Chapter 4 - Allegiances.

It was cold, laying upon obsidian shadow. They awoke in deepest shade, the chill a depth of calm serenity. They felt whole, but disconnected. They had thoughts and rationality, and the familiar physical sensations, but no emotion.

The rhythm of footsteps bounced in their ears. Stone, clicking against stone.They opened their eyes. Sparkles of rainbow light floated in concentric half-circles to the ground. They stood and looked at each other as the rhythm drew closer.

[She was striking, he thought in a detached sort of way. Shoulder-length auburn hair, bright hazel eyes, olive skin, and unmistakably feminine curves. She was wrapped in a sort of toga, as if she were a noble-born.]

[He was handsome, she thought in a disconnected sort of way. Long dark hair braided back, cool brown eyes, dark skin, and a stance of sure confidence. He was clad in a sort of military kit, as if he were a warrior-born.]

The steps audibly ceased nearby and they turned, startled out of their momentary dis-connection.

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She stood with sure, feminine grace. An animate obsidian statue, bald in pate and brow. It raised its delicate hands and cupped their cheeks. Her stone fingers were gentle, but cold. Her features were relaxed and calm, though her eyes were as desolate as any other statue.

'You are now mine, and I am your Queen,' said the statue, though her lips did not move. They were mute at her touch. They could not speak. Did not breathe. Could not move.

The statue turned first to her. 'I think I'll name you... Lambent.' She said to her. 'A warm and gentle light. A flame held close to the heart. My sweet and fiery Lambent.'

The statue then turned to him. 'And I think I'll name you... Grinder.' She said to him. 'A cold and calculating gaze. A sword held close at hand. My hard and brutal Grinder.'

She caught a drifting sparkle of colored light and held it in a cupped hand between them. It pulsated brighter with the white of lies, the red of blood, and the swirling absence of light, a bitter decay. They gained the sense that she was smiling behind her stony mask, a dark amusement.

'You will go to His realm,' her voice echoed through the endless shadow. 'You will find her... My handmaiden... The one who will deliver the message...'

Her voice rose with anger, pure ichor. 'You will slay His most devout. You will defy Him with the utmost disrespect. You will bring her back to Me.' And as she spoke, the rotating, multifaceted wheel above shifted in hue. It swirled and pulled, becoming the same eddy of colors as the sparkle in the statue's hand.

Suddenly, there was darkness, the sensation of falling.

Her voice followed them down the passage of shadow. A note of hate, a hint of warning. 'Beware, He of The Long Yarn...'