Myra the Young Shaman

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
Myra, a young shaman checks on her mother one day to find that she's on the verge of death. Despair and desperation weighing her down it doesn't take long for them both to realize that the worst is yet to be over.

Submitted: November 16, 2013

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Submitted: November 16, 2013



"Mother? Why do you look so pale?" It was true. Myra's mother was pale even for her coffee stained skin.

"Myra... The spirits are stirring."

 There was something more to it. It was in her pale, dull, almost lifeless eyes. The said lifeless eyes that were now turned her way. Her mother didn't show panic of fear like anyone else would. How ever they both knew as plain as day what was coming.

 Myra gasped with something that was akin to pain. Myra held out her hand and Amy Whiteraven clutched at her outstretched hand with more strength than a dying woman should have. Myra blinked back sudden tears as she recalled that her mother wouldn't have the choice to live again and neither would she.

"The Devourer is coming," Amy inhaled and let out her breath on a gasp. Suddenly Amy's fever spiked and Myra almost yelped at the strange warmth on her skin. Strange because the day before she'd been as healthy as can be and now she was, quite litterally, in her death bed!

"No! I won't let her have you!"

 Myra threw herself over Amy's body even as fog descended over the room. Myra's hair was shiny and glossy and very much like a curtain as it fell across Amy's face but she didn't care. As long as she could protect her mother than that was all that mattered.

"I have come to collect my tribute." The voice sent shudders rippling across her skin. It was cold, emotionless, at the same time merciless. A cold wind blew through out the room at the same time the voice sounded effectively chilling Myra to her very bone.

"Go away," Myra yelled,"You'll never have her!"

"If you will continue to disobey me than so be it."

 The wind was the first thing that changed. Whipping around her like a hurricane, the wind only grew stronger and stronger until it was all she could do to hold on. Even then though there was that cruel voice. Cackling like old Baba Yaga.

 Myra's dark ebony hair whipped around her in a frenzy, the wind trying in vain to rip her away from her mother. Myra realized for one heart breaking moment, that the cruel entity wouldn't give up until it'd sampled Amy's very soul.

 Fine, thought Myra, have it your way!

 Digging in her feet Myra's face set into a determined mask as the wind howled, as the simple walls of their humble abode shook, and now even as the Devourer continued to bait her into letting go.

"She's as good as dead. She'll die even if I don't devour her soul! So let me--"

 Myra couldn't take it any more and yelled out cutting the monster off,"NO! I won't let you have this one!"

 Her voice was a whip lash that cut through the wind. Silence once again reigned over their abode. Myra was panting in an effort to get her breath back. It seemed as if the wind had taken her breath.

 Her shoulders drooped. It was a hard battle but it looked as if she'd won. Oh how wrong she was. Just as she were about to let Amy go strong powerful claws digged into her shoulders and threw her back, as if she were a rag doll. A scream caught in her throat as her impact with the wall made the whole abode shudder.

 Myra was looking up dazed when a small whimper escaped her lips at the sight of the woman before her. Or should she say creature? What'd grabbed her shoulders weren't claws at all but long wickedly curved talons. She didn't have feet but a lion's paws with dangerous looking claws. From the back Myra could tell that the woman had sparkly strawberry blond hair. Just a glance would make anyone think that she was still stuck in the middle ages. As evidence to the cranberry red dress that seemed rather slick on her rather slim body. If Myra saw her from the front she just knew that the woman would have golden eyes, like a panthers, and blood red lips.

 Myra had heard that she was a shapeshifter, able to capably shift into any form she so choosed. Not possible for Myra and her villagers but possible for this woman. Because this was Ammut the Devourer.

 Ammut slinked towards Amy with a cat-like grace not of this world. Like a predator Ammut was honing her golden eyes on Amy, she was obviously sensing her prey swirling helplessly in that sad excuse for a body.

 Myra started crawling forwards, desparate to stop Ammut. It was all for naught because as Myra got within grabbing distance Ammut dug her talons into Amy's torso and ripped her open.

 It was at that moment that something also ripped inside of her too. Seeing Amy's soul dancing above its body so beautifully gave her one last burst of strength needed to lunge at Ammut. For just an instant it seemed as if time had frozen. Ammut reaching out to grasp the soul, Myra suspended in the air, a villager looking in having noticed the commotion. Then time fast forwarded and Ammut grasped the wiggling spirit. As Ammut  turned toward her she reached a talon out towards Myra. The wind picked up just enough to leave her suspended in the air then with a cold smile Ammut flicked her taloned hand and before she knew what was happening she was flung back smashing into the window with such force that the window shattered and she was propelled out.

 Covered in shards of glass and nicks and cuts undoubtedly caused by the glass she wheezed there on the ground.

"Excuse me miss, are you okay?"

 Finally with her breath back Myra looked up to see a blurry face. Blinking her eyes clearly Myra gasped in horror as she felt her mother's soul vanish.

 Scrabbling through the shards she pulled herself, with great difficulty, up against the window and looked into the room. Its clear the damage dealth was mostly the fault of the supernatural wind. As evidence of the things thrown off the mantel, pictures broken and even a door nearly being torn off its hinges. In fact the only thing that wasn't there was Ammut and her mother's soul.

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