A Final Embrace


Tad ignored the wintry blast which fell on Dagon Fel from the north. The spume from a wind whipped sea clung like spittle to his unshaven face. He bent to pick up another piece of driftwood. As he did a tear fell, a rogue drop of warmth amid the cold spray. She was dying. The priest spoke of prayers and miracles but the truth was clear in his eyes. She had the wasting sickness and soon it would be over. Tad straightened and started back with the bundle of firewood. His shack looked across the sea through windows rimmed with sleet, but he could not meet its gaze. Icicles hung like waiting daggers from the eves. Would it be this time?

It was.

She lay by the low fire as she had since the sickness began. But she didn't shiver in spite of the draughts and leaks he had not the money to repair. There was no need the test her pulse, but he did anyway. Nothing. She was dead. Tad fell to his knees and cursed. He cursed the storm which had wrecked his boat. He cursed the ash which poisoned his guar and drove it mad, the rot which spoilt his barley and the cold which took his wife. But mostly he cursed the gods.

The priest found him the next morning still kneeling by the ashes of the fire and rocking back and forth and muttering. He clutched his wife's cold hand. A limpet grasping a hull, even as the boat drifts to sea, and like the limpet he only grabbed tighter when the priest tried to prize him away. At the mention of burial he chased the priest from the shack. Outside the weather still raged. He faced the sea and roared his bitterness and despair As his eyes turned heavenward they crossed the raven's tower. It stood strong and solid, black against the conspiring stormclouds. It had been there as long as he could remember, as had it's occupier. Sorkvild the Raven. His refuge stood firm against the ravages of the sea and against the strangling rumours which entwined it like ivy.

The had gods mocked and abused him, and Tad hated them. In that long black finger he saw his revenge, he would stand against their will and take what had been his. The new purpose steeled him and he strode back into his shack leaving the door open to wind and water. He scooped up his bride, now so light from the ravages of the fever, and kissed her forehead. Soon they would be together again.

The path up to the cliff-top was steep and slick with mud but even though his knees were scraped and bloody he stood again with every fall. Never once did he drop his love, though his wished a thousand times that he might be in her place. Soon they would be together again, the sweet hysteria drew him to the tower like a lodestone to the north. All their plans and dreams, deformed and shattered into sharp shards of nightmare by the sickness, would be bound there. He was close now and could see golden candlelight though the high window like a small sun for their new dawn. The dwemer metal was purple: the colour of love.

He banged on the door violently. When it drew open his knuckles too were skinned but he didn't feel. He did it for hope, for grief and love and mainly for her. A strange figure stared at him through a dark mask.

"For what do you disturb me?" demanded Sorkvild, his tongue flickered between the black lips.

"My wife," said Tad, his desperate eyes stared at the tall figure, "I think you are the only one who can let us be together now." What thoughts passed behind that mask Tad couldn't fathom, but he knew the wizard would help, just knew it. This was his only hope, and he laid everything on it.

"I can have you feel her embrace again," replied the necromancer, "But there is a price."

"What? Anything, everything. Name it and I shall pay immediately."

"No need," could the strange mask smile? Surely just a trick of the shadows, "I would not spoil your time together. All I ask is when you die your soul and remains are mine."

"Yes," nodded Tad, "Yes. Yes, they are yours, now please cure her. I would be with her again."

With a sweep Sorkvild waved him inside. The clang of the door closing echoed, a cold knell in the bare tower. Tad followed the wizard up a ladder, the corpse of his beloved over his shoulder. Soon she would wake and they would be together. In the high room he laid her out on the table. "My dear, my lovely," her murmured, "Soon my dear, soon we shall speak and dance and laugh. Yes soon."

Sorkvild pulled back his sleeves to reveal bony arms with yellow skin stretched over them like ancient parchment. He placed seven black candles around the corpse and Tad shrank back, his mutterings silenced. The air became blistering and slick on his tongue, like breathing hot oil. Then Sorkvild began to chant, his voice grew to a thousand in unison reverberating around the chamber. The incantation was strong liquor which intoxicated Tad's senses. He was disgusted and fascinated, aroused and repelled. The swirling sounds were joined by wheeling shadows which danced and frolicked about the chamber cast by nothing, circling like a whirlpool drawn to his beloved. There was a black madness to these forces, they stood beyond the jurisdiction of man or god. But if that was the cost of his lover's embrace so be it.

As one the candles died and the flickering madness ceased. A crashing silence fell upon the chamber. "It is done," said Sorkvild.

Tad drew forward excitedly. As his wife sat up he let out a cry of delight and stepped closer. She turned at the sound and he paused. Her eyes were rolled back in her head. Two white orbs met his beseeching stare, empty but for the resonating madness of a hollow mind, her tongue lolled between lips bloated with disease and split from cold. A gurgling rattle escaped them.

"Go to her, she desires you," urged Sorkvild.

Tad started forward. Surely this would pass, she had been raised from the dead, to expect her to be fine right away was too much. He stepped next to her and her arms flopped up as if on the strings of a drunken master. She did desire him. His heart swelled and a smile spread on his face. He fell into her embrace and hugged her. She squeezed him back with cold inhuman strength. He coughed as the air was driven from him. She tilted her head to kiss his neck, just as she had done the night they'd met. He leant in to do the same.

As his lips met her clammy dead skin so her teeth plunged into his throat ripping and tearing. His eyes widened in shock. They last thing they saw was Sorkvild's grin and the black gem he held.

Nicely told. The atmosphere and description put me in mind of the Gothic tales I used to frighten myself with late at night in my basement room...

That was just plain nasty...

Interestingly enough I'm currently reading Dracula. Must be coming through in my writing.

Cheers for the comments, I'm glad you liked it, even if it is rather short. There is something longer on its way but I like to get things finished before posting them, I was just in the mood to write something short.

This indeed was an interesting story. Proving that love could make people go along with anything, and very nasty. Not the thing you would usually read, and maybe thats the reason to why I like it.

That was bone-chilling... loved it

Well done! Very dark and moody. As ever, you use evocative metaphors to paint a vivid picture of Tad's desperate plight. The conclusion was as inevitable as it was chilling. Very cool!

A very dark and tragic love story. Well told, Olen.

EDIT: I was thinking about the tragedy of this story a couple days after reading it. Is making a deal with the devil ok when you do it for love? What a poignant study of no right answers.

The description and atmosphere that you created in this piece were wonderful. You've got a very lovely writing style, and that, coupled with the moody, lurking dread of this story, made for an excellent read. In short, I loved reading this. It was a bit reminiscent of 'Pet Cemetery' by Stephen King, although I like the idea of necromancy much better than his use of a curse graveyard. Yes, wonderfully done, and I can't wait to read your other works now.

This gave me chills Olen! You could win that writing contest for this story!

Well this piece seems to raise it's head fairly often. I'm glad it's liked.

Acadian - I hadn't ever considered that side of it, an interesting angle to take on the old 'bit of evil for the right reasons' theme... Certainly it wasn't in my mind as I wrote it.

mALX - what writing contest

Here is a link to the contest board:

http://s1.zetaboards.com/Feyfolken/index/


And a link to the man that runs the contest over at the BGSF forums, Darkom95:

http://forums.bethsoft.com/index.php?/user/517756-darkom95/

Speaking of that...is there a new contest running now? I didn't see anything, but that doesn't mean anything, lol.

Back on topic...wow. Very interesting read...and, as some have said, chilling. Nicely done.

No, I personally went to Darkom's topics and none was there. He had so much trouble with the judge's schedules last time that he may have decided to slow down the number of contests a year - not sure.

Glad I didn't miss one, and I hope the last round wasn't enough to make him quit running them...they were a lot of fun, and it was amazing to see how different and fascinating the stories could be!

That was the first one I ever entered, I had a ball !!! I drove Darkom crazy editing it though.

I notice while I was on hiatus the last couple months that OLEN had a birthday! Sorry I missed it Olen, I hope it was great !!! Happy Belated!

ooh, I like the short story. Very creepy dark. If you're entering the contest, this is gonna at least get 2nd place! Nice.

Srry I'm a little late on posting this just go around to reading it. I'm on a fanfic spree

Oh my I absolutely loved this! ♥ So romantic, in a very dark way

I first read this story a few years ago, and it has stuck with me. As Valentine’s Day approaches in our world and Heart’s Day looms in Tamriel I like to read it again as a little gift to myself. One of my favorite love stories.

I'm glad you brought this to my attention, Grits!

Such a dark, yet strangely beautiful tale of a mans desperate desire to have his wife back. Amazing...