Wizard
a short story
Wizard
by Ophelia Everfall
Twisting, curling, bent to break. Souls who churned would sometimes make—changing tides and wicked luck. Fellows-left-upheld, they stuck.
Elovan was lost within him, musculature of his back whispering to senses forgoing thought, wafts of fragrance from their hair beguiling. He loved Hiilo more, and with care beyond that which had ever seemed possible in terms of cradling faith towards another. Their bond was profoundly holy and of passions unmatched. Nothing would be held as more important to Elovan than his gorgeous mate apart from every child of the Earth.
Lemont Keep had proven that home in which they stayed. Elovan, all of himself, broke boundaries with peoples there. Not one would lessen him for a single element of his righteous nature sported towards fullness. He was their leader. His honorable companion had been told of earnestly, recognized in all through action, himself nothing but a blessing, title earned wholly and by right of Hiilo’s virtue, along with every glory he would distill inside Elovan by presence-beside. Their leadership bearing wisdom of stoic compassion was more than welcomed for sharing with all of their children. Each last child had been led towards grace by that bounty.
Stowing between breast, holding beneath waist, grasping by Elovan’s mighty clutches, refound again from before, floated the passion of a perfect pairing. Ultimate leaders of women and men alike they were, despite all cowardly malice bore in from without. Enemies had been everyone except that limited populace of Lemont. Each palace, steepled chapel, and rivaling keep throughout Reincor Valley misunderstood their honors entirely. Those blindest projections were made of by misunderstanding in themselves, and their place.
Together, Elovan in Hiilo stood as lovers who shared their ruthful abundance of spirit discovered in each and other for all. It broke minds of the weak for how it was of no reflection beside that of their pondering minds of curiosity.
Each last one of those fools would presume to change the hearts of earnest passion into corruptions via projection. People would cast their own designs at everyone, and all they wished for being unseen, unrealizing their part-so-played throughout. Witnessing Hiilo beside Elovan made bellies twinge, mouths would salivate, and the hearts of many would beat with rapid increases of frightful entendre while their minds scrambled for purchase of disregard. All while they called the men who stood in courage of their truth as if some form of predator to children’s eyes.
Child abuse was rampant on Earth. Each and every place but Lemont Keep had seemed to be that way by sight of Elovan’s purest seeing.
With a tender kiss to Hiilo’s forehead, Elovan rose from their bed to take a place within his cowled robe of seeking. Awoken, within him during their pleasure making; it was again time for him to be with the stone.
Elovan sensed finality of fateful purpose before him. Men were warring. Lemont Keep was no longer safe. Outskirts were unexplorable without mortal danger and that sign was clearest. Chances for waiting had proven the luck of a lifetime to Elovan. He learned the meaning of heartful homes had heroically. His honor held hovering heavenly; Hiilo.
Lethargy had taken the body. Excitedly, at most was his mind. Elovan hadn’t been sure he would hold truths inside any longer. When knowing where things were headed by feeling, there wasn’t much to do but turn inward. His hands had laid upon the future and past, something precious and longest appreciated, a generational gift of Elovan’s family-line.
Seekers stones were a gift of Mt. Hirograa. Lady Reyaha had found their family’s gift there. She was Elovan’s mother, and long ago in the dark of her own deepest night had discovered some power within it quite innate. Depth of loss found renewal at last, before, after their bests, falling off charts and bearing all marks, plotting to graphs, breaking fight’s bats, and flying through night. Those cowards were right.
Something inside a horrible feeling taught of fear. That would be falsely turned away from by every person but a man like Elovan.
He was Wizard of the world.
Underscoring the change becoming his mind was a beast. Lifetimes on end, from very first but not to birth, were chafing and remaking their snakes of foulest mirth. Ion would be the name of that horse he rode to war.
Something led an arising within him and Elovan; acceptance, becoming of rightness therein. That was his soul which spoke of the path. It came from inside, and there was no truth but the whole truth. For once to lean in fell the fool.
Liars were tools of toiling trouble; toads taught tikes towards treacherous tyranny. Synchronous baiting would prove to show late. It was nothing but real, some sight which stole his zeal.
His Hiilo had provided energy which existed within-towards-around Elovan, and often was felt. When Elovan’s heart was whole, his body’s whispers rising towards screams of sight, from beyond and within that place it was known: together they had proven themself two of one from their own forever-place. They were partners and friends, lovers, siblings of companionship, but mostly challengers.
Elevated vision snapped onto a dove in-flight. Their graceful flittering of leave making brought in beatings of feeling of Elovan’s own. He wished to never leave.
Elovan only wanted to stay with Hiilo at Lemont Keep forever.
He would have wished to live there eternally, and without age, as had been right then; with his many children; that family so extended; calling on him often for their needing of his rightest judgement, seeking his compassionate ability to steer towards any youth finding their own way. Elovan would feel himself complete. He was the gentlest hearted man a world could ever know.
Reincor Valley would make a murderer, forcing Elovan to enjoy it by how right it would be having his body feel. That felt of a sigh, understood as it was, a part he had been borne-towards in playful platitudes of horror-tuned-mercy. Those who saw him as what they were, begging for recompense by shouts of inner-out, would brave him to make the right call, and over again Elovan had saved children from feindish evil.
Each and every student of life at Lemont Keep would find it a right to live their own way. Along with every child of Earth, one finest day. That had been Elovan’s say.
Calling on his God with palms sweating by blistering heat from the stone, those vibrations of coursing energy bore out from its touch and poured into the flesh of his palms. Resonating music of the body was heard.
Change beckoned wholesome sightings of need for accomplishment; Elovan had once met the man seen in vision before. Their grin was of some devilish pride.
Once, inside a palace, within a great hall of keeps, Elovan discovered some greatest trouble. He freed a child to join him as family at Lemont. They were a furious fellow, and tenacious, without a care but to learn. Elovan found that breed of youngsters exceedingly pleasant.
That one boy, he was special.
Elovan’s belief had become knowing then—hands to granite; clearest crystal infusing by speckles throughout—they would be king. Apophiilo was going to be the one king.
Nothing had come after that.
Time was loosing into the void. Elovan had felt the slip before; the edge of fears-reachable, this, and that moment he left — at rightest before, with justice to come. A love throughout and between, for towards and becoming at last who he was, accepted no choice but to war. They would seek for making his son some whore.
Elovan would not be letting Apophiilo fall to dust of crumbled sorrow and regret. Clouds were greying brown. Clowns of soldiers-unworthy had left the world to churn. All of life was a show for those who lost their way. Meaning itself had been lost on the many.
Assurances would be made—Embersole Keep’s matriarch would die in front of her foolish husband. As leaders they were of falsest steering-force. The man’s pride had been unmatched by his countess’ blustering hope-making around a hearth of homestead. That woman had taken the keep her own, and made it cruelest for herself, all while hating one the very worst. Every action was of spite to Countess Errimore.
Apophiilo did not want to meet his birthing force again.
They wouldn’t.
Choruses of meals were served to feast upon oncelast.
Hiilo was a planner of all plan masters. He had crafted the finest table. Every expense was paid to complete the workmanlike preparations in due haste. While it was of foreboding, some challenge to the moment unseen except between his eyes and Elovan’s own. They were owning the world for moments.
Every soul was present. Time-folk came crashing inward. Each would take some seat within the two. All were welcome to feel it back eternally. Still, and always, forever and ever, it was only the two of them together as well. They played it both ways at once, stability found between them, between each glance and gesture forsaken to memory. Lost around and within by spirits of all holding too fast—they were lovers in a moment of singularity.
Both of them knew it in their hearts; Elovan wasn’t coming back home anytime soon; haze of thunderous cloud had shrouded fate. Felt it was as they would see, to know each other again. For where and when was the confusion, and what world, never to understand fate’s luck while hoping it their own.
Distance grew from Lemont Keep and Elovan was holding out his chest. Nothing about the ride was easy. His hands had been grasping too tightly upon Hiilo before riding off upon his chosen mount.
Ionospheric showers shed light which taught of change from the sun. Cleanest air was a breath to a human’s shifting spirit.
Elovan could ride the currents, wriggle free of hopelessness, and remember with loving sorrow of what had come and gone—holding that truthfully to himself every moment—finding peace upon the path.
Mt. Hirograa loomed largest over each of Ion’s shoe-falls upon the roughened dirt and stone-strewn grasslands. Breathwork was his focus. Every moment held in head and heart alike would take him back and forward while locked in forward momentum. Each place he ever stepped was touched by energies of Hiilo and their home.
Mountain peoples were a glorious sort of different to Elovan. Love had come to him from a place within its reaches. There were a fewest of most courageous sorting who could abide a life that high-up. They would prove glaciers of spiritual reckoning to the world below.
Elovan heard Hiilo’s final words echoing—having been spent at their last, with a hand upon his chest—as if caught in windblown specters of solemnifying graciousness from Heaven.
“I love you, my love. You come back right here. Anytime. All the time.”
Elovan had come from empire. His place was seen to rot, as rite forsaken, and would be reclaimed with honorable destruction of wreckage. Steps Elovan took from the very beginning of his life were held to a path seeming beyond the boy, and youth, and then man.
Mind was sharpest in the stillness which he was.
Ion took his hands to their napes gracefully, galloping of brute force, made into velocity unfelt at speeds of stride before in Elovan’s lifetime, softness there found ever roughening by passages of time, teaching lessons of fate which Elovan would not shirk from staring down; both taunted and possible. It felt as if they were making a one’s last ride.
Even Elovan did not look too far out in the right direction.
Nine dead were seen. Humans rotting in the streets bore visions of bloodletting into Elovan which he knew wouldn’t quite come to pass. His staff was a force he had used to slay the sense into fools. Each wrecked belly, and loosely-knocked head was of steering towards healthful restoration, soulful cleansing, and change making through the simplest notions of wholesomeness; earnest conductivity and love was being shared between a man and his fellows.
Internal focus had shifted to search for the representatives of this malfeasance. Townsfolk were a scattered few. Their pets looked starved. Mud beneath Elovan’s boots was thick, of murk, too much for his heartful spirit to wade through while remaining unencumbered by that place’s darkness.
Klaxon horns were sounding. Some fool seemed to be heard shouting. A fire was burning in Elovan’s belly. His staff was feeling hungrier than usual.
That first man found approaching was on him as a target.
Elovan wouldn’t wait out discovery of their purposes. Grip was fiercest while containing some wrath he would seek to wield in appropriateness of mercy. For each taking of a life was a tragedy, and Elovan would walk the path of his righteous justice seeking in complete honor, for that soulful balance of his own.
Kites blew as blusters of freedom seeking that may never come. Inner walls stowed some sanctuary within Embersole Keep.
Telling traits of tender tales would break a boy of great regales. Nightingales, and willow walks, each feather fell unwound the clocks.
Countess Errimore would surely be hiding with her Yeviny and company. They were always hiding. Within their walls would be some pettily trained force of men, overbearing by number, proven weakest in heart, yet begging for forced-action on their own terms.
That downed soldier sent patrolling was stripped of his sword. Elovan’s efforts to still him, posthumous of a brutally efficient takedown at the knee, staring through stoic silence, stole solemnly something sacred from a solidest snake sent sideways.
“You will die here with your master if you do not run and hide. Hold your great love,” were the words to escape Elovan in a rising of flame.
While that man failed to abide, and no matter whom their love had been, both would surely join each other in due time.
Timelessness was joining to see him homeward, one future fallen to fate by life well spent, at the least, as his virtue had been proven over again; Elovan was a soldier of mercy and honorable reckoning towards a keep of wretched, wicked fools.
Each arrow trained from above, while storming forward through the courtyard, was held until that one which had downed Elovan’s hostage from its flighting. They cut their throat, greasing his newfound blade, while crumbling into a cry of loss at wounds disbelieved. It had struck-deadly, and true, just beneath their lungs—that bolt of muscled-throw had been forced into a shattering blow of body straight through the abdomen.
Cries would not be shut out, nor used while ignored, least of all were they enjoyed, but it would churn some will of focus into Elovan so staring down his fate to hear them. Each moment spent in vision, with sight and feeling, every touch of salvation shared in Hiilo ever-known, and the stone, would prove to have taken him to that deciding point.
Countess Errimore and Yeviny were making dead children, and it wasn’t to stop. They would one day have come for Lemont. Elovan’s children were to be protected instead of waiting for their unconditional demise there and forth.
Elovan dropped his weapons once exposed, so inadequately armed in the means to fight by those ways of youthful sorts. He was of wisdom, learnedness, and conceptualizations taught by nuances of the mind. It had shown him only one way to stare down hatred so blind. He knew it would change him to show it to these people. They had not ever been able to see Elovan’s truth.
Lighting crackled at his palms. Fire was become of his mind.
Each shot rang through the air as a whipping crack of slashing fury screaming to deaths of pettiest fowl. Severed heads would fall to the farce of their lifetimes earned end. Songs were all of life. Every last note rang true.
Cavernous places inside the womb of Elovan’s mind succumbed the man who might have once fret at such merciless killing by firelight.
Someone had been clamoring at Elovan.
“You’re a demon! You’re—evil!”
He left that one to think it through as their body convulsed by energy left latent in their already dismembered body. Each beat of their heart would be a shock which kept them going by rations throughout their form. Every fallen drop of blood which could would seem of need for running out in that fellow by how Elovan found himself walking away.
Those left over were shouting and moaning alike. Elovan saw to make thunder in the sky that screamed by force of his fingers own fire, bearing heat into palms, ebbed by the force of his body’s electricity, that gift bestowed upon him by grace and the stone, to cast bolt after each rippling and crackling beam of held-constancy, violet to amber, cerulean wisps throughout, exploding the remains of each fallen soldier, to grit his teeth with the furnace of a soul’s rage brought to stare.
Final furies fought for not. Feather’s heights would furrow fraught. Each and every little glare, they brought the others into snare.
Four more had been seen to emerging from the barracks cabin. Each cindered blasting of their bodies into viscera would shower the others. Elovan was letting his hands do the work they were made to at last. Dual beams would shred each bodice in two, take their arms unglued, faking less than not, to break forth all the lot.
When it seemed over. When no others came out. When Elovan knew his marks would hide within their keep. When he realized that way he might take them inside. Instead, he chose to call their deaths from the sky.
Burned they would, and alive.
