As Onion breathed softly while the fire coals became crusted with a fine grey ash, Gregor pondered what to do with the information about the girl's "talents". He had hoped to keep her out of the world of the bei'thal, but when Vaughn received Anita's report the Nü would not be safe from the pnum bei'thal and it was far too likely that the Silent Scholar would also take an interest. He did not want to see this girl become the plaything of his superiors, and yet his choice had been made. Even given the circumstances, he was not entirely sure he would have chosen differently. His fingers worried at his straw hair. Regardless of whether or not his choice saved her life, he did not want to see this girl become Yiren.
No doubt the gegleth would be at the rendezvous point as well. The mere thought made Gregor feel the onset of vomit.
Damn them to the very center of the core. May the hosts of all keepers run that forsaken race into the fires of the center of the earth. His heart flew to his throat. I must find some way to protect her from the creatures. I doubt this girl is wise to the ways of such filth. Yiren wasn't.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was another half hour before Onion finally came to her senses, and another hour she lay sill, as if asleep, meditating, completing the final touches of her web from this side of consciousness. Lately, this mental reconstruction was becoming far too common an occurrence, but never had she experienced such devastation as she did over this night.
Onion was aware of Gregor's presence while she worked, sitting in silent watch of her every breath. He had long since abandoned the fire which was now merely a pile of sifting grey ash. His head rested awkwardly against the back of the chair, tired in his vigil, but he still maintained a semblance of consciousness.
"You have been here long?" she finally ventured, startling the half-asleep Lithenese man. Gregor wiped his obstinately heavy eyes with a forceful swipe of his middle finger.
"You are up. Excellent. We must depart as soon as you are able." he commanded, focused on his duty under Vaughn bei'thal. He caught himself in a moment of self-consciousness, suddenly ashamed of his callousness. He quickly attempted to amend his words. "That is, if you are well enough. Are you okay? Do you need anything?"
"I am well. You have freed me as promised, not by death, but by life. I am grateful. Direct me where you will."
Gregor handed Onion the satchel Vaughn had brought in hours ago. Glad to be free of the scratching twine of the prison clothed, Onion excused herself to change behind the thick paper and wood room dividers. As she appraised her new Eirdred garb, Gregor spoke from the other side.
"I never asked you before," he started, silent and twinged with a hint of remorse, "because names can be dangerous. There was too much risk at the time, and too little reward in simple pleasantries." he cleared his throat and injected a measure of confidence into his speech. "Let me recover this rudeness, my mother gave me the name Gregor, under the auspices of the joyous shepherd. Will you do me the pleasure of telling me the name by which you are known?"
She smiled, but it went unnoticed to Gregor. "Of course, my brother gave me my birth name and to all now I am known as Vren..."
"Hah!" Gregor chuckled, the name was nothing more than a common, culinary Eirdren noun, "Nice to meet you Miss Onion. So you know, my true name is Tomato."
Onion stopped dead in her tracks, shirt sleeves half on, her bottom still exposed to the stale inn air. She froze as long as her lungs would allow before bursting into laughter. Deep in her core she laughed the entire contents of her lungs pushed up from her belly. Eyes misting pure mirth, she realized for the first time since seeing the forsaken eyes of Rejnev on the field of battle for the last time, that she in fact was not dead. She had not shared his fate. She might even still be alive.
"I am glad to see your sense of humor intact in spite of all that you have been through." he remarked from his wicker chair.
"But you must know I am serious. It is the name my brother chose for me during my third grixi flood season, and I am known by no other name. My parents had already gone to the Master of the Mountain, so by then the choice was his, as the eldest of us all." she told her story to Gregor and the wall.
"Do you know what the word vren means? It is a word of the tongues of my people. It is speech of the continent."
"Rejnev once told me. It is some kind of plant is it not? He told me that after that cold white stuff-"
"snow"
"Yes, that. Like the cap of the mountain. After it disappears it is one of the first plants to burst from the earth with life. That is why he named me so. After the winter of our parents leaving us, I yet sprouted."
"Yes, there is that, but an onion is something we eat here too. Have you ever tasted an one? It makes you cry when you cut it."
"You cry? Why would you want to eat such a thing? No I haven't." she looked confused and a little robbed about her namesake. An onion sounds a much finer thing struggling against the elements than garnishing a dinner plate. As she she stepped our from the dividers, she gauged herself helplessly. What a strange contraption, this continental garb. she thought, this dress. "How do you walk around in this without tripping all over your self?" she asked to no one in particular.
Gregor laughed, "You will learn, as I did in robes. If it makes you feel any better, it suits you. You look quite good in it."
Onion tried to push the comment past her, but offered a smirk. Preferring the language of action and escape, she insisted, "Let's go."
Showing posts with label Chapter 4. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chapter 4. Show all posts
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Monday, August 8, 2011
Chapter 4 - Part IX
"The task is done, Davin and I were successful. The ritual was performed without error, and the little I could derive from my surroundings in the dungeon while I molded the dead flesh to the souls of the prisoners suggests that the Lady suspects nothing. She saw them in those bodies, not the bodies of her slain guardsmen.
"As it is that her thoughts are that the two have perished, no doubt she will change her strategy, but as to what that move shall be, we are uncertain at this time. We would be wise to keep other bei close at hand." Anita sat on the floor and began to stretch; her limber arm easily grasping the flats of her soles. With her other hand she mindlessly touched the bridge of her nose, still covered in its entirety by the blindfold.
Gregor wondered about what lay underneath the thin, exotic looking fabric. Her eyes were rumored to have been beautiful once. Tales from beyond the Teeth lived in Heilithian legend that claimed her people were a folk constructed of porcelain, sapphire and obsidian, but to him she had never seemed more than cut of broken glass. He wondered if she ever considered herself beautiful. He wondered what she saw when she looked into the mirror of her mind.
The young Lithenese bei'thal however kept all such wandering notions caged in the recesses of abstract thought. He beckoned her to continue.
"A far stretch though it may have been, it was worth it, Gregor." she offered, almost contrite, as if a bei could ever feel humbled. "She will be useful for the Empress, and the pnum bei'thal, first in that order." The bei's words were projected from lips now loosely covered by elongated gloved fingers. In the glow of the fire, the angle of Anita's jawline cut cruelly against the smoothness of her neck. This was the weapon Gregor was here to command.
"That one guides her own dreams and turns thoughts into fortresses. She is the master of her domain and even for a true pnum bei, I do not think infiltrating her mind at full strength would be possible. More likely it would be lethal."
"Yet you managed the deed though you are not a compromised of the spirit? How?" Gregor knew little of the process of the compromising ritual, or how it formed different bei, but he did know Anita and Davin had given up their sight for ears more sensitive than those of dogs. Their's was not a sacrifice of the mind.
"All bei lose a portion of their souls, it is the cost of our sacrifice." she answered emotionlessly. So it is true, Gregor mused. He wondered just how true she was. "It makes us who we are." she continued.
"The ritual was easy. The girl is battered and malleable. I suspect she is still in a numb shock that she is likely not aware of herself. Pushing her soul into the carcass at the Archne Estate was simply a matter of good sheep herding. And sculpting the flesh around her spirit was pure art. Her force of will made the flesh no more than yak butter." A small smile curled in the corner of her mouth as she related the memories of her labors. Her pride in her work was perhaps all that remained in her shell.
"So you said. And the Lady was taken in by your craft. But why does she slumber still?" Impatient, the bei'thal tapped his left toe against the oaken wood floor.
"I thought to herd her into her own body, much as Davin had done for Cedric, but when I returned to her, she was nowhere to be found. You must understand this. Were I to force the blood burn ritual on you at this instant, I would come upon the cluttered mess of your every thought. I would walk the roads of Lithentown and Honeyport to arrive at the color of chivalry. The taste of the air of your mind would boast the bittersweet tinge of a brother here, but lost. I would see the face of your mother on the walls of University on High, I would feel your last erection and know if your belly had been filled recently. Humans imprint their stamp on every action, every thought they commit in a day, but most of what they do in a day they try to hide in the hidden strongbox of their minds.
"But when I got to the girl, there was nothing. No lampposts, no memories of indigestion. There were no fathers or brothers, no sky, no smell; nothing!" The memories of frustrations she had, searching, getting lost in the big empty blackness of the mind of another poured into her voice thickly. "Only the dead have nothing! If... were she not to have been found I would have been as trapped as she, and this body," she pointed to the sleeping Nü, "would have decayed in front of your eyes even as it yet drew breath."
"At first I thought her dead, that I had failed and her soul lost, but slowly I could hear the crescendo of thoughts, desires and experiences, hidden and obvious, rush past me, constructing a wall, a web to repel and forget the injuries done. It was nearly undetectable at first. Even as it became more obvious, I could never tell where anything was headed. I never found the corner of her mind where she had crawled.
"But I didn't need to. Whatever she has been through, it had maimed her before we got to her. She has been weak and in reaction her mind gave her a fever to kill the sickness she bore from her injury. It was along the conduit of fever dreams that her memories traveled to her.
"In a fever dream, the mind beckons and traps powerful memories and ideas which can no longer escape. This is the nature of humans I suppose. To dwell on the intense passions and obsessions of the past is your way sometimes. A fever is particularly adept at destroying any other distractions of lesser emotions and daily life. It was the seeds of a fever dream, the call to strong passions, where I found my escape. Her memories knew to whom they belonged. I need but ride them to her."
"You followed a memory?" he asked, not sure he understood how one might accomplish such a feat.
"Yes, a particularly strong one. And when I reached the walls she had begun building, or rebuilding, I had no choice but to become one with the memory. To speak through it. I would not have been able to permeate her defenses otherwise.
"Now she slumbers because she is rebuilding her defenses, she has risen from her shock. She will not hide again, but nor will she suffer another invasion."
"So you say that through her memory you could finally communicate, even lure her out of her shell. But do you not know what the memory was?"
"I can't be sure. It was simply the vessel of my message. Most likely it was the memory of a person. To her, my words probably came from kin. Perhaps her mother's lips delivered echoed my will. Though more likely it was a lover. The memory was quite strong."
Gregor was certain that this final information was not likely to help his cause, and now he simply felt intrusive. He blushed, a fact that was thankfully concealed by the light of the fire coals. Anita may have been blind and thus could not see the cool pink pigment splash upon his cheeks, but he did not want even the hint of weakness in front of her. As Anita prepared herself to leave, Gregor took a moment to absorb what she had told him, but his thoughts could not help but to delve into curiosity. "Before you go, Anita, tell me one thing."
"Yes my keeper?"
"What would I find if I performed the blood burn on you?"
"Two rows of five empty, granite houses." With that she exited the room.
"As it is that her thoughts are that the two have perished, no doubt she will change her strategy, but as to what that move shall be, we are uncertain at this time. We would be wise to keep other bei close at hand." Anita sat on the floor and began to stretch; her limber arm easily grasping the flats of her soles. With her other hand she mindlessly touched the bridge of her nose, still covered in its entirety by the blindfold.
Gregor wondered about what lay underneath the thin, exotic looking fabric. Her eyes were rumored to have been beautiful once. Tales from beyond the Teeth lived in Heilithian legend that claimed her people were a folk constructed of porcelain, sapphire and obsidian, but to him she had never seemed more than cut of broken glass. He wondered if she ever considered herself beautiful. He wondered what she saw when she looked into the mirror of her mind.
The young Lithenese bei'thal however kept all such wandering notions caged in the recesses of abstract thought. He beckoned her to continue.
"A far stretch though it may have been, it was worth it, Gregor." she offered, almost contrite, as if a bei could ever feel humbled. "She will be useful for the Empress, and the pnum bei'thal, first in that order." The bei's words were projected from lips now loosely covered by elongated gloved fingers. In the glow of the fire, the angle of Anita's jawline cut cruelly against the smoothness of her neck. This was the weapon Gregor was here to command.
"That one guides her own dreams and turns thoughts into fortresses. She is the master of her domain and even for a true pnum bei, I do not think infiltrating her mind at full strength would be possible. More likely it would be lethal."
"Yet you managed the deed though you are not a compromised of the spirit? How?" Gregor knew little of the process of the compromising ritual, or how it formed different bei, but he did know Anita and Davin had given up their sight for ears more sensitive than those of dogs. Their's was not a sacrifice of the mind.
"All bei lose a portion of their souls, it is the cost of our sacrifice." she answered emotionlessly. So it is true, Gregor mused. He wondered just how true she was. "It makes us who we are." she continued.
"The ritual was easy. The girl is battered and malleable. I suspect she is still in a numb shock that she is likely not aware of herself. Pushing her soul into the carcass at the Archne Estate was simply a matter of good sheep herding. And sculpting the flesh around her spirit was pure art. Her force of will made the flesh no more than yak butter." A small smile curled in the corner of her mouth as she related the memories of her labors. Her pride in her work was perhaps all that remained in her shell.
"So you said. And the Lady was taken in by your craft. But why does she slumber still?" Impatient, the bei'thal tapped his left toe against the oaken wood floor.
"I thought to herd her into her own body, much as Davin had done for Cedric, but when I returned to her, she was nowhere to be found. You must understand this. Were I to force the blood burn ritual on you at this instant, I would come upon the cluttered mess of your every thought. I would walk the roads of Lithentown and Honeyport to arrive at the color of chivalry. The taste of the air of your mind would boast the bittersweet tinge of a brother here, but lost. I would see the face of your mother on the walls of University on High, I would feel your last erection and know if your belly had been filled recently. Humans imprint their stamp on every action, every thought they commit in a day, but most of what they do in a day they try to hide in the hidden strongbox of their minds.
"But when I got to the girl, there was nothing. No lampposts, no memories of indigestion. There were no fathers or brothers, no sky, no smell; nothing!" The memories of frustrations she had, searching, getting lost in the big empty blackness of the mind of another poured into her voice thickly. "Only the dead have nothing! If... were she not to have been found I would have been as trapped as she, and this body," she pointed to the sleeping Nü, "would have decayed in front of your eyes even as it yet drew breath."
"At first I thought her dead, that I had failed and her soul lost, but slowly I could hear the crescendo of thoughts, desires and experiences, hidden and obvious, rush past me, constructing a wall, a web to repel and forget the injuries done. It was nearly undetectable at first. Even as it became more obvious, I could never tell where anything was headed. I never found the corner of her mind where she had crawled.
"But I didn't need to. Whatever she has been through, it had maimed her before we got to her. She has been weak and in reaction her mind gave her a fever to kill the sickness she bore from her injury. It was along the conduit of fever dreams that her memories traveled to her.
"In a fever dream, the mind beckons and traps powerful memories and ideas which can no longer escape. This is the nature of humans I suppose. To dwell on the intense passions and obsessions of the past is your way sometimes. A fever is particularly adept at destroying any other distractions of lesser emotions and daily life. It was the seeds of a fever dream, the call to strong passions, where I found my escape. Her memories knew to whom they belonged. I need but ride them to her."
"You followed a memory?" he asked, not sure he understood how one might accomplish such a feat.
"Yes, a particularly strong one. And when I reached the walls she had begun building, or rebuilding, I had no choice but to become one with the memory. To speak through it. I would not have been able to permeate her defenses otherwise.
"Now she slumbers because she is rebuilding her defenses, she has risen from her shock. She will not hide again, but nor will she suffer another invasion."
"So you say that through her memory you could finally communicate, even lure her out of her shell. But do you not know what the memory was?"
"I can't be sure. It was simply the vessel of my message. Most likely it was the memory of a person. To her, my words probably came from kin. Perhaps her mother's lips delivered echoed my will. Though more likely it was a lover. The memory was quite strong."
Gregor was certain that this final information was not likely to help his cause, and now he simply felt intrusive. He blushed, a fact that was thankfully concealed by the light of the fire coals. Anita may have been blind and thus could not see the cool pink pigment splash upon his cheeks, but he did not want even the hint of weakness in front of her. As Anita prepared herself to leave, Gregor took a moment to absorb what she had told him, but his thoughts could not help but to delve into curiosity. "Before you go, Anita, tell me one thing."
"Yes my keeper?"
"What would I find if I performed the blood burn on you?"
"Two rows of five empty, granite houses." With that she exited the room.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Chapter 4 - Part VIII
~~~~~~~~
Even after the heaviest of rains, a rose will open up once again to greet the surviving sun. Nought but the jewels of dew drops on her petals will indicate her troubles in the storm.
With the uncertainty of dawn at an end, Anita opened her burned out eyes and saw nothing. She heard the creaking of the floor boards from several rooms away. Over the conversations of two barmaids, dutifully cleaning the floors downstairs, he heard with perfect vividness the barkeep's backhand upon the kitchen keep. She had finally surfaced from Onion's mind, and while the loss of her vision was always a somber reminder to her life, compromised, the acute power of her ears was life. She had sorely missed the ability to see beyond any walls, of the mind or of stone.
Visibly drained from her exploits in the perilous backalleys of that convoluted Nüish mind, she nonetheless fared better than her charge. By pure stubbornness, or perhaps weakness, Onion remained motionless, sprawled as much as she could be on one third of the pallet. Thin, red blankets cascaded from her belly and upon her groin before twisting around her mahogany legs.
Gregor watched from a distance as Anita straightened herself out and resumed her stoic form. Before both feet even lay flat upon the ground, Gregor felt the curiosity of her experiences well up from within him. He was the master, he was the bei'thal and yet, there was still much he could not possibly know about the inner workings of a bei and such naivety he wore as a tunic amongst his peers; plain for all to see. He could suppress his queries no longer.
"What news ser'bei Anita?" he invoked the quality of her compromise, compromise of the senses. Fully erect now, Anita snatched the sheet from the pallet and utilized it to rid herself of the sweat coalescing upon her brow; the evidence of her labors.
"Bei'thal", she responded, using Gregor's formal title in kind, "You are a man wise beyond expectation." From under her blindfold, thin lips curled tightly and her jawline tightened, "You have found us a great source of new understanding. Skinny Selmont will have a dear time with this one. Oh and yes, Dagleth yes," she continued, squealing with glee, "much more to learn from this one than that monkey whelp Yiren."
Gregor felt the fires of rage kindle inside his heart but he used every muscle fiber to suppress it. He was bei'thal and she was bei. In any other organization she would be expected to keep her foul taunting mouth shut in front of her superior, Gregor reflected, but he knew any attempt at discipline would be fruitless. The bei he had heard by a friend in what seemed to be eons ago, lost the larger part of their soul when they became compromised. What remained was a one dimensional shell of their former self. Their personalities trudged on, copying the behavioral patterns of their former life with vigor, though it was questionable as to if they truly understood what they did.
Certainly nothing he said to cut her down or command her respect would make the slightest ripple on her future actions, so he knew he must bear her japes. While he had never met the woman before she became bei, it was well known that Anita had been a caustic woodswalker from the Teeth of the Benge wastelands. He doubted it was possible for the woman to even play at kindness.
To that end, a bei'thal was to be the leash on the bei. The only way to break the bei of the habits of their past life was to keep them in constant motion. To compel them to task was to turn the wolf into a dog. To set them upon prey was the only way to gain their respect. It was the duty of Gregor and Vaughn to unleash the power and skills of the bei when needed, and to muzzle them during the rare times of respite.
"Report your findings," Gregor enunciated once his palatable distaste for the bei's disrespect had subsided.
If the rumors of leeched souls serving as the fuel in the ritual of the compromise were true, Anita was a shining example of evidence to such. Her sneer quickly subsided as a monotone formality crept into her speech.
Even after the heaviest of rains, a rose will open up once again to greet the surviving sun. Nought but the jewels of dew drops on her petals will indicate her troubles in the storm.
With the uncertainty of dawn at an end, Anita opened her burned out eyes and saw nothing. She heard the creaking of the floor boards from several rooms away. Over the conversations of two barmaids, dutifully cleaning the floors downstairs, he heard with perfect vividness the barkeep's backhand upon the kitchen keep. She had finally surfaced from Onion's mind, and while the loss of her vision was always a somber reminder to her life, compromised, the acute power of her ears was life. She had sorely missed the ability to see beyond any walls, of the mind or of stone.
Visibly drained from her exploits in the perilous backalleys of that convoluted Nüish mind, she nonetheless fared better than her charge. By pure stubbornness, or perhaps weakness, Onion remained motionless, sprawled as much as she could be on one third of the pallet. Thin, red blankets cascaded from her belly and upon her groin before twisting around her mahogany legs.
Gregor watched from a distance as Anita straightened herself out and resumed her stoic form. Before both feet even lay flat upon the ground, Gregor felt the curiosity of her experiences well up from within him. He was the master, he was the bei'thal and yet, there was still much he could not possibly know about the inner workings of a bei and such naivety he wore as a tunic amongst his peers; plain for all to see. He could suppress his queries no longer.
"What news ser'bei Anita?" he invoked the quality of her compromise, compromise of the senses. Fully erect now, Anita snatched the sheet from the pallet and utilized it to rid herself of the sweat coalescing upon her brow; the evidence of her labors.
"Bei'thal", she responded, using Gregor's formal title in kind, "You are a man wise beyond expectation." From under her blindfold, thin lips curled tightly and her jawline tightened, "You have found us a great source of new understanding. Skinny Selmont will have a dear time with this one. Oh and yes, Dagleth yes," she continued, squealing with glee, "much more to learn from this one than that monkey whelp Yiren."
Gregor felt the fires of rage kindle inside his heart but he used every muscle fiber to suppress it. He was bei'thal and she was bei. In any other organization she would be expected to keep her foul taunting mouth shut in front of her superior, Gregor reflected, but he knew any attempt at discipline would be fruitless. The bei he had heard by a friend in what seemed to be eons ago, lost the larger part of their soul when they became compromised. What remained was a one dimensional shell of their former self. Their personalities trudged on, copying the behavioral patterns of their former life with vigor, though it was questionable as to if they truly understood what they did.
Certainly nothing he said to cut her down or command her respect would make the slightest ripple on her future actions, so he knew he must bear her japes. While he had never met the woman before she became bei, it was well known that Anita had been a caustic woodswalker from the Teeth of the Benge wastelands. He doubted it was possible for the woman to even play at kindness.
To that end, a bei'thal was to be the leash on the bei. The only way to break the bei of the habits of their past life was to keep them in constant motion. To compel them to task was to turn the wolf into a dog. To set them upon prey was the only way to gain their respect. It was the duty of Gregor and Vaughn to unleash the power and skills of the bei when needed, and to muzzle them during the rare times of respite.
"Report your findings," Gregor enunciated once his palatable distaste for the bei's disrespect had subsided.
If the rumors of leeched souls serving as the fuel in the ritual of the compromise were true, Anita was a shining example of evidence to such. Her sneer quickly subsided as a monotone formality crept into her speech.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Chapter 4 - Part VII
"Anita and the Nü girl have yet to arise." he repeated deliberately when Vaughn did not respond immediately. Gregor clasped his palm to his forehead and pushed his inch and a half dirty blond hair back. It was a futile effort. The cool damp early summer moisture in the air clung to every follicle, dragging it back into his eyes.
¨You are to stay with the Nü until she finds herself, elek bei'thal. The bei will know what to do when she awakens. You are to let her proceed on her own." Around Vaughn's waist, a thick leather belt kept a forearm and a half, half-moon Aeglch sword and sheath close at hand. Thumb to the sky, the elder bei'thal grasped at it's hilt, tapping the silver laced leather grip with his finger tips. "If neither awaken before the sun has fallen and risen again, it is for you to deal with them properly."
Gregor did not need to be told what that entailed. First, there would be the bloodless termination of their lives; perhaps a break of the neck or suffocation. Gregor did not have his poisons set with him. Next would be the task of disposing of the bodies. That might require a tad more finesse.
"Nothing overlooked, Gregor," Vaughn warned, "Cedric's delivery must be completed without the slightest notice of any of the nobles. If we must sacrifice even our most talented of bei, then so be it. She would have understood."
Gregor cast a sideways glance at the slumbering women while Vaughn, the elek bei'thal, second of his order, spun on a leather booted, steel plated heel. His dull grey sheepskin cloak flared up with the motion before disappeared from the room.
Anita lie splayed across the better half of the pallet. A cold sweat gleamed from her forehead as her body struggled against the tug of unconsciousness. Neither a muscle of she, nor that of the Nü twitched, but the signs of tension radiated from the two bodies nonetheless.
Davin paid her little heed as he prepared to leave. Having lost consciousness in his suitable bei attire, his preparations were minimal. He readjusted his pocket belt of tools and monies before making his way to the door. Half way exiting the building, he made his solitary prayers hiding behind the half open oak wood door. Out of habit for what once was, he drew breath to utter a plea to Dagleth, Keeper of Progress and Corruption, that the deity give leave to the horde only so much as to grant his partner the gift of progress.
Of course, even before the compromise, he had lived in Heilth long enough to know that the keepers answered no one, but he viscerally longed for the hour when Anita would finish her task, see color and texture with her ears and join him by his side once again. No emotion had escaped from his lips, nor could it show from his long dead eyes; it would never express itself on this body ever again. Yet Davin gave cause to the notion that the compromised, the bei, might still retain some shred of humanity, that in their monotone voices they could still bear some measure of concern for another. Perhaps Davin's need for Anita was practical, moreso than personal. For his part, Cedric could not tell.
Finally dressed, Cedric was adorned in garb more likely to be displayed by a flax and maize farmer of the rural Eirdred lowlands, rather than a servant of noble employ. His hands were covered in an indigo-blue dyed thin linen glove, save for his fingertips, which extended to his elbow, though purple tinted stretched sheepskin wrap held fast the gloves and tucked in his loose beige tunic around his forearm and.
In the hot humid fields of human sized grasses and tough and stiff flax, his loose flowing tunic would have been the best way to remain cool, while the tightly bound gloves would ensure that no flora nor fauna would catch on his garb and slow his progress. Similarly his breeches clung tightly to his skin, but ended at his knee caps. An average farmer would protect his calves with rough leather boots, but while in the city to sell his wares, he might elect to wear cobbled shoes instead.
Gregor shoed him on, suggesting he hurry if he wanted to catch up with Vaughn. Cedric looked helplessly at the Lithenese man, much like the sheep he was wearing looked like prior to its transformation into bindings. What little trust he had in these people was entirely vested in Gregor and Gregor alone. To be passed like hot, steamed pine nuts was a concept that taxed Cedric's rabbit heart terribly. When minutes turned to a quarter hour with Cedric's feet affixed to the surface of the floor Vaughn lost his patience and made a reappearance at the room. Before Cedric could whimper the slightest protest, the thick, muscular man pulled from his own reserves a wad of hemp chewing paste far to large to be enjoyed properly and stuffed it in the timid Archne chef's mouth. Cedric gagged on the sticky substance that filled his mouth but was unable to utter anything more than grunts and groans. The paste took little time effectively calming the thin nervous man and he relaxed. Vaughn seized his shoulder and Cedric was relegated to a force march outside of the room. In a few moments, their footsteps on the hollow hallway floor were no more.
¨You are to stay with the Nü until she finds herself, elek bei'thal. The bei will know what to do when she awakens. You are to let her proceed on her own." Around Vaughn's waist, a thick leather belt kept a forearm and a half, half-moon Aeglch sword and sheath close at hand. Thumb to the sky, the elder bei'thal grasped at it's hilt, tapping the silver laced leather grip with his finger tips. "If neither awaken before the sun has fallen and risen again, it is for you to deal with them properly."
Gregor did not need to be told what that entailed. First, there would be the bloodless termination of their lives; perhaps a break of the neck or suffocation. Gregor did not have his poisons set with him. Next would be the task of disposing of the bodies. That might require a tad more finesse.
"Nothing overlooked, Gregor," Vaughn warned, "Cedric's delivery must be completed without the slightest notice of any of the nobles. If we must sacrifice even our most talented of bei, then so be it. She would have understood."
Gregor cast a sideways glance at the slumbering women while Vaughn, the elek bei'thal, second of his order, spun on a leather booted, steel plated heel. His dull grey sheepskin cloak flared up with the motion before disappeared from the room.
Anita lie splayed across the better half of the pallet. A cold sweat gleamed from her forehead as her body struggled against the tug of unconsciousness. Neither a muscle of she, nor that of the Nü twitched, but the signs of tension radiated from the two bodies nonetheless.
Davin paid her little heed as he prepared to leave. Having lost consciousness in his suitable bei attire, his preparations were minimal. He readjusted his pocket belt of tools and monies before making his way to the door. Half way exiting the building, he made his solitary prayers hiding behind the half open oak wood door. Out of habit for what once was, he drew breath to utter a plea to Dagleth, Keeper of Progress and Corruption, that the deity give leave to the horde only so much as to grant his partner the gift of progress.
Of course, even before the compromise, he had lived in Heilth long enough to know that the keepers answered no one, but he viscerally longed for the hour when Anita would finish her task, see color and texture with her ears and join him by his side once again. No emotion had escaped from his lips, nor could it show from his long dead eyes; it would never express itself on this body ever again. Yet Davin gave cause to the notion that the compromised, the bei, might still retain some shred of humanity, that in their monotone voices they could still bear some measure of concern for another. Perhaps Davin's need for Anita was practical, moreso than personal. For his part, Cedric could not tell.
Finally dressed, Cedric was adorned in garb more likely to be displayed by a flax and maize farmer of the rural Eirdred lowlands, rather than a servant of noble employ. His hands were covered in an indigo-blue dyed thin linen glove, save for his fingertips, which extended to his elbow, though purple tinted stretched sheepskin wrap held fast the gloves and tucked in his loose beige tunic around his forearm and.
In the hot humid fields of human sized grasses and tough and stiff flax, his loose flowing tunic would have been the best way to remain cool, while the tightly bound gloves would ensure that no flora nor fauna would catch on his garb and slow his progress. Similarly his breeches clung tightly to his skin, but ended at his knee caps. An average farmer would protect his calves with rough leather boots, but while in the city to sell his wares, he might elect to wear cobbled shoes instead.
Gregor shoed him on, suggesting he hurry if he wanted to catch up with Vaughn. Cedric looked helplessly at the Lithenese man, much like the sheep he was wearing looked like prior to its transformation into bindings. What little trust he had in these people was entirely vested in Gregor and Gregor alone. To be passed like hot, steamed pine nuts was a concept that taxed Cedric's rabbit heart terribly. When minutes turned to a quarter hour with Cedric's feet affixed to the surface of the floor Vaughn lost his patience and made a reappearance at the room. Before Cedric could whimper the slightest protest, the thick, muscular man pulled from his own reserves a wad of hemp chewing paste far to large to be enjoyed properly and stuffed it in the timid Archne chef's mouth. Cedric gagged on the sticky substance that filled his mouth but was unable to utter anything more than grunts and groans. The paste took little time effectively calming the thin nervous man and he relaxed. Vaughn seized his shoulder and Cedric was relegated to a force march outside of the room. In a few moments, their footsteps on the hollow hallway floor were no more.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Chapter 4 - Part VI
"Gregor." he nudged the dozing young man, "What is to become of us now? Where do we go from here?"
The half asleep young man on the oak thread wicker chair was roused from his cat nap, but it was the groggy Davin who responded finally. "We must get you out of Eirdred as soon as possible." The blue-black blindfolded man's legs rested on the pallet but he had managed to pull himself to lean against the wall. His black tight tunic were moist with the cold sweat of overexertion, but if the man had any emotional opinion about Cedric's future in his voice, Cedric could not detect it.
Yet he could not stomach the thought. In Eirdred, in his service to the Archne household, Cedric knew who he was. He understood his physical shortcomings and made the best of his talents. In the Archne District, this had brought him some measure of stability and security. A bride of Eirdred ethnicity, from the Treleth District, had already been promised to him before the year's end. His loyalty to his lord and lands had not been misplaced.
Now, all he could think about was leaving the only place in the world he had ever known; Eirdred. The outside world offered him nothing but the the ever present threat of security disassembled. Boyhood memories as clear as if he were living them now pervaded his thoughts. Memories of a sister who left the great gates out of Southly Road to start a life as a merchant. Memories of their parents receiving her corpse in place of a letter two years later.
Whispers of the Eirdren in the streets, hearkening to the calls of the five other keepers Heilth had declared Rel's equal over 300 years ago, haunted Cedric's daily prayers. In its own city, that the Keeper Rel, no, the proud, ancient male god Rel, his protector and guardian, could be cast aside in favor of the weak Rüern and the lascivious Vera, patrons of Lithen and Sandor, bode poorly for the future of his well structured civilization. The pride of Eirdred had been sullied when mere Lithenese and Sandorian merchants, once vassals to Center City's mighty Augur and her battlements, learned to address his former lord with the casual air of familiarity. The streets of Center City and the outskirts of the lords' districts were marred by the influx of brown and ghost white peoples; the Outer Crest and Heilth spread their people around the globe like a disease. As the sickness advanced, Cedric had walled himself into the world of pure Eirdred, in service to the houses that had existed long before the Heilth name was ever cursed upon. Now he would live the infection.
"But this is my home," he whimpered to the man. From Davin, the Archne chef met with silence.
"And should you remain it will be your grave." Gregor interjected, "Do not be fooled into thinking there is salvation in these walls. There is no guessing in this matter. You will die should you stay here. You will be put to the sword if you are lucky, but more likely your torture to this point will have just been a prelude. Accept it, your life here is over."
Fat tears began to well up in his eyes and his lip quivered slightly, but Cedric had enough pride to attempt to cover his shame.
"Stop that." Even as he scolded, Gregor could not help but feel the bully upon the pale Cedric. Yet the man was trying his patience. "Your new life is to begin. The Silent Scholar needs you."
In his capacity as a servant of an Eirdren Lord, Cedric had learned early on, not to ask questions. Questions received dangerous, compromising answers. Questions were the opening bow in sophisticated dances that would only trip him up. Answer could only serve to confuse and imperil him. What the Empress needed with him was beyond his understanding, but it was preferable to accept the information as is than to ask questions.
Pride finally failing him, Cedric frothed his consent and nodded, though his heart spoke harsher words. Rel, send your host to claim vengeance on my loss. Do not let these heathens, with their false Keepers, bring harm to your faithful.
The conversation was laid to rest as all attention was directed to the creaking oak wood door. Vaughn bei'thal had returned.
"Here", he barked, tossing a light grey linen satchel to Cedric. "You will need new attire if we are to get you out of the city."
"What of Anita and the Nü girl? They have not yet awaken." Gregor asked his superior. Both men served as bei'thal, Keepers of the Compromised, but Vaughn had been the ears of the Silent Scholar for more than two thirds of his life. His raven black hair instantly identified him of Heitlth blood, though his ample and thick facial hair suggested mingling in his ancestry. Nevertheless, he had become bei'thal long before the order had been formally recognized, during the early years of the experiments that would lead to the creation of the bei, the compromised. His loyalty was never to be forgotten among those who knew of the bei and their keepers. Gregor was reminded of the man's seniority a great deal particularly in the past few days.
The half asleep young man on the oak thread wicker chair was roused from his cat nap, but it was the groggy Davin who responded finally. "We must get you out of Eirdred as soon as possible." The blue-black blindfolded man's legs rested on the pallet but he had managed to pull himself to lean against the wall. His black tight tunic were moist with the cold sweat of overexertion, but if the man had any emotional opinion about Cedric's future in his voice, Cedric could not detect it.
Yet he could not stomach the thought. In Eirdred, in his service to the Archne household, Cedric knew who he was. He understood his physical shortcomings and made the best of his talents. In the Archne District, this had brought him some measure of stability and security. A bride of Eirdred ethnicity, from the Treleth District, had already been promised to him before the year's end. His loyalty to his lord and lands had not been misplaced.
Now, all he could think about was leaving the only place in the world he had ever known; Eirdred. The outside world offered him nothing but the the ever present threat of security disassembled. Boyhood memories as clear as if he were living them now pervaded his thoughts. Memories of a sister who left the great gates out of Southly Road to start a life as a merchant. Memories of their parents receiving her corpse in place of a letter two years later.
Whispers of the Eirdren in the streets, hearkening to the calls of the five other keepers Heilth had declared Rel's equal over 300 years ago, haunted Cedric's daily prayers. In its own city, that the Keeper Rel, no, the proud, ancient male god Rel, his protector and guardian, could be cast aside in favor of the weak Rüern and the lascivious Vera, patrons of Lithen and Sandor, bode poorly for the future of his well structured civilization. The pride of Eirdred had been sullied when mere Lithenese and Sandorian merchants, once vassals to Center City's mighty Augur and her battlements, learned to address his former lord with the casual air of familiarity. The streets of Center City and the outskirts of the lords' districts were marred by the influx of brown and ghost white peoples; the Outer Crest and Heilth spread their people around the globe like a disease. As the sickness advanced, Cedric had walled himself into the world of pure Eirdred, in service to the houses that had existed long before the Heilth name was ever cursed upon. Now he would live the infection.
"But this is my home," he whimpered to the man. From Davin, the Archne chef met with silence.
"And should you remain it will be your grave." Gregor interjected, "Do not be fooled into thinking there is salvation in these walls. There is no guessing in this matter. You will die should you stay here. You will be put to the sword if you are lucky, but more likely your torture to this point will have just been a prelude. Accept it, your life here is over."
Fat tears began to well up in his eyes and his lip quivered slightly, but Cedric had enough pride to attempt to cover his shame.
"Stop that." Even as he scolded, Gregor could not help but feel the bully upon the pale Cedric. Yet the man was trying his patience. "Your new life is to begin. The Silent Scholar needs you."
In his capacity as a servant of an Eirdren Lord, Cedric had learned early on, not to ask questions. Questions received dangerous, compromising answers. Questions were the opening bow in sophisticated dances that would only trip him up. Answer could only serve to confuse and imperil him. What the Empress needed with him was beyond his understanding, but it was preferable to accept the information as is than to ask questions.
Pride finally failing him, Cedric frothed his consent and nodded, though his heart spoke harsher words. Rel, send your host to claim vengeance on my loss. Do not let these heathens, with their false Keepers, bring harm to your faithful.
The conversation was laid to rest as all attention was directed to the creaking oak wood door. Vaughn bei'thal had returned.
"Here", he barked, tossing a light grey linen satchel to Cedric. "You will need new attire if we are to get you out of the city."
"What of Anita and the Nü girl? They have not yet awaken." Gregor asked his superior. Both men served as bei'thal, Keepers of the Compromised, but Vaughn had been the ears of the Silent Scholar for more than two thirds of his life. His raven black hair instantly identified him of Heitlth blood, though his ample and thick facial hair suggested mingling in his ancestry. Nevertheless, he had become bei'thal long before the order had been formally recognized, during the early years of the experiments that would lead to the creation of the bei, the compromised. His loyalty was never to be forgotten among those who knew of the bei and their keepers. Gregor was reminded of the man's seniority a great deal particularly in the past few days.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Chapter 4 - Part V
Cedric had thought his life was over, that day he was sent to Castle Reinfeld. The Nüish mercenaries had paid him little attention while the house standard bore his litter, but they had stopped the Archne party long before the fighting ever began. The thick smell of the early summer air, of wet grasses and beckoning flora, congealed in his nostrils and somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, Cedric detected the stillness of an impending attack. The cautions of the Nü were not much later aroused as the litter came to a stop.
Without warning, they were upon the Archne party and the cry of the Nü raised the alarm throughout the parade of Reinfeld bound travelers. Not once did Cedric lift the embroidered velvet purple curtains. Men screamed around him as they were cut down like dogs, but Cedric did not stir. One by one, his litter bearers abandoned him- to visit their Master of the Mountain, as the Nü called the Void, or to join the fray, he could not be sure.
Yet victory was to be the Nü's and when the initial fighting had died down around his litter, the mousy man had finally gathered enough courage to lift the purple veil. He beheld the plethora of bodies, Eirdren and Nüish alike, asleep at his feet, but the standing Nü outnumbered the few pale continentals. Annihilation was not far.
Cedric had seen it in periphery as ¨he scanned the battlefield. The short sword sunk into his lord-master's body and the look of horror that bloomed on his killer's face; when the Archne chef beheld Onion and Henri Archne's deadly dance, the weight of futility descended on his heart and smothered his fear.
The rest of that battle was a blacked out blur in his memory. Vague hints of hurried action, running towards the Oaken Wood, seeking out allies he never knew existed, Cedric could distinguish nothing of those moments in time from a dream or flights of fantasy. His only sure memory was of being hoisted upon a horse fully conscious, along with the Nüish girl fully unconscious, bound once more for Eirdred.
Until that moment, he had never been on a horse. The Heilthian beast was rare in these areas; only a few City Enforcers had brought them from home. The mare was a rich copper brown with a nose and hooves dipped in black, not unlike the coloring of the Nü, he later reflected. And like the Nü, this beast would lead him to more misery, of that he was certain.
The City Enforcers had not been unkind, but they were quick to surrender their charges in light of the Archne regicide. The order tread a precarious balance between keeping the peace and enforcing the Empress's will, and not being seen as meddlers in internal politics. The poor chef could not have been world disrupting that balance.
The first night, alone in solitary confinement, he cried. He cried until his eyes went puffy and his throat constricted and gave out, but his calls went unanswered. He cried for mercy and he cried for justice, but the calls went unheeded. By the time he was removed to the dungeon, he could not cry anymore.
He was suspicious of life by the time his request for a Fal'du Rel was granted, but the priest gave him a modicum of comfort. The request was not an unusual one; as a lifelong Eirdred native, his devotion to the patron Keeper of the province was a piety to be lauded.
He was surprised to see Gregor. Not two weeks earlier he had met the man by chance on the street, in the markets of Durendul District, soliciting alms for the church in the street. The man had been chatty and charismatic after Cedric deposited two coppers in his bowl and Cedric could not help but invite the man for lunch the following day. An Ally of Rel was a good man with whom to keep company.
Their reunion in the dungeon was coincidence, was it not? There were many Fal'du Rel in Eirdred. In the hours he spoke with Gregor, however, it had become clear that the man was not there to shepherd his soul with the guidance of Rel, but to shepherd his body to freedom.
Why?
Questions such as this never crossed the mind of the Archne chef. Questions brought troublesome answers and even more troubling consequences. People who asked questions disappeared, people who asked questions were beaten or exiled. Those who did their job and did not ask questions lived, and perhaps even lived well.
But during those moments, he did have hope, and he clung to it like a barnacle on a boat.
In the small tavern inn, free of the prison, and the mental strife that followed, Cedric appraised the man Gregor from the pallet. He had to admit, he liked the friendly man. There was something about his presence that made Cedric feel at home, like the man was family. Even though it was now clear that he consorted with what had to be the blackest of magics, he bore the guttural instinct sprouting affection for his savior, but he did his best to block out attempts for a rational for this fondness. Thinking lead to questions and questions led to intractably difficult situations.
To experience death but not die, to feel the deadness of another body, as Cedric had experienced, was no natural phenomenon. How does one produce such a sensation?, yet another question surfaced in his mind only to be drowned by fear and uncertainty.
Without warning, they were upon the Archne party and the cry of the Nü raised the alarm throughout the parade of Reinfeld bound travelers. Not once did Cedric lift the embroidered velvet purple curtains. Men screamed around him as they were cut down like dogs, but Cedric did not stir. One by one, his litter bearers abandoned him- to visit their Master of the Mountain, as the Nü called the Void, or to join the fray, he could not be sure.
Yet victory was to be the Nü's and when the initial fighting had died down around his litter, the mousy man had finally gathered enough courage to lift the purple veil. He beheld the plethora of bodies, Eirdren and Nüish alike, asleep at his feet, but the standing Nü outnumbered the few pale continentals. Annihilation was not far.
Cedric had seen it in periphery as ¨he scanned the battlefield. The short sword sunk into his lord-master's body and the look of horror that bloomed on his killer's face; when the Archne chef beheld Onion and Henri Archne's deadly dance, the weight of futility descended on his heart and smothered his fear.
The rest of that battle was a blacked out blur in his memory. Vague hints of hurried action, running towards the Oaken Wood, seeking out allies he never knew existed, Cedric could distinguish nothing of those moments in time from a dream or flights of fantasy. His only sure memory was of being hoisted upon a horse fully conscious, along with the Nüish girl fully unconscious, bound once more for Eirdred.
Until that moment, he had never been on a horse. The Heilthian beast was rare in these areas; only a few City Enforcers had brought them from home. The mare was a rich copper brown with a nose and hooves dipped in black, not unlike the coloring of the Nü, he later reflected. And like the Nü, this beast would lead him to more misery, of that he was certain.
The City Enforcers had not been unkind, but they were quick to surrender their charges in light of the Archne regicide. The order tread a precarious balance between keeping the peace and enforcing the Empress's will, and not being seen as meddlers in internal politics. The poor chef could not have been world disrupting that balance.
The first night, alone in solitary confinement, he cried. He cried until his eyes went puffy and his throat constricted and gave out, but his calls went unanswered. He cried for mercy and he cried for justice, but the calls went unheeded. By the time he was removed to the dungeon, he could not cry anymore.
He was suspicious of life by the time his request for a Fal'du Rel was granted, but the priest gave him a modicum of comfort. The request was not an unusual one; as a lifelong Eirdred native, his devotion to the patron Keeper of the province was a piety to be lauded.
He was surprised to see Gregor. Not two weeks earlier he had met the man by chance on the street, in the markets of Durendul District, soliciting alms for the church in the street. The man had been chatty and charismatic after Cedric deposited two coppers in his bowl and Cedric could not help but invite the man for lunch the following day. An Ally of Rel was a good man with whom to keep company.
Their reunion in the dungeon was coincidence, was it not? There were many Fal'du Rel in Eirdred. In the hours he spoke with Gregor, however, it had become clear that the man was not there to shepherd his soul with the guidance of Rel, but to shepherd his body to freedom.
Why?
Questions such as this never crossed the mind of the Archne chef. Questions brought troublesome answers and even more troubling consequences. People who asked questions disappeared, people who asked questions were beaten or exiled. Those who did their job and did not ask questions lived, and perhaps even lived well.
But during those moments, he did have hope, and he clung to it like a barnacle on a boat.
In the small tavern inn, free of the prison, and the mental strife that followed, Cedric appraised the man Gregor from the pallet. He had to admit, he liked the friendly man. There was something about his presence that made Cedric feel at home, like the man was family. Even though it was now clear that he consorted with what had to be the blackest of magics, he bore the guttural instinct sprouting affection for his savior, but he did his best to block out attempts for a rational for this fondness. Thinking lead to questions and questions led to intractably difficult situations.
To experience death but not die, to feel the deadness of another body, as Cedric had experienced, was no natural phenomenon. How does one produce such a sensation?, yet another question surfaced in his mind only to be drowned by fear and uncertainty.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Chapter 4 - Part IV
"You are a fool, I curse your ignorance." she spit, "You know nothing of lovers or family."
Anita absorbed the fumes of the Nü girl's hatred, which only gave the raven woman strength. "Come, my ill-tempered swamp rat. We have much work ahead of us yet. In constructing your bodies elsewhere, we had to sever the links between body and mind of the two of you. We have wasted much time rediscovering each other, so together, we shall rebuild."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The fire must have been going for awhile because flame no longer danced upon the glowing bed of hot coals. No one had cause to feed it, as the little tavern room had but one conscious occupant. That occupant, Gregor, exhausted, phased in and out of half dreams and veiled realities, collapsed in a wicker chair between two small pallets. Upon the each pallet, two near lifeless bodies rested, though Gregor knew better. These men and women danced in another realm.
To his surprise, Cedric was the first to stir. Perhaps there was some strength in that man that had not yet been blotted out. His mousy nose twitched as his eyes gradually fluttered open. Taking a stunned look at his surroundings, Cedric then pulled himself up against the headboard and noticed his pallet-mate, Davin, begin to move himself, struggling to achieve consciousness.
What a headache.
The scrawny Eidren chef collected himself and noticed another pallet across from the snoozing Gregor, where the woman in blue-black and the Nü girl rested in deathly stillness and reflected that he too had likely been in such a state. Gregor had told him the cost of his escape would be some harsh treatment, but he had no anticipated this. The feeling of inhabiting the dead while still alive, the burning of his blood and the tearing of his soul, this was more than a domesticated servant was built to endure. Would that I had never been forced to pay that price, thought Cedric, too bitter a pill to willingly swallow.
Keeper Rel! He was just a cook! His life goals prior to this mess amounted to roasting the perfectly moist Oaken Wood turkey and baking the fluffiest muffins. He had no more use for politics and espionage than he did a sword or tiara.
Anita absorbed the fumes of the Nü girl's hatred, which only gave the raven woman strength. "Come, my ill-tempered swamp rat. We have much work ahead of us yet. In constructing your bodies elsewhere, we had to sever the links between body and mind of the two of you. We have wasted much time rediscovering each other, so together, we shall rebuild."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The fire must have been going for awhile because flame no longer danced upon the glowing bed of hot coals. No one had cause to feed it, as the little tavern room had but one conscious occupant. That occupant, Gregor, exhausted, phased in and out of half dreams and veiled realities, collapsed in a wicker chair between two small pallets. Upon the each pallet, two near lifeless bodies rested, though Gregor knew better. These men and women danced in another realm.
To his surprise, Cedric was the first to stir. Perhaps there was some strength in that man that had not yet been blotted out. His mousy nose twitched as his eyes gradually fluttered open. Taking a stunned look at his surroundings, Cedric then pulled himself up against the headboard and noticed his pallet-mate, Davin, begin to move himself, struggling to achieve consciousness.
What a headache.
The scrawny Eidren chef collected himself and noticed another pallet across from the snoozing Gregor, where the woman in blue-black and the Nü girl rested in deathly stillness and reflected that he too had likely been in such a state. Gregor had told him the cost of his escape would be some harsh treatment, but he had no anticipated this. The feeling of inhabiting the dead while still alive, the burning of his blood and the tearing of his soul, this was more than a domesticated servant was built to endure. Would that I had never been forced to pay that price, thought Cedric, too bitter a pill to willingly swallow.
Keeper Rel! He was just a cook! His life goals prior to this mess amounted to roasting the perfectly moist Oaken Wood turkey and baking the fluffiest muffins. He had no more use for politics and espionage than he did a sword or tiara.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Chapter 4 - Part III
With those soft words, Rejnev lifted up Onion's chin tenderly, and drunk in her eyes. Affection radiated from her face but from the man upon which her gaze was fixed, affection was mirrored ten-fold.
He drew in closer to her and whispered gently in her ear "Come with me, little one." and without warning, captured her mouth agape, delivering the deep kiss of lovers.
Onion's mind swam in confusion; a mixture of exotic emotions and familiar intimacy that coalesced around the aroma of his Sandorian perfume. This is not the way it was supposed to be, this was not the way it ever was, and yet she felt compelled to follow this path to its completion. Her eyelids became heavy and she let herself fall into the feeling.
"Focus! Draw your mind through the pinhole porosity of these mental defenses!" a voice that was not her brother's compelled her. "Gravitate to my presence, follow my words!" Yet the voice instructed Onion not in syllables and phrases, but in thought patterns, as meanings permeated into the structures of her psyche.
Her heart yearned to follow the commands and within moments she was there. She opened her eyes, still caught in the embrace to which she had been beholden, but no longer was it her brother whose lips she touched. The kiss she shared was with the lips of the silent and skilled woman of the dungeon. Anita released her from the embrace and Onion impulsively recoiled in shock and horror.
She looked again at the dark maiden, who no longer covered her eyes in the black blue velvet of of the blindfold. Here, in the dwelling places of Onion's soul, Anita, the intruder projected herself, constructing her image with the fabric of memories long dormant. Her hard life had scarred her body and perhaps even her soul, but it left no trace on her identity. Crystal blue eyes, hard and unyielding, scanned the Nü with mild loathing. Eyelashes of midnight set her gemstones in the jewelry of an angular, porcelain face.
There were no signs of the dried out scars spanning from cheekbone to brow that Onion had observed when trapped in Anita's body. The dark haired woman's pupils were liquid, not the peach pit sockets Onion had experienced.
"You are not him." Onion blanched, "And you are not this woman either."
"No." she admitted without agitation, "Not anymore."
"But you are a fine piece of work, hiding from me as you were. I tore you apart from top to bottom but still you had nooks to flee to. If your memories were not so powerful I would have never been able to follow them to you and discover where you were. You must teach me this trick, this Nüish trick of yours in the future.
"You did this? You destroyed my web? You stole my memories and used them against me?" she fired off numbly. Onion's fingertips brushed her lips even as rage began to rise in the back of her throat. "I will murder you. You will not leave my web alive.", the Nü threatened, but it was an empty threat. She was violated and vulnerable in her home, in her web. And tainted now, was the safest place outside of that web, the arms of her dear brother, having been stolen and manipulated by this cold shell of a woman.
The black clad woman shrugged. "I did what had to be done. Your body is dying, you have abandoned it in your flight. Your mental defenses are strong and I doubt you would have come back on your own. I did what I could with the tools available."
"And was that memory strong," she baited the upset Onion, "Did I happen upon a memory of an overbearing father? Perhaps it was the longing of a mother's love you pine for at night?, " she giggled cruely, "Or maybe that of an unrequited lover? So sorry to break your heart, little girl, but there is a job to be done."
He drew in closer to her and whispered gently in her ear "Come with me, little one." and without warning, captured her mouth agape, delivering the deep kiss of lovers.
Onion's mind swam in confusion; a mixture of exotic emotions and familiar intimacy that coalesced around the aroma of his Sandorian perfume. This is not the way it was supposed to be, this was not the way it ever was, and yet she felt compelled to follow this path to its completion. Her eyelids became heavy and she let herself fall into the feeling.
"Focus! Draw your mind through the pinhole porosity of these mental defenses!" a voice that was not her brother's compelled her. "Gravitate to my presence, follow my words!" Yet the voice instructed Onion not in syllables and phrases, but in thought patterns, as meanings permeated into the structures of her psyche.
Her heart yearned to follow the commands and within moments she was there. She opened her eyes, still caught in the embrace to which she had been beholden, but no longer was it her brother whose lips she touched. The kiss she shared was with the lips of the silent and skilled woman of the dungeon. Anita released her from the embrace and Onion impulsively recoiled in shock and horror.
She looked again at the dark maiden, who no longer covered her eyes in the black blue velvet of of the blindfold. Here, in the dwelling places of Onion's soul, Anita, the intruder projected herself, constructing her image with the fabric of memories long dormant. Her hard life had scarred her body and perhaps even her soul, but it left no trace on her identity. Crystal blue eyes, hard and unyielding, scanned the Nü with mild loathing. Eyelashes of midnight set her gemstones in the jewelry of an angular, porcelain face.
There were no signs of the dried out scars spanning from cheekbone to brow that Onion had observed when trapped in Anita's body. The dark haired woman's pupils were liquid, not the peach pit sockets Onion had experienced.
"You are not him." Onion blanched, "And you are not this woman either."
"No." she admitted without agitation, "Not anymore."
"But you are a fine piece of work, hiding from me as you were. I tore you apart from top to bottom but still you had nooks to flee to. If your memories were not so powerful I would have never been able to follow them to you and discover where you were. You must teach me this trick, this Nüish trick of yours in the future.
"You did this? You destroyed my web? You stole my memories and used them against me?" she fired off numbly. Onion's fingertips brushed her lips even as rage began to rise in the back of her throat. "I will murder you. You will not leave my web alive.", the Nü threatened, but it was an empty threat. She was violated and vulnerable in her home, in her web. And tainted now, was the safest place outside of that web, the arms of her dear brother, having been stolen and manipulated by this cold shell of a woman.
The black clad woman shrugged. "I did what had to be done. Your body is dying, you have abandoned it in your flight. Your mental defenses are strong and I doubt you would have come back on your own. I did what I could with the tools available."
"And was that memory strong," she baited the upset Onion, "Did I happen upon a memory of an overbearing father? Perhaps it was the longing of a mother's love you pine for at night?, " she giggled cruely, "Or maybe that of an unrequited lover? So sorry to break your heart, little girl, but there is a job to be done."
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Chapter 4 - Part II
But this Deezhul was not the city she had left three years ago. Tonight she walked the among the straw thatch huts and ever changing construction of the Deezhul of her childhood; a Deezhul tightly woven into her memories.
In those days, families still clung to their tribal loyalties and behaviors. Two decades after the experiment of the Simér had begun, the people had not yet forgotten their sense of changing winds and the longing to move their lives and kin around it. They also had not forgotten how to be fruitful. Children and toddlers flooded the streets in waves and while in her mind's eye, those children were now absent, the energy of their play yet swirled around her being.
Echos of grand weddings throughout the city reverberated from the thatch roof huts and then rare but multiplying mud-clay hougrixi, the traditional winter earthen homes dug out from the soil and roofed by grixi reeds and mud. Polygamy, while accepted and practiced in moderation among most Nüish tribes of the south, exploded in popularity in those days as the burgeoning city struggled to house a new population of thousands on an island that had never known a permanent structure. Entire lines of sons from one family would build their huts and invite all the daughters of another family to bake their flat journeycakes and beat their gathered grixi into thread for cloth.
And the festivities hosted for the tribes those sons once traveled with... in her mouth she could taste the baked fish and roast bison tongue, the grainy journeycakes and tarragon dipping stew made by the bride sisters with unsullied determination to impress.
"So there you are, Onion. You are a hard person to find, but I suppose I was looking for you in the wrong places." the yellow huts and green-brown hougrixi blurred but did not disappear as her attention snapped into focus at the sound of the voice.
Rejnev.
Onion looked at her brother mournfully. Thick dark brown hair mildly tainted with memories of grey cascaded down his shoulders framing a firm jawline and inquisitive golden eyes. Taut brown skin clung tightly to the sinew of an active but aging man. But his visage was one of life.
And Onion understood that she was not dead, she had not become a wandering Spider trapped in the web of another, for how could anyone be stuck in the web of a dead man?
"What are you doing here? Has your body not yet been claimed by the Void? Have you no desire to go to the cloud home of Sheng'er? How can this be? How can you be trapped in a web that is broken?" Onion found no logic in this place. To look at her brother's face again, to see the lovingly earned creases in his face, skirting his metallic eyes filled her with an enormous sense of loneliness even as it inspired suspicion. Dressed in her memories of mere days ago, his smile was radiant and his strong sinewy hands still held the promise of pain and of comfort to those deserving. Were it a dream she was living, it was a torturous one.
Onion's thoughts echoed in the chamber of her mind. "Be you dream, memory or spirit, you cannot be true. I know this is so." she whispered quietly that quickly manifested into a plead, "Even so, do not go. Do not leave me! I will stay here, by your side. I will be your warrior. I will be the best at it. I will protect you and no harm will come of you again!"
The Nüish girl flung herself at the visage of her brother and found her memories of the man to be comprised of the very feel of his skin, as much as they were of his character. She buried her face into his chest. The smell of his Sandoran cologne surrounded her senses. Her first memory of Rejnev included a strong aversion to that scent, but over the years she had learned to love the signal of his presence.
Her brother never failed to wear it, thinking it quite continental of himself. He had, after all, been a man known to indulge in pleasures of the flesh from time to time, and the women of the continent had not been shy about their approval of the aphrodisiac. For Onion the vapor never had that effect - it never changed her opinion of him one way or the other. For her, this smell was the essence of her brother.
"You know I cannot do that little one, though it breaks my heart. But dear girl, eternity can wait. Let us simply enjoy this time we have together."
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Chapter 4 - Part I
The world was black, unfeeling and soundless but for the swirling energy of a hundred billion neurons reaching out to touch each other. For now, though, they remained torn and disconnected. The whirl of disorienting emptiness penetrated inward as much as it projected outward. In a realm with no direction to go, she extended herself in every direction, searching for a hint of the familiar.
Where were the clouds? Where was its web?
The web had been broken before, but never completely destroyed. And here, this side of the world, away from the people of the Spider, was guarded by its own spirits and enchantments. With the destruction of the web, the introduction of forces foreign, once carefully spurned by a carefully constructed web, invaded its being and for the first time on this plane, the heartbeats of old gods shook the Spider.
So it fled.
But with the carefully woven web build over the years gone, there was nothing to guide her. Instead it fell, or rather flew up above and underneath her own broken connections flowing the gravity of the world. Another mind, or perhaps the old gods themselves drew her out of her own mind, to a sphere of rock, clay and water. Like a fly, the more it struggled, the harder it became for it to escape.
And it saw the struggle and toil of the old gods. The people had forgotten that truly, they were gods. They had adopted a new name, Thal, Keepers, under the banner of religious unification, but they were true gods; the creators of the world.
Bound to the clay crust from which they spawned their visages hung inches away from the viscous fury of their hosts. Six known old gods, Ganthay and Sheg, Vera and Rüern, Dagleth and Rel, as they have been known to men for eons, forever bound face to face with their complement, but with the span of their violent warriors between them.
Six right hands, palms flat to the rock and clay roof of the earth, lifted the world, that mankind not fall into the flesh hungry bowels of the core. Each hand, blistered and bloody, seemed to it that they trembled with such strain that the fate of the surfacer man seemed certain. But the brittle crust did not break after these quakes, and the hand again grew strong.
Six left hands of the old gods stretched out against their hosts. Ever ambitious, ever searching for the weaknesses of their Keepers, six hosts pushed and climbed, desiring to escape their imprisonment in the core and expand their influence on the world. Against this, Heilthian Keepers struggled for eternity.
They were not always successful, it observed. Individual flares of energy and might would free one or two of the entire host and run their course upon the surface, changing the hearts of men as they roamed. When Vera slipped, into the world escaped fits of passion and obsession among mankind, in a world so wide and free that none of Rüern's Host of the pure and naïve were likely to meet them in perfect counterbalance. All that mattered was to escape and expand, and for the Thal, their lone duty was to slow that effort.
So it refused to struggle anymore, that she might escape the fiery forge of the hosts. It did not flee again, and instead sought out a memory, any memory, to use as wallpaper amidst the broken connections of her mind.
Self projection; no longer the formless observer, it became she and her toes, a recent memory, projected themselves upon a dirt path, also projected.
She knew instantly where she was.
These were not the paths of the continent- built to perfection with purpose and plan, degraded, even if slightly, from the date of construction onward. These were paths that had been forged out of convenience and necessity. These paths reached perfection as more traveled in similar patters to the first. These were the paths of the infant City, Deezhul.
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