping next to the dark-haired priest, the blond priest continued "Yet these dark Shapers were not unopposed. For years beyond count, the Shapers of the West resisted their fallen brothers. As their contest waged on the world was forever changed."
As the crowd chanted "We are alive, circled by the mists of fate, separated from all others. In the bosom of the Shaper, we live", the elderly High Priest stepped between his two younger brethren and continued,
"Brought by the terrible wrath of the Shapers, the mists of fate rose from the ground. Where they formed, life as we know it ceased to exist. As the last of the dark Shapers were destroyed, the Shapers of Light noticed at last the effects of their great struggle. They turned their minds back to the world, and to the people. They saw that where the mists of fate rose, the people of the earth died. Green fields turned to dust, the animals screamed their pain as their lives were ended by the terrible mists."
Again, the dark-haired priest raised his voice "Despite being chained and cast out of existence, the revenge of the Dark Shapers was complete. Their last cry 'If they do not worship us, let there be no one left but our weak-hearted brethren!' The mists of fate were the last revenge of the Dark Shapers"
Once more, the crowd chanted "We are alive, circled by the mists of fate, separated from all others. In the bosom of the Shaper, we live"
This time, the blond priest raised his hands to the sky and chanted "Blessed be the Shapers of Light, Shapers of the West!" lowering his hands, he continued in his deep bass "As the people died by the thousands, then the millions, the Shapers of Light sought to end the mists."
"Alas!" cried the High Priest, "Alas for the world that the Dark Shapers wrought so well at their end!"
"Their curse! Their curse!" cried the dark-haired priest, "Their curse forced the Shapers of Light to adopt the ways of the Shapers of Darkness!"
"Forced by their failure to end the mist, the Shapers of Light gathered the people to them," continued the blond priest, "Once the people were gathered by a Shaper of Light, he gathered his will and shaped a place of safety for his chosen people. Within the realm shaped by the power of their will, they created a place of refuge, of safety from the mists of fate. Each Shaper, according to their strength of will, saved hundreds and thousands of people. As time went by, corridors were fashioned, joining these refuges, and a time of greatness came again."
In voices near rapture, the crowd shouted "We are ALIVE, circled by the mists of fate, separated from all others. In the bosom of the Shaper, we LIVE"
As the two younger priests stepped back, the elder priest allowed his head to fall so that his clean shaven chin touched his chest. "As time went by, one by one, the refuges began to fall. The Shapers of Light became distracted, allowed the walls holding back the mist to fade. The people begged them, worshiped them, thanked them, tried however they could to keep the attention, the love of their Shapers, but eventually the corridors would fill with the dreaded mist, their farms, their homes, their towns would all be swallowed. As contact was lost, whole civilizations would fall into the mist, never to be heard again, the voices of their people lost forever.
"Yet, through it all, Tylera prospered. Tylera, blessed by the grace of the most powerful shaper of them all - J'stan- grew until it was as large as a city in the time of the Wreckers. Farms spread out as J'stan gathered lesser Shapers to him. Together they created the greatest refuge, the greatest City of Man left.
"Even through all this, the despair crept among the Shapers of Tylera. Though we, their people gave them all we could, they still abandoned us to the mists."
"Woe to us!" cried the people, "Woe to us for losing the Shapers, Woe to us for failing them!"
Lifting his head to stare at the large wooden structure behind the crowd, the old priest continued "NOW, 300 years after the last, greatest Shaper locked his temple, as the mists of fate began to creep ever closer into Tylera, killing our people, our land, we gather once more. For 300 years, we have sought to reach him, to remind him of our need, to please him so that he would save us! Now, we know that if we fail, we may never again have a chance to live. Pray people, pray for the brave young sacrifice. Pray for survival, pray the Shaper will hear us at last!"
At his words, the priest could see several of his sisters leading a young man atop the wooden structure. A catapult, an old design from ages past. Several hundred feet high, with it's great arm already strung back and tied down. As they reached the top, the boy stopped amid a circle of priestesses and faced the men standing atop the steps of the temple.
"Each year," the priest continued, "we gather here, to remember the past, and to call out to J'stan. We offer him a sacrifice. A sacrifice not of death, but of life. We offer him one of our best, our brightest young men. Our histories tell us these always brought his interest, always kept him attached to his people. He would protect them from harm." Calling out to the wooden platform, he cried "Art thou ready, Andrei?"
On the top of the platform, the eldest of the priestesses stepped forward and answered "He is ready!" Below, the crowd all bent to one knee, as the priestesses prepared young Andrei.
As the priestesses began to remove robes, Andrei felt a shiver in the cool morning. At 18, he stood a full 6 feet in height, weighing an even 180 pounds. His short blond hair was gently ruffled in the wind as he looked down at the crowd hoping to spot one last glance of his family. Once the last of his clothing had been removed from him, he stepped into the bowl of the catapult and prepared himself for his journey.
Seeing the young man had prepared himself in the bowl, the elder priestess stepped to the lever that would release the arm. Crying out as loud as she could, she shouted "Hear Us! Hear Us J'stan! Save this boy! Save him from his death, and listen to his plea on our behalf!"
As the crowd shouted "Hear US!", the three priests stepped to the side of what had once been the great entrance to the temple. Once they were aside, the priestess whispered "Bless you!" to Andrei and threw the lever back. With a clatter, roar and bang, the catapult arm was thrown forward and the form of Andrei streaked towards the hard, cold stone walls.
In the crowd, Andrei's surviving family, his sister and brother, watched as he flew over. Inside their heads, they were screaming, remember the ceremony of years past, and the crunching sound of those boys hitting the wall, being crushed against the stone. As Andrei reached the halfway point of his flight, his voice carried down to the crowd, a horrifying "NOOOOOOOOO!"
As soon as he had heard the whisper of the Priestess, Andrei tried to brace himself for what was to come. He knew that this ceremony had been going on for 200 years. He knew that he had attended 17 of them before (although he only remembered 12 of them). Years ago, at 14, he had admitted his secret, the secret which made him the choice for this offering. He remembered the bloody mess of all the boys who had not been heard, who had been splattered against the wall of the temple. The last one had been his lover, Creis, and he himself had scraped the bloody remains from the wall in ages old custom. Yet, to save his people, he had climbed into this machine.
As he was thrown by the catapult into the air, his first reaction was a pure, exhilarating thrill of freedom. He was FLYING! When he reached the halfway point, he remembered an old axiom "What goes UP, must come DOWN!" He started to scream as he felt himself falling towards the implacable stone of the temple. His last thought was "I'm not dying THIS way!"
to be continued...
Copyright - Daniel Kirk, Jr. 2001