| Subject: Heehee.....Sorry once again for the wait, but here's more of the story. At last, the long long conversation is finished. Yay! Things get more exciting soon. :) Next part's INSIDE> |
Author:
Sekin brightfall
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Date Posted: 00:14:43 01/16/04 Fri
In reply to:
Ceara the Sea Queen
's message, "Very, very nice! More and soon! Or I'll put you in Tyrin'al'sin!" on 22:00:57 01/13/04 Tue
Sarvin inhaled so sharply that it became a hiss as she scrambled to her feet. Fyrth’s reaction was even more startling. The dullness to his eyes vanished and they glowed even brighter than Sarvin’s. The flames of anger danced in them, danced and roared, shone and burned. Like a cornered wolf, he bared his teeth in a snarl, his hand surging up to clench his dagger hilt, his body shaking. And then it was gone…The burning eyes clouded over once more, the black gloved hand released its death hold on the dagger.
The transition was lightning quick, but it had happen. If only for one moment and out of pure rage, he had broken Fyrth’s mask. For a second, he had looked exactly as he had two years ago…If only for a second. Grisen knew Fyrth’s shield could be broken, if he had done it once, he could do it again. There was a chance, a hope, a hint promise…If Fyrth could forget what had happened to him and re-raise the Banner of the Light, the remaining Falkhan would swarm to him. The time was ripe for a rebellion. Prock wasn’t the only town in the land of Renar ready to go up in the flames of defiance. If stirred, Jerrem, Lusac, and Fenarion, and maybe even Dregion would ignite in wrath. And perhaps even the bordering towns in Oviliaron. Soon whole lands would rise up. They would be wary but they would do it with the right prod, the right bait. Fyrth could do it. He could unite the lands and crush Dama’zark if only he was willing to forget what had happened. But already Fyrth’s face had returned to its corpse-like mask.
“Stand up.” Even Fyrth’s voice was lifeless. With a flowing grace, the Stabnar rose onto his feet and looked down at the seated Grisen. “Up.”
Grisen climbed slowly to his feet, a strange feeling of apprehension in the pit of his stomach. Sarvin moved around to stand on his other side, the light of the fire catching the sheen of her eyes and tinting them red. Grisen avoided looking at her.
“You want to know what happens in Tyrin’al’sin,” said Fyrth, hooding his eyes. The next second he lunged, leaping over the fire in a rush of black, the dagger suddenly in his hand. As he landed, he charged Grisen, swiping viciously with his weapon, face still blank. Sarvin watched impassively.
Grisen leapt back just in time with a startled curse, fumbling in his haste to unsheathe his sword when Fyrth suddenly came to a halt. The shinning dagger vanished back into his belt.
“What the hell?” panted Grisen, glaring at Fyrth venomously.
“Feel the fear that runs through you? Feel the rush of blood, the quickening of breaths, the rise of terror? Imagine you feel that, those very same emotions in a dream, a nightmare if you wish to call it that.”
“Damn it Fyrth you-”
“But now imagine that what terror you feel is increased ten fold in this nightmare. Imagine that every drop you sweat, every surge of fear that courses through you is real. That what happens to you in Tyrin really does happen to you in the waking world.” Fyrth struck again, the dagger suddenly in his left hand. Grisen’s sword shot out to challenge it, but the dagger slipped under and slashed the back of Grisen’s hand deeply. Grisen recoiled with a snarl, feeling the blood run down his hand. Anger had min by the throat now, not fear and he retaliated.
Like an uncoiling spring, he snapped forwards, his sword flicking out like a serpent’s tongue. Fyrth just stood there though Grisen knew that had he wanted to dodge, he could have done it easily. The sword’s edge slashed open a shallow cut on Fyrth’s arm but he never even blinked. Grisen drew his charge to a halt and stopped, panting angrily. “A warning would have been nice Fyrth!”
“What warnings are there in dreams? Death could take you at any moment in Tyrin.”
Grisen stared warily at Fyrth. The man was clearly more unhinged than Sarvin was. Grisen raised his bloody hand. “So in Tyrin’al’sin, if you cut me like this, when I wake up I’ll still have the wound?”
“Yes. And Fyrth will still have that gash you gave him,” said Sarvin, crossing her arms over her chest.
“And you can’t wake up?”
Sarvin bared her teeth in a savage smile. “You can try, but it won’t work. Dama’zark will just hold you there until you’re broken enough that you’re no real threat or until you die.”
Fyrth nodded slowly and sheathed his bloody dagger. “It starts out as a regular sleep, a peaceful dream, until the Black Lord reaches out and pierces your mind.”
Sarvin chuckled. “He burrows deeper and deeper into your thoughts like a maggot squelching its way deeper and deeper into rotting meat. Not at all a pleasant experience.”
“Once he has buried himself in your thoughts, he has complete control. He builds Tyrin’al’sin in your dreams and keeps you there. Your body sinks into a trance while your mind is tortured in agony.” Fyrth turned around, back to the flames and bent over to check the cooking rabbits.
“Ever wonder why Radgem are so pale?” asked Sarvin.
Grisen shook his head. “I don’t see why I’d want to know.”
Sarvin continued. “Part of their minds are always kept in Tyrin’al’sin. Always. Their color is similar to that of a human body when it sinks into the trance. It is there that Dama’zark controls them, making sure their obedience never wavers.”
“So how can you shield your mind from the Black Lord? It doesn’t seem possible!”
Sarvin turned her shiny gaze onto Fyrth. “Fyrth knows a way. It requires Weaving a strange, precise, and delicate shield of the Flows, one that boxes in your thoughts and blocks any intrusion.”
“Can’t Dama’zark break through that? You said that he is the most powerful Weaver in millions of years!”
“He would if he could,” said Sarvin with another chuckle. “But each person’s shield is different, just as how each person in unique. When the Flows are Woven just so, they incorporate a bit of that person to make their shield complete. This small part, the part that makes you you, is the lock on the shield. Because everyone’s lock is different, it is impossible to break them open with the same combination and also impossible to find even one combination. Dama’zark cannot break it open without knowing what makes you who you are, which is of course impossible for even Him to figure out.”
Grisen’s head spun. “If that’s the way it works, it’s very confusing.”
“Rabbits are done.” Fyrth took the rabbits from the fire and sunk down onto the ground. Sarvin and Grisen joined him and Fyrth handed each of them a rabbit still lashed to its stick. Sarvin bit into hers like a dog, mindless of the heat or the Sarnroot sap. Fyrth stared at his unblinkingly for a long while as he held it in one hand.
‘The man stares at everything’ thought Grisen, taking a bite out of his meal. The horrible, spicy tang of the Sarnroot spices burned in his mouth. Eyes watering furiously, he forced himself to swallow, coughing and blinking. Sarvin laughed quietly into her meat. Grisen wiped his mouth off on his shirtsleeve and turned to Fyrth. “Is it safe for me to get a drink from the stream or is Al’Sheen’al’Tamorac out there?”
Fyrth shrugged, still staring at his food. “It’s safe enough. I don’t think him or his Stabnars are in these woods anymore.”
Grisen rose gratefully, mouth burning, when Sarvin spoke. “Tomorrow we plan our course of action, but you had better shield his dreams now. Just in case the Falcon does find him.”
Fyrth’s eyes slid from his food to lock with Sarvin’s. “If Al’Sheen’al’Tamorac does find him, he can and will use other methods than Tyrin to find out what he wants to know.” Grisen suppressed a shudder.
Sarvin reached out and gently cuffed Fyrth over the head, but her glowing eyes didn’t match her playful gesture. “I would do it but I don’t know how…Do you have enough energy?”
Fyrth blinked at her cuff but nodded. “Good. Then do it,” said Sarvin. Fyrth rose like an uncoiling serpent, tossing his meat to Sarvin and walking forwards, one hand outstretched. Grisen backed up, away from him and Fyrth stopped, frowning slightly.
Sarvin’s voice was growl. “Don’t make this harder Rolark, or I’ll get up and pin you down flat on the ground.” Grisen’s eyes narrowed, but he allowed Fyrth to place the outstretched hand on his forehead, ready to leap back or strike at the slightest sign. Fyrth’s eyes flicked to and fro over his face studying him, and then they closed as Fyrth began to Weave.
A tightness appeared around Fyrth’s eyes and mouth, the only sign that he was battling with the Flows. Sarvin watched carefully and Grisen was sure she was trying to see how it was done. A slight shake of the head from Fyrth snapped Grisen’s attention back to the Stabnar in front of him. Fyrth’s eyes were still closed, but the frown had grown deeper.
A sudden surge of coldness jolted into Grisen from the five black fingers on his head and he recoiled immediately. It was only a slight chill, like a touch of cold mist or fog, but one could never be cautious enough.
Fyrth’s eyes opened. “Done?” asked Sarvin and Fyrth nodded. “You need rest,” she said quietly. Grisen’s eyes narrowed. She was always calmer and nicer to Fyrth. Why he couldn’t say seeing as how the man showed as much emotional range as a spoon, but maybe it was because they had both spent time in Tyrin’al’sin.
Fyrth blinked as if confused. “The Flows almost rolled right over you,” continued Sarvin. “I saw it. Too much Weaving in one day…Come and eat before you kill yourself.”
“That was it?” asked Grisen incredulously. One tingle of clammy cold was supposed to shield his dreams from the Black Lord? Fyrth looked at him with a sidelong glance, then turned from him and strode back to the fire.
Grisen stamped down his rising temper. He’s the Blade of Light…He saved me…With a resigned sigh, Grisen walked past Sarvin and Fyrth, off to the stream to quench his thirst. Their eyes followed him like arrows, one pair glittering and shining like a bird’s and the other pair dull and glazed like a dead thing in murky water…
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