The Training: Mysti – New Fiction Writing from S. H. Marpel

They call me Mysti. Because of my mystic origins.

The beings who raised me almost killed me before they found out my real value.

They became my mentors, and then – as my powers expanded – my servants.

What they never knew is that “mystic” means both master and novice.

So I left them to find someone who could actually teach me balance between the two extremes that lived inside me. And like a double-edged sword, could cut both ways.

And like a flip of the coin, either of my faces could show at any time.

One of salvation, the other of instant annihilation.

Like I was now facing – in person.

(Part 4 of 4)

The Training: Mysti – New Fiction Writing from S. H. Marpel

Excerpt:

When she admitted to hurting three other young women who came to me for help. I stood up from the round table, The chair behind me scooted back.

My hands were clenched into fists, although I then forced them to relax.

The atmosphere in that main room of the Western saloon went cool, or it felt so to me.

I had three girls upstairs who had gone unconscious, all of which possessed unique supernatural abilities. Bending time and space. A trained warrior who could throw disintegrating fireballs from her bare hands. And the last was able to generate the heat and radiation of a star in space.

And here was the person who admitted to knocking them all out, burning two of them, and various cuts to their bodies through bulletproof clothing.

For me to get into any physical conflict with her would be foolhardy at best. Suicidal at worst.

Hami and Gaia also stood at this. Gaia was more to worry about than any of us in the room. But her skills as an Earth goddess were a bit of a blunt instrument. Sinking whole continents at a gesture was more her trademark.

Hami was better at cooking and healing – but it was her and I standing there that kept Gaia from taking any action, regardless of how she felt about this stranger.

The golden-headed woman lowered her insulated hood and padded toward us in soft-soled, high-topped boots.

“I’ve heard about you, John of the Ghost Hunters, and read all about the Lazurai you’ve written up. Those two factors brought me here. And, as much as it may have just upset you, I’ve come to you for help.

Because I’m dying.”

– – – –

“Is there some reason that I should do anything to preserve your life when you just put three of my friends into critical condition upstairs?”

“Only your basic humanity. And one story you wrote about ‘autists’ – as you called them. Gaia here would understand this condition as being ‘unbalanced’ and is what is killing me, slowly.”

Hami walked behind me and crossed to face her. “If you wouldn’t mind, could I have your hand – I only want to read it. Oh, I’m Hami, you said you know of Gaia and John. Do you have a name?”

The red-head held a thin, pale hand out for Hami, palm up. “My name is Mysti.”

(Part 4 of 4)

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