Dame Rinda
Readers on Deadline (ROD) is a monthly Deadline Dame feature where we post an intriguing image and invite readers to be inspired and share the results in up to 250 words right here in the comments.
Important! We’ve changed the deadline to two weeks. So entries will have to be in by midnight when Dame Rinda posts her next regular Deadline Dames post. We’ve had some wonderful entries slide in just a tad late. Sometimes, we need a little more than a week to let something sit before polishing it, eh? So, the next deadline is midnight Wednesday, February 24th. The Dames will pick the one that most intrigues us, post that entry in the next month’s ROD along with a link to that writer/reader’s site-if there is one. And you get a prize!
( We’d like to add a request for our readers not to re-post pictures. Some are stock photos and those are fine, but quite a few of them are used with written permission from the artist. Thanks! )
And the winner of Rachel’s My Soul To Save is Karen Rose! Congrats Karen!
Each breath rushed from my mouth as I was gasping the next one in. My sneaker clad feet slapped against the pavement in rhythm with the boy who was running next to me. In the distance the flames licked higher and higher, devouring the apartments. The harder we ran, the further the building seemed. I could feel pieces of my heart and soul unraveling and being ripped from my chest with each death. A howl ripped from my human throat. We could get there faster if we changed, but then the humans would see us.
Just when it seemed we were drawing closer, I felt the core part of me unraveling. My pack was dying, going up in flames. I cried out as another of my family died, “Mom!”
I jerked upright at the bang of my bedroom door opening. Sweat dripped from my brow, mingling with the tears trailing from my eyes. My dry lips were still parted from crying out. I automatically threw my hand up against the light that my cousin Brandon was flipping on. We could see just fine in the dark, but he knew the light helped chase away the dream.
I wondered what he saw when I dropped my hand and the light shown fully on my face. He stood there with a cup of hot chocolate in one hand, his other still on the light switch. I could see his fear from that night shining in his eyes, we had shared the dream.
This next image might look a little familiar to some who have been hanging on my personal blog. I used to do something similar to the ROD and this was an image I put up before. It’s a stock photo by Chris Whiteside.
The winner will get an exclusive ARC (advanced reader’s copy) of Dame Devon Monk’s Magic on the Storm. Isn’t this cover stunning??? This book isn’t out until May.
“Magic stirred in me….I closed my eyes, wanting to lose myself to it. Wanting to use magic in every way I could. But that woudl be bad. I had enough magic inside me; I could burn down a city. And I didn’t wan tot do that….”
Allie Beckstrom knows better than most that when magic’s involved, you always pay. Whether the price is migraines, amnesia, or muscle aches, she is committed to her work as a Hound, tracing illegal spells back to their casters. But her job is about to get much more dangerous.
There’s a storm of apocalyptic force bearing down on Portland, and when it hits, all the magic in the area will turn unstable and destructive. To stop it from taking out the entire city, Allie and her lover, the mysterious Zayvion Jones, must work with the Authority–the enigmatic arbiters of all things magic–and make a stand against a magical wild storm that will obliterate all in its path.”
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Oh, Congrats Karen!!! Excellent piece!
Dottie
Thank you, thank you, thank you! I’m so excited
Congrats Karen! That was beautifully written
uhhhh… we post this right in here, yes? I feel kinda odd to be the first one ?
*lol* but well… what’s done is done right? then I can’t miss the deadline. hope openoffice word count didn’t lie to me 
it said 248 words. 
______________________
‘Smell people. Shelter. Food. APPLES?’
Tania groaned. Clearly, these were not her thoughts. If she’d had it in her, she would have smiled upon hearing the wistful tone that accompanied the last word. The list of rather basic pleasures had come through the telepathic connection to Ero, her gelding .
A low moan escaped Tania as she straightened, maneuvering herself into an upright position. Falling asleep in the saddle was never a smart thing to do, but she had stood no chance against the bone-deep exhaustion. The fight with the rogue mage had eaten up all her reserves.
Blinking her eyes open, she sucked in a deep breath, pleasantly surprised. The gate of Adrio was just ahead. Only now that her still too sensitive eyes took in her surroundings, did the acidic stench register. Hardly a surprise, given that they were on the outskirts of the Grand Planes of Fire. Pompous name, but astute. How Ero had been able to catch the familiar scents of a human settling with all the sulfur in the air, was anyone’s guess.
‘Good boy’ She murmured and patted him lovingly.
‘Apples?’ Came the hopeful retort. She laughed. ‘I sure hope so!’
Tania guided her mount towards Adriu, stopping as a guard called out. ‘Who is it?’
‘Tania Alur.’ She yelled back, trying to sound stronger than she felt. ‘High Mage of the Forces.’
Mentioning the title usually gained her entry. A moment later, the gate opened. Finally. She had reached her destination.
_______________________
Wow. Karen, that was truly beautifully worded. I could see each sentence playing out, making me hunger for a conclusion. It makes me want to hop on my laptop and write like crazy. I love inspirational snippets like that! Thank you so much.
“No one ever reads the fine print!”
His voice echoed back to him from the gates, barely audible over the hiss and crack of the molten stone.
He had stopped counting once he reached his 594th rejection letter. Giving up at that point was so very tempting, but how could he let his twitter followers like @QuickCash down? So he sent out six dozen more query letters (complete with attached manuscript and author photo).
Good Eve-Ning was complete at 800k words (it had been hard but he took those first rejections to heart when they said a 400k novel would never be published). His heroine was Eve, a vampire paralegal, zombie stripper, and die-hard recycler, all rolled into one bisexual, supernatural corporation fighting machine. He knew if he just kept trying he would find that one perfect agent and his current mundane life would end.
On the morning of June 6th, in response to his final query, both wishes were granted.
How was he to be blamed for not knowing that the offer was too good to be true? It was his first one! His new agent even offered to fly out from Seattle to have things settled that very night. A quick signature (and drop of blood, standard protocol, don’t worry) later and he was a published author!
He turned away from the gates and back to his desk. He had no more time for introspection; they were serious about deadlines here.
Orpheus turned to Caeser, “You summoned me to parley, milord?”
Caeser kept his steely gaze upon the gate before him, both he and it bathed in the fiery glow of ever-present lava and fire-lit sky. “Alexander lies beyond. Fetch my soul-twin. With him at my side, we will wrest control of this forsaken domain. Right, brother?”
Genghis gave a low chuckle and struck a friendly blow upon Caeser’s shoulder.
“And you, my chronicler, have you got all this?”
Hemmingway removed the cigar and said,”I have it all down. Sparingly.”
Rommell and Patton nodded to each other across Hemmingway’s bearded visage, sharing a thin smile.
“Tell Alexander I have Aristotle awaiting a reunion, Orpheus. We have much to discuss.”
Caeser pushed Orpheus gently towards the waiting wooden gate. “Get hence.”
He turned to the waiting generals and kings. “Gentleman, we are begun!”
The cheers accompanied Orpheus to the gate and beyond.
Huh, my creativity has burned out and sits by the gate, a dried out husk of an idea burnt beyond recognition.
PS: I found Devon Monk’s Magic to the Bone in my friends of the library store. I took a chance on it and am now hooked on the series! Thanks for the opportunity to win the latest book.
“Gods above and below, why did I agree to this? I must have a death wish. Why else would I count a vaguely psychotic immortal among my friends and accept invitations to visit his charming house in the middle of the thrice-damned Wastes? I must have a death wish…”
Rocks scrabbled underfoot as Tempest climbed, muttering darkly to herself. She felt the Shadows in the cliffs watching her but was too tired to care. This wasn’t the first time she was sticking her neck out for a friend, and it wouldn’t be the last. Just like every other time, she already wished she hadn’t gotten involved.
But this wasn’t like every other time, because this was Griff. Griffin Everheart was a recluse in the strongest sense of the word, which was understandable for a guy who had watched everyone he’d ever known die. If Griffin was asking for help – whatever it was, it was serious. A fact which did nothing to improve Tempest’s mood.
The ground finally leveled out, and Tempest straightened, panting. The mouth of the Valley of Gods yawned before her. She eyed the barbed-tail bat crest atop the Gate, hoping the rune key Griff had given her worked and she wouldn’t be incinerated as soon as she entered.
The light of the setting sun stained the stones like blood. Fiery blood. Fervently hoping that wasn’t an omen, she took a deep breath, put a hand on the Gate, and pushed.
The stink of sulfur choked me as I gasped in the thin air. Legs trembling, I took a moment to wipe the sweat from my eyes. It was hard to believe that I was standing right at their front door, nothing but a shitty little wall between me and redemption. If it hadn’t been for the emblem decorating the arch, I’d have wondered if I was in the right place. But I’d know that emblem anywhere. It was the only thing I could clearly remember from that day.
That and the screams.
I pulled the revolver from my waistband, growling under my breath as I flipped the cylinder open and shoved my last three bullets into the chambers with bloody fingers. My brother’s last three bullets. The three he’d never had a chance to use.
The compound seemed dead as I hauled myself over the gate, pain shooting through my ankles when I hit the uneven stone path. Surely they weren’t so arrogant that they didn’t post guards?
A look to my right answered that question. He was just standing there, just a goddamn kid, rifle still pointing down while he gaped at me. I was on him in a instant, barrel pressed to his forehead.
“Please don’t-”
I cut his begging and his life short with the trigger. Any mercy I may have had got left at the foot of the mountain. They’d all chosen their side, and they’d chosen mine for me.
Too bad for them.
I’ll take a jab at this one…
—-
The sun was beginning to set and the air grew thick in the early evening heat. Just beyond the gateway, a howl rose from the mountains and echoed through the valley. The gate creaked ominously as the wind shifted. Walls were no obstacle and magic just made it mad. Running was useless because it could catch you faster if you moved. The only hope you had was to face it head on, because it always kept coming, no matter what.
Loose rocks shifted under her feet as she dug in her heels. The empty house behind her groaned as the presence advanced. It was so close she was starting to smell it, unique to her own senses, just as its form was fluid and depended on it’s adversary. John once explained that it had something to do with your magic and how the experience was unique for everyone. Instead of the usual smoke and metal, it smelled of sweat and something else she couldn’t quite name. She didn’t care. Just wanted to get this over with. She started to dance on her toes with impatience. If it was after her so bad, why did it make her wait?
Everything stopped as shadows merged and a silence began to roar through her. Two legs walked up to the threshold and her heart stopped. He pushed aside the flimsy gate and let it loose behind him as he strode toward her. It wasn’t real. HE couldn’t be real.
“Miss me?”
—-
Jeez, “up to 250 words” is hard! Even after editing it down I’m not sure how I feel about this. So hard not to keep going and going…
The village was gone. Molten rock seethed where a meadow once stood. Charred frames outlined the ghosts of brightly-painted shops and twisted corpses smoldered on glowing cobblestones. The crows had arrived long ago. Their harsh voices echoed oddly through the blackened city streets as they bickered over remains.
Sudden and miserable, a baby’s wail lifted above the coarse din.
The stylized bird carved into the apex of the city gates flashed at the sound, bright enough to startle the nearby crows. When the light subsided, the bird symbol was gone and a massive raven perched upon the wood, dark eyes surveying the ruins that had once been a city.
The baby cried out again, weaker this time, and the raven’s head swiveled sharply. Releasing the gate, the great bird glided to the source of the sound, the crows below parting in its path like water before a ship.
The babe was easy to find. The same design that had been carved into the gate traced itself in white glowing lines across the infant’s left shoulder and torso. The raven walked a slow and measured circle around the infant three times before giving one summoning cry, loud enough to silence all of the crows in the city streets.
The child of prophecy, born into a world already determined to see his death.
“Shaya…”
Ignoring the voice, she continued to yell at the men scrambling on the fortress walls. “Hurry with those bags! Pack them tight!”
“Shaya, it’s no use.”
She wretched away from the sympathetic weight of the hand on her shoulder. “Have they tried–”
“They’re tried everything. It’s no use. Please, Shaya, come away now.”
“We’ve got another one here!”
Shaya stared at the man face-down in the street, his companion tugging uselessly at the limp weight.
Dammit. “Leave him,” she barked out. “He’s dead already.”
The man glanced at the Commander at her shoulder before glancing down one last time.
Shaya turned away. “Call it,” she said.
“My liege,” the Commander said, bowing.
“Retreat! Retreat! Head for the hills!” he bellowed at the last of her people. They might be able to make it to safety before the volcano caused utter destruction; some, inevitably, would not.
Dammit. Shaya glared through her tears at the abandoned shell of her home and cursed with every last reserve.
“Damn you brother! Damn you for eternity, leaving this place and bringing the wrath of the gods here!”
She watched as hot magma crawled ever closer to the barricaded gate. The normal defenses were meant for the might of man. Nothing was adequate against the gods.
“Just damn you.”
“It’s not real, the gate, fire, jagged rocks, not real,” I thought, sitting cross legged a few feet from the bubbling rivulets of lava. “Fucking feels real,” I said tentatively prodding at the soles of my feet. They were already charred with oozing blisters to boot. I looked again at the lava. My body cringed at the idea of stepping into it for a seventh time. I had to though, Jack was depending on me, but Hell isn’t the easiest place to break into.
The Fiery Gate was just an illusion, but the best one I’ve seen. All five senses had been considered when this masterpiece was crafted. It was so seamless that my mind couldn’t see it as anything but reality. And what the mind believes can kill the body. I needed to find some small flaw, and then I could bend the illusion.
“What’s wrong with this picture Jobi, think.” The waves of heat beating at my body had me squinting as I searched for any imperfection. Sweat broke across my skin to sizzle and vaporize before it could cool my temperature even a degree. I felt like I could combust at any moment, like a morbid human torch.
“That’s it,” I said, bringing my gaze back to the worn, dry, wooden gate. Perfect kindling in this environment, yet there it stood unmarred, untouched, and no longer believable. A smirk cracked my dry lips as I rose, and stepped into the lava’s flow.
My sweat evaporated as soon as it formed, salt staining my skin. I wheezed, my lungs drying out with each breath of acrid air. A slimy, coppery taste coated the back of my throat. No matter how many times I coughed it still clung there. Humans weren’t meant for this place.
The blistering heat wasn’t the worst part though. The thing nobody ever mentions about hell is the wailing, the desperate keening of the damned. It echoed past the gate, making shivers crawl along my skin. Those cries would haunt me the rest of my life, however short that may be.
I didn’t want to be there. Arismat didn’t want me to be there. All I had to do was turn around and go back and he’d gladly take me home. I just had to swallow my pride and abandon my cause. It would be a lot easier than finding a way over the lava that oozed across the trail before me. Even then I’d have to get someone—some thing—to open the gate for me. Or scale the wall. I couldn’t leave though, not without retrieving my brother. And his soul, which he’d bartered away.
Death saturated the air. Dirt tracks veined with lava and gold coalescing with a sky of red.
Valtera, horseback, swung her gaze over the approaching gate, tendrils of regret unfurling against the steel of her resolve.
The reigns pulled taut. The sound of hoofs shuffling resounding on the earthen floor. Her breath intermingling with the horse’s as she leant down, met it’s crimson rimmed eyes to the replica of her own.
“No intervening this time,” she cast a look heavenwards, vision turned inwards. “I can’t afford it. Not this time.”
She leant back, dismounted. Forced herself past the shapeshifter clad in sheep’s skin. Surveyed the eagle depiction, eyes an eerie glow as it wrenched itself from the dead wood, wings disjointed and spread. Wild fire decimating the arch frame as it joined the atmosphere and dissipated.
Summoned: the gate ground to ash.
She edged closer. Hovered. Balancing on the precipice on which the gate had sat.
Her vision altered, her breath tasting the air. The threads of one reality bleeding into another, rippling the surface of her conscious.
Hair turned static. Her body caught in an almost corporeal touch of time.
Thoughts deepened, spread like a thousand blood vessels. Doubts clawed.
The gate – entryway to another reality, taunting her with endless possibilities. Her past – offered up to make right or wrong. Her mistakes – to be unravelled and made.
She slanted her gaze, jaw locked, fingering an insubstantial ember of light. Succumbing to the pull of the burn of life already lived.
I cupped my hands around my eyes to shield them from the intense glow of the flames. “So… that’s Yangshuo national park?”
Ty’s hand tightened around my shoulder. “Yeah. Or, it was. I don’t know… Cas, they had the best fire charms this side of the Pacific. A human could light a match near a barrel of oil and nothing would happen. They were even resistant to shadow magic…”
“…which means that this was a Druid,” I finished, turning to look at him. He’d gone pale beneath his recently acquired tan and beads of sweat were collecting on his forehead—not entirely, I guessed, due to the heat.
“That’s impossible. We’re too tied up with nature for anyone to even contemplate burning a forest. The Center doesn’t even have wood fires!”
I shrugged. “Yeah, but that’s personal choice, not because it hurts or anything.”
“Trust me,” he said, “Setting fire to a live tree… that would hurt. I wouldn’t recommend trying it. If it was a Druid who did this…” Ty shuddered. “I don’t even want to think about how much pain he’d be in.”
We stood silent for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. No way could we venture into the park unaided—the flames were too high, and getting closer. Finally, Ty sighed. “It’s no use. We have to go back.”
I groaned. Three extra days of travel was not on my wish list. I opened my mouth to speak, but Tyler raised a hand. “Shh. Do you hear that?”
Death, decay, heat. Trusty could sense nothing else. They shadowed her senses. Eyes fixed on the lava crawling closer to her, she clung to the gate. Her shoes leather soles made her feet ache for a cool bath, more so than the sweat around her face.
No going back, only forward. Forward into the unknown. Or die by lava consumption.
The gate’s wood smelled old, groaned as her fingers pressed against it, pleading its inevitable death by earth’s fire. Its latch, however, was well enough to hold the gate firmly in place. Time to climb.
Trusty stepped onto the lower support of the gate. Splinter, groan, snap, and Trusty’s feet landed back on the ground, the lower support of the gate a pile of rotten mulch beside her.
Lava licked up the last rise of rock, mere feet away. The gate was too tall, too brittle to escape over. However, her efforts had pierced a hole, a glimpse into the world beyond the gate. Trusty crouched and looked through the opening. The sky reddened from the sulfurous air still cast the same blood hue beyond the gate, but there was no sign of lava.
No sign of the lava that grew close enough for Trusty to feel it blistering her back.
The time to think was gone. One kick and the lower third of the gate shattered, imbedding slivers and splinters into her leather soles. She scurried under and came upright, ignoring the hundreds of wood pieces piercing her feet.
I had been there forever or maybe not. Time had blurred into one endless scorching moment as I stumbled onwards, no idea where I was headed or what came before. The sky blazed with scarlet fire, boiling black clouds churning and exploding before my eyes. Al l I knew was that this was no place I had ever been and some feeling that time was running out, there was somewhere I was supposed to be.
Eventually, in the distance, I saw a break in the endless jagged rocks and arid sand. Up ahead there was a wooden gate, massive and imposing, the first sign of civilisation I could remember. I staggered against it, exhausted and desperately relieved to be there. The gate was barred and I pounded my fists against it, begging for entry. I had collapsed into a miserable heap by the time it finally swung open revealing a heavyset man wearing a leather jacket and gold knuckle dusters on both hands. I scrambled to my feet.
“Ah yes, Stacey Roberts, murdered your boyfriend and killed yourself. Proceed to the hall” he grunted, holding the gate open. With a painful jolt it all rushed back to me, the lipstick, the fight, the knife.
“Where…where am I?” I stammered. The man smiled happily.
“Why, you’re in Hell baby!”
“No! But I didn’t mean it, please, I take it back. I’m not a bad person”.
The man’s smile grew wider.
“Oh baby, they never are. Go on through, they’re expecting you.”
“Welcome to Hell.”
“Charming,” my voice dripped cynicism. How the hell–no pun intended–did I get myself into this mess? Why couldn’t Rick take care of himself for once? But noooo, here I am risking my neck–my soul, trying to get his sorry butt out of Hell. And I had a demon as my guide. Life was just swell.
“Isn’t it?” the demon smiled at me, exposing razor sharp teeth. I rolled my eyes.
I walked through a massive archway with the demon at my side. He looked human, other than his obsidian eyes and sharp teeth. I still couldn’t figure out his motive for helping me, besides the cash that I owed him once we got out of here. If we got out of here, alive that is. But I wasn’t going to turn away help when it was available.
“Where do we start?” I asked nearly tripping over someone’s skull with watchful eyes. I couldn’t repress a shudder.
“With my old pal Nero, he’s in the know about the comings and goings of Hell.”
Hell was friggin huge. I had no idea how we were going to find Rick in three days. That’s all I had or I risk being stuck down here for a lot longer than I would like.
I still couldn’t believe Rick made a deal with a demon. Then again, I had to berate myself for doing the exact same thing to save him. The things I do for friends.
All hell broke loose and poured out of the Gates.
Demons swarmed, many and varied, some massive and with large feathery wings, remnants of their heavenly predecessors; some small and gnarled, with horns and many-jointed limbs; some beautiful, seductive and deadly, like a sadistic fantasy. Hellhorses screamed and reared, pounding the air and anyone before them with massive flaming hooves, and sending demons skittering for cover; many-headed hellhounds bellowed and chafed at their chains, threatening to snap them. The rockbed itself bubbled and melted around the feet of the host, and flowed with them, fiery and angry.
It was a sight to fear and a sight to remember, and from his perch atop Sisyphus’s boulder, the Adversary smiled grimly. He looked to his side, at the succubus standing next to him, the first of her kind and his faithless companion for long millennia.
“Shall we, my dear?”
Lilith smiled, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement. Her voice hissed, sumptuous and sultry.
“At last.”
They spread their wings, then, and leapt into the sky. As they circled once above the heads of host of the Damned, cheers rose, rough and loud, like a tidal wave of fire, louder than even the chaos before. Lucifer raised his spear in greeting and bellowed a warcy without words, then swooped ahead to lead the charge of the Fallen.
All hell broke loose. Tonight, they were going back home. Tonight, Hell and Heaven would clash.
Heaven, Hell, and Humanity
In the glimmer, Zara spied the gates of Hell and beyond them laid their opposite, the gates of Heaven. She was in essences a Fallen Angel, one of the Damned, able to exist in either place, but happy in neither.
She blinked, banishing the vision with a shake of her head and again the mirror revealed only her own reflection. She glanced over her body, hair the color of flame, eyes of icy blue, skin pale as snow. Could she live within the bounds of Heaven? Give up what she was and had been? She ran a hand over her hip as she moved. Demon made kicks, leathers from the hide of Dragons, the shimmer of the silk camisole. Her eyes flashed as she smiled.
No, she didn’t think her could. She liked what she was.
She signaled to Michael. “Tell them no.”
Michael responded before she could release the call. “Zara, this opportunity may not come again. The Council of Heaven could lie before you.”
“I’ve existed in this Earth bound plane for 200 years Michael, what makes you think I’ve changed?”
“It’s not so much that you’ve changed, but Humanity itself.”
Zara grinned wickedly. “I know, it only gets better.” She dropped the call, put her fingertips to the mirror and revealed the gates. She sighed, Damned she might be, but she reveled in the Earth’s unique Humanity. She desired it, needed it, demanded it.
I think I’m under the deadline. Yay, procrastination…
The gate was a fitting entryway into the realm of the Overlords – tall, ominous and crowned with fire. Subjects laid offerings before the gate, and knew their offerings were accepted when the flames licked up to consume them. No one living had ever seen the gate open, or met one of their masters. No one sensible wanted to.
The real door was actually many miles away, where an underground tunnel ended in the cellar of a tavern. It was a strange little door, seldom opened and seldomer thought of. Every once in a while, it opened up and out came a strange little man. Everywhere he went, the people averted their eyes but served him their best food and drink, knowing the next day he would be gone.
Life went on as normal, except for one young mother who woke to find a bag of gold in place of her son.
In the Overlords’ realm, the boy worked beside his new master, keeping the empty halls clean and the unwalked gardens green, and operating the machines that belched fire at the gate.
In time, the strange little man grew old and died, leaving the boy a grown, if short, man, and more than a little bit strange himself.
In the cellar of a tavern, miles away from the Overlords’ gate, a strange little door opened.