Gaia grins from underground,
her beautiful smile, fanged and feral.
She gazes at me through reptilian eyes of icy blue,
and parts her dark and fertile skirts one last time.
Have you no magic, wizard?
Are you spent?
Are we done?
Have you paid me for my services…?
Her laughter echoes at my back,
as I walk between the trees and the grave,
mocked by the Queen of Witches,
the Goddess of Nature,
the Essence of Life,
Eve in Her Wretchedness,
wanton and sensuous,
hopelessly damned, her blessed hands
moving beneath the shaming leaf
she shares with her husband.
The spells lie coiled about my soul,
nascent, sleeping,
they still hold my scent in their nostrils,
they still flick at my mind with their tongues.
They hiss music,
and wake to look on me with entreating love.
My steps begin to falter,
but I see the mountains in the distance,
where the bonds are broken, and the air
is free of tainted sweetness.
I move toward an unknown fate.
Gaia’s hand reaches for me,
to pull me back, or cast me out,
I dare not ask.
Her fingers wrap around me,
but whether to seize the priceless, timeless soul,
snatch away the precious, shining magic,
or peel the worthless wizard’s flesh,
I do not know.
But know this, if you would follow:
there is always a toll,
and Gaia
will make you pay it.
BlackQuill 