Geist

Copyright: straitjackit

This is actually my English coursework, so I'd appreciate your feedback more than you can imagine. It's aimed at 16-25 year old fantasy fans. Probably doesn't achieve its target there. (By the way: do you know how cool it is to be able to say that this is mine? :D)

Note for you all: vaugely based on Greek mythology. Geist, however, is Dutch.

Shall be edited soon, once my lovely beta reader sends his comments back. Please convince others to read this, as I could REALLY do with the feedback.

On with the tale!

~Geist~

The sky was deepest red as the morning star left the horizon, moving on to visit another world until dawn once again arrived and He returned to bathe the inhabitants of the planet in his soft glow. The moons took up their places in the dance of the stars, the eerie green light of Eris reflecting from the surfaces of her children Psueda, Malchai and Ate.
Below their feet laid the plane of Meanaze, vast landscapes of never ending land and sea. Mountains rose from the depths of the earth, sweeping back down to meet deep chasms. Deserts of sparkling sand gave way to large forests of mighty and ancient trees, casting dark shadows upon their mossy floors.
A man walked confidently amongst the oaks and elms, clutching a small white gem – a petra – in his hand the likes of which Meanaze would not see again for an age. He wore short robes, gentle to the skin, of a pale green hue with a longer skirt in deepest black flowing from underneath, swirling around his knees. A sandstone staff was strapped to his back; a handy tool for swatting away irritating rodents, but otherwise of little use. However, his master had insisted he carry it always and so he would.
He paused by a sturdy and old tree, green mould ingrained into its bark, and tilted his head to the side as he searched for the mind he knew lurked nearby, following him from within the dark. To sense the creature meant he could banish it, banish it to where it belonged...
He reached out with his own mind, nudging the edge of the bright consciousness of the creature he had come to track. The mind shrank back at the contact, body fleeing from the scene lest it be killed like its fellows.
Euclid sighed softly, closing his eyes.
“This is your final chance,” he muttered, repeating the words of his mentor – another victim of the the shades that haunted their world. Some said that these shades, the Pneuma, were evil spirits rejected even from the depths of eternal damnation, while others claimed that the Pneuma were angry and bitter humans, rotting from the inside out, returning to take vengeance on the living whom had mistreated them.
Euclid favoured the latter theory, having been the only being to touch the mind of a shade in their history, but he did not know what they thought, how their minds worked – only that they did indeed have minds, some form of soul.
Recently, the Pneuma had been increasing in numbers rapidly, no one knowing how they bred or where they could come from. Not enough people had died to provide their numbers – in fact, Euclid couldn't recall a single death unrelated to the Pneuma for many a year – so their rapid growth had surprised them all. People had flocked to his doorstep, begging him to banish the spirits to Hades' realm once more. Euclid could not help but agree to find a way - he was the only necromancer, the only banisher of spirits, in their great nation, his powers awoken when the foul spirits had come to claim his father...

Orange lights flashing...
The sound of shouting outside the door...
Red, and black, and white...

Euclid sensed the attack before the clawed hand could even graze him. He jumped back a few feet, the ghoul travelling forward with momentum and allowing him to get a disturbingly close look. A human face, purple and green from years of rot, turned slowly to face him. The eyes were flat with death, a grey film covering the surface and dulling them. The body was in much the same condition as the face, but the addition of bone, yellowed with age, sticking through blackening flesh was enough to make him sick. The mist that seemed to follow the Pneuma gave the being a greyish quality, caused its being to be slightly out of focus, so surreal...
The necromancer snapped back to his senses as another of the Pneuma tore through the forest towards him, gliding, its jaw hanging by mere threads. A strangled cry echoed from its throat as it lunged, but once again Euclid avoided the touch. He jumped and grabbed a tree branch, quickly hauling himself up and away from the beings while he analysed them. These were newer than those he had fought, younger; a small part of him wondered what the poor souls had been like when they were alive, before the Pneuma had taken them. He swore that he would avenge them and send them to rest.
A quick search with his mind informed him of at least four other presences close by; he could feel their mists combining, draining the atmosphere of all warmth and safety. He clutched his petra and channelled his abilities through it, allowing him to emit a soft yellow glow. The Pneuma screamed as the glow disintegrated them, dissolving their bodies and souls into nothingness.
So focused on his task, Euclid did not notice when a new shade attacked him from behind, pushing him to the forest floor. He cried out as he landed on a particularly sharp jutting of rock, the bones in his leg shattering into pieces. He pulled himself back towards the tree as the ghouls approached him, clutching the petra to his chest in an attempt to begin the cleansing again.
A scream echoed from his lips as one of the shades stretched its arms around him from behind, having slipped through the very tree to attack him. The Pneuma embraced him, slipping its hand over his own and crushing the petra as it did so. Euclid continued to scream as the icy cold of the being burnt his body, scarring him with its imprint for the rest of his existence. The other spirits descended upon him, more flooding towards him from nowhere as he struggled to free himself from their grasp. As each fell upon him, he could feel his struggles weakening, his body going into shock from the sudden cold draining his life from him.
His mind, however, was perfectly clear.
As his body shut down, he wondered about the irony of the necromancer becoming the necro. Had the townsfolk considered this possibility? Of course not – a champion could not fail to succeed, could they? He laughed in his head. The poor fools.
No, they didn't realise...
They couldn't realise...
Yet another Pneuma approached, but this one was slightly different. As his clouding eyes fell upon the figure, Euclid recognised the gaunt face, the high cheekbones, and even the bullet wound to the head... The shade slid to its knees, holding out a hand and reaching for the necromancer's own. Grey eyes managed to twinkle, a gleam of intelligence shining through, mocking the weak, dying human.
“Do you see?” its voice floated through the air, as dull as the rest of its being, as eerie as its looks. “Do you see what you truly are, boy?”
It laughed again as its hand inched closer, drinking in Euclid's fear. It leaned forward, whispering softly into Euclid's ear as it took his hand.
“You can't escape your sins, Edward. To kill is to be damned.”

~

She could barely keep her stomach as she barged through the door, gun raised.
A shot had been heard from the outside, making the force desperate to get inside. If that child was dead, all would have been in vain...
She hadn't had to worry. The boy – Edward, according to the files – was hunched over in a corner, staring silently at the bleeding corpse in the centre of the room. The small child was trembling, the gun his father had been wielding lying nearby, still warm from the shot fired. He was too scared to tell the kind woman that his father had dared him to fire, handed him the gun and told him to shoot. He couldn't bring himself to speak about how the anger had rushed over him, flooded him until he pulled the trigger, or how shock and guilt washed away all other feelings as the blood spilled onto the floor. He had already begun suppressing the memories of abuse, of the lectures about praying for redemption, about being told how he was the devil incarnate...
The woman held out her hand to the child, reaching to try and grasp Edward's own, unsurprised as he shrank back.
There was nothing she could do for him now, save take him somewhere warm and pray that he didn't become a shadow of his father.