Author:
the wizard wyce
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Date Posted: 01:53:12 01/19/05 Wed
>>"Keep your head down so you don't get hit by falling
>>rocks. I'm coming to get you."
>>[The Wizard Wyce]
> As he lowered himself cautiously over the edge he
>thought he had done a few more foolish things in his
>life, but he couldn't remember one so ... so less
>profitable. True he had gotten married on a whim
>once, then fell in love with another almost
>immediately, but that was all history. Now he was
>pitted against a universal enemy ... gravity. He
>gripped the rope tightly with both hands regulating
>his progress by the expedient of releasing or
>tightening his grip. While it served to lower him, he
>knew his reverse journey would be much more arduous.
>Foot by breathless foot he crept spider-like down his
>single strand. Soon he was at the same level with the
>child but still out of his reach.
>"Can you put out your hand so I can reach you?"
>"Oh, no! I will fall if I try to reach you." At this
>proximity, he could see that the child was a girl.
>Her long hair whipped about in the swirling wind as
>she crouched perched on a small ledge. There was
>barely room for her feet, and nowhere for her to sit
>or lie. He shook his head wonderingly trying to
>imagine how she had managed to keep from falling to
>her death for three days. He no longer had any doubt
>that she was at the end of her strength. A few more
>hours would have been too late to save her. He thought
>he could swing himself back and forth enough to reach
>her, but there was no way that he could hang on to the
>cliff. He could only make one great effort, swing
>himself over to her and snatch her off the cliff face
>in one move. She didn't look too heavy, but he knew
>how deceptive weights and sizes of people could be.
>He had to shorten the rope on which he swung so he was
>level with her and allow him unencumbered use of his
>arms and hands. To do this, he had to untie himself
>and retie the knot around his waist, and do all of
>this using one hand. The longer he waited, the more
>tired his muscles would become just from clinging to
>the rope, so he began with many curses at his clumsy
>fingers and the unresponsive knot.
>By the time he freed himself from the knot so he swung
>only by one arm, that one arm was screaming with pain.
>He could not risk changing arms, he would simply have
>to continue to make himself fast and hope he didn't
>fall. The air grew thicker and more turbulent as the
>afternoon sun robbed the cliff of its warmth, yet the
>knight struggled on. Each failure was no longer
>cursed as he marshaled his remaining strength and
>concentration to his task.
>"Hurry, please hurry," cried the girl, but her pleas
>seemed to fall on deaf ears as he knew rushing only
>brought failure. By the time he secured the rope
>about his waist, his face was bathed in sweat. His
>arm threatened to tear from its socket, and he
>trembled from fatigue. Gradually he loosened his
>death-grip on the rope and allowed the rope around his
>waist to take his weight. His left arm, the one
>supporting all his weight for uncountable minutes
>throbbed with searing pain. He wanted to rest, but
>looking at the girl, he knew he had only a few minutes
>to make the one supreme effort to pluck her off before
>she fell. He rubbed his arm, swinging it around
>trying to get blood into it before beginning to swing
>himself back and forth. Out into the blinding light
>of the slanting sun, then back into the apparent
>darkness against the cliff. He flinched each time he
>made the transition as if he were striking some
>palpable wall. The swings were themselves a source of
>terror, but it was at least not as bad as holding on
>to a rope for all one's worth while trying to untie
>and retie yourself to the same rope. Closer and
>closer he came to the girl. Each time he came near
>her now, he said something encouraging.
>"I'm right here now."
>"You're safe now, Don't be scared"
>""When I grasp you, don't struggle."
>"Just let go and trust me."
>"I won't allow you to fall."
>Closer and closer he came, each swing in itself a
>horror as the only thing below him was an angry sea of
>broken rock and white foam. Now he was so close he
>could feel her hair touch his face, a strange feeling,
>personal yet remote. It was a touch without
>personality.
>"Now!" he cried as he grasped her around her waist.
>She screamed involuntarily as she spun off into the
>void.
>[The Wizard Wyce]
He never considered time before, at least not in its essence. Time was something to be managed, saved, allocated, made use of, but never considered in terms of an entity, as a living part of his surroundings. At least not until now falling as he was with the knowledge that the earth was rushing up toward him inevitable as Death. Why he felt no fear was to be wondered at, even pondered upon, until he realized that time, as he understood it, had been suspended, stretched out infinitely as it were, spread out making its presence superfluous within his existance. He was not uncomfortable though viewing the world tumbling around him took some getting used to. He should have been terrified, but he was not. As he spun endlessly he wondered what had happened to the girl? Was she too suspended like this, or had she fallen to her death on the brutal rocks far below? He had read, and people had submitted tales to him, of a period of peaceful calm at the moment of a person's death. He chuckled at the thought for if it were true, certainly no one would now be alive to report the experience. So if it were not that, what was he currently experiencing? The answer was obvious: it was a spell of some sort cast by some powerful wizard or magician. He could not guess who was doing this for him, keeping him alive, suspending his deadly fall.
"Joffre!" a voice whispered close to his ear, or was it a figment of his imagination? The voice was dear to him, as well known to him as his own voice, yet he could not place it. It was a girl's voice, and it prompted thoughts and dreams long forgotten to surface from the depths of his mind. Images flickered in his mind's eye almost too fast to recognize, fragments appeared in no particular order like a reflection on a mirror broken into incomprehensible parts when the mirror is shattered. Though splintered, even the tiny parts hopelessly jumbled held an aura that was for him familiar and so powerfully evocative that tears came to his eyes unprovoked by any present sentimentality. With the familiar aura came the faint scent of a perfume, and with the perfume came a name. No, it was no name but a title...Queen of Traulamet.
(the wizard wyce)
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