Originally posted in response to a photo prompt here: go see it, and you’ll know why this had to be fae-apoc Apoc. It ended up being Arnbørg because Wyst & I had been discussing Jamian.
The sky shimmered and rippled like an old parking-lot oil slick, the world stretching and tearing in the bright sunset.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Arnbørg settled the heavy army coat a little more firmly, and pointed a single finger at the sky. The ripples slowed, and then shifted direction, as if looking over their shoulder at their caught tail. The sky bunched and puddle, and a small tear of orange appeared in the blue-red clouds.
“No.” This time, the word had power behind it, a shove like pushing a big dog back to the ground: down, boy. Down. The world tore a little bit more, the ripples frozen in their pushing, and Arnbørg pushed back with a single finger and a single word.
“No.” It may have been the only word of power to ever properly cross those lips, but it would be strong enough. Shoulders set, the slender mutt said it again: “No.”
Through a hole barely big enough, in the scheme of things, to count as a pinhole, thrust the head of a being who at one time had been worshiped as an all-knowing deity. “What?”
“I said no.”
The god worked a shoulder through, only to find himself sucked back into the hole, nothing but his nose and mouth sticking out. “Who are you to naysay my will, child?”
“I am Arnbørg sh’Arvilla by Aelfgar, and I say no.” With every repetition, the slim shoulders swayed, the sky rippled, and the hole in the world shrank.
“What are you to naysay me,” the god roared, but he sounded tinny and far away.
“I am the one who says No,” Arnbørg repeated, “and I say no to your intrusion.” Bony shoulders shook with cold, but the finger remained unwavering until the world stopped rippling and the tear vanished. “No,” whispered with the last thread of strength, and a wry smile as knees hit the ground.
“No.” When Arnbørg had been just past three years old, a tired Arvilla had declared it looked like her contrary child’s sole ability would be to deny everything and anything. At twenty-eight, the slender mutt cheerfully denied a god and proved her mother right.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/7294.html. You can comment here or there.
Interesting. I had no idea of the character’s gender until the final paragraph. That confused me a bit. Also, you use a dog metaphor for pushing the intruder back. Then you described the main character as a mutt. I was kind of confused, and had to read that bit twice to realize it was not describing the intrusion in the sky. Maybe pick one, either the spellcaster or the invading god, to be the one described in dog terms? And ACK, is she OK? Did she die doing that? It is really not clear. Possibly typo: The sky bunched and puddle, and a small tear of orange appeared in the blue-red clouds. The sky bunched and puddled…
Puddled puddled And yeah, I was trying to avoid gender pronouns, which throws me sometimes.
…clearly, since I failed on the last paragraph.
*grins* It was kind of neat to find out she’s a girl, but it did throw me at first, as the picture looked male to me. Also, your tube-kitty icon must rule the intertubes. It is so cute!
Sand kitty! II hadn’t thought of her as an innertubes kitty but I guess she is ;-D
She looks like she is in a tube… or at the end of one.
I think she is in a pipe, yes, a tube. I’d just never thought of that .:-D
Cute! I like her already. The mutt thing didn’t throw me, since I knew it was part of The Lingo.
User addergoole referenced to your post from Landing Page – Faerie Apoc stories saying: […] just before the apoc. Denial […]