Fan Fiction ❯ 'facets' ❯ Kindling the Sun ( Chapter 1 )

Elsewhere:

       & nbsp;Whisperings

        T he Winged Figure waited until its sight adjusted.

         The chamber it had entered was not truly dark, though it was largely black. The difficulty lay in the need to properly perceive what surrounded it; a strange marriage of order and chaos, an impossibly intricate and illogical system, subject to insubstantial laws and phantasmal rules. The Figure regarded the room with elegant distaste; the subtle inclination of an eyebrow, a subliminal twist in its lips. The Figure disliked chaos.

        Sight restored, the Figure stepped forward, its bearing somber and purposeful. Invisible, all but imperceptible currents in the room abruptly shifted, drifting aimlessly in the wake of the Figure's presence. "I have come," the Figure announced in a deep, toneless voice.

        A second figure manifested itself. It was a mere child, yet it disquietingly bore the same mysterious gravity of the other, the same unfathomable eyes. "I have great need," the Child gave as means of response.

        "The anomaly that struck me not long ago has resurfaced. It has begun to move already, and is soon to make another. The Journey has been interrupted. And the Arcana walk again."

        The Figure nodded, slightly impatiently. "I am aware of your numerous ailments. The Winged recognizes your difficulties, and I stand here as their plenipotentiary ambassador. I am prepared to restore..balance," it said, with a hint of disdainful amusement. "Will you acknowledge me, and accept my aid?"

        The Child shut its eyes to subdue the shame. "I shall," it answered quietly.

        "Then we shall begin," the Winged Figure said with a smile. It seized the Child with its arms and drew it into the shadow of its wings.

        facets

        Part I: Cloudswept Skies

        Kindling the Sun

        I.

&n bsp;       He'd been hiding for quite some time now, though from what he couldn't say. He'd watched the years of his life slip away, squandered (but for good reasons), in halfhearted attempts to form a life for himself somewhere, settle down, begin anew. He'd been traveling, exploring the southern reaches of his native land, enjoying the impartiality his life gave him, the way people he met treated him with casual indifference, expecting nothing of him, and the sense of freedom he felt. He'd been dreaming. He'd been lying to himself, and now he saw it, and the familiar melancholy, an old companion, reawoke within him.

        He was unremarkable. Just another youth, warring between his sense of self and maturity, the bitter gift of age. Tall, but not abnormally so; strong, but thin and malnourished; handsome enough, but in a common way. His hair was as red as the flame that consumed the plains. His eyes were his alone; they were large and intense, with irises as blue as the sky above his wind-torn land.

        The sun above him was a furious gold, searing the earth to dust, bleaching the tall green fields to dull ochre husks. It was summer, the season of the sun's dominion, a poor time for travel. The winds of the land, though a welcome relief from the heat, threw dust in the air, in every fold of clothing, on skin, in hair and in eyes. Solvan, however, had a fair amount of experience in his belt, and had grown accustomed to the cruel climate. Apart from the occasional curse or angered swab of his face he bore the weather with a grim acceptance, walked lightly, stopping only for swigs from the flagon hanging from his belt.

        He still wasn't quite sure why he was going back. It wasn't that he'd been avoiding the city; he just hadn't felt any need to visit. Life among the many villages of the country was serene. The city was loud and crazed, its people hardened by the disturbing images they saw daily, the ironic isolation they lived in among the faceless throng. He felt no connection to it anymore, had few friends he'd consider close enough to want to see again. At least, so it had seemed, until he'd suddenly realized where he'd been wandering, slowly and indirectly, with every day of travel. And so he continued, unable to change course, watching as the city drew inexorably closer, sensing his growing anxiety and anticipation.

        When the sun had completed its ascent, achieving the apex of midday, Solvan recognized the tall hill before the city, and he froze. A last minute doubt took hold of him, a nameless dread. Rather than discouraging Solvan, this only increased his resolve, out of shame and disgust. The city was undeniably coarse, but far from sinister enough to excuse such irrational fear. His steps grew impatient and quick, startling the merchants and farmers on tired mounts, all congregating on the ascent from many separate ways. In scarce seconds he stood at the summit and gazed down on Filen, the town of his childhood.

        It sprawled, a vulgar stain against the freedom of the plains. The pretentious mansions of the rich or noble, the clustered, labyrinthine streets of the common, the shantytowns of the penniless, the clamor and confusion of the markets. And to the left, the still-ruined sector, black and ulcerous on the city's proud façade. Nothing had changed.

        Both relieved and disappointed, Solvan descended the hill at a relaxed pace. At the bottom of the bank he shed his boots to cross the river's ford on foot, appreciating the flow of cool water over his worn feet. He found himself enjoying the bright day. A burden had been lifted, a threshold passed without harm. He joined the other travelers at the gate and looked around him, as the city came back in a rush.

        They passed the ramshackle dwellings of the truly poor outside the city walls, shelters constructed of refuse, starved faces watching them quietly, naked children ignoring them as they played or fought. A merchant wrinkled his nose in distaste and cast his attention forward. Solvan stared at them, having so quickly forgotten their wretched existence while he was away, unpleasantly sobered. Then the gate to his old home swallowed him, and he was enraptured in other memories.

        Amazing, how instantly the old winds of the plains were diminished to small dust devils of detritus, stifled amidst the cheap, ugly manses crowding the streets. And the harsh babble of the people, hawkers for the pathetic city newspaper, gaudily dressed men describing in intimate detail the pleasures available within while women leaned out of second story windows, grinning at all passerbys, topless. Nobles of all sorts thundered past in ornate carriages, ignoring the ugliness they would rather avoid. And the children were here too, slipping through people with and emerging with thick purses, dashing across the path of cantering horses, brawling fiercely, spitting at strangers, shrieking with laughter and disappearing into the nest of dark alleys.

        Solvan felt disorientated and inundated, lightheaded, and made his way along halfway-familiar roads as though in a dream. His feet led him where they would, away from the harsh clamor of the soulless avenues to the strange tranquillity of the smaller streets of the old city. The heat was dense and for the first time in years Solvan remembered the true reason cities did not fare well in the plains.

        In the unremitting glare of the summer sun, amplified by the stagnant air, it was a tradition (now less universal than in years past, but still alive among the older businesses) that work ceased in the apex of the day, the afternoon. The adults sought comfort in their beds, the population of urchins declared a truce on the rest of humanity, and even the pathetically gaunt stray animals vanished to some secret shelter. Which left only the insane, the masochistic, the ignorant foreigners, and the outcasts.

        The vacuum of activity that resulted was eerie, phantasmal. Empty, silent windows met Solvan on all sides, and other pedestrians reduced from a trickle to an inconstant drip. All that remained was the sound of his boots against the worn flags. And noticing the peculiar similarities, Solvan decided ruefully that he might as well have stayed among the villages of the plains. Yet still he kept walking, with no purpose other than the nostalgia's saline comfort.

        The sun began to fall from its lofty grace, burning the sky orange with its frustration, and Solvan belatedly realized he had to choose where to stay the night. Who knew if he even had enough for the ridiculous prices of the city inns. And of course, the equally pressing need for sustenance of any sort (likely the cheapest.)

        "Well."

        Solvan turned and saw that he'd been so preoccupied that he'd overlooked a shadow in an arch. That was, in fact, a person. Another youth, thin, middling in height, leaning against the gentle curve of arch with his arms crossed, staring at Solvan from amused green eyes half-hidden by thick bangs of long black hair spilling over a rolled red scarf. He raised an eyebrow.

        "It is truly amazing to see with one's own eyes just how much can change in just a few years. The scrawny boy returns, with a few more inches, and significant improvements in muscular capacity."

        Solvan stared. "Crano?"

        Crano sighed theatrically. "But little difference in wits. No, my friend, I address you solely to torment your pathetic self-absorption with a phantom of one whom you once felt privileged enough to claim friendship with."

        And it was Solvan's turn to sigh. "Well, that proves it. Such a shitty sense of humor, who else can it be?"

        Crano stood up, his face lit by the angry glow of the sun, giving his smile a fierce edge. But his mild voice dispelled the effect instantaneously. "Knowing your infuriating irresponsibility, you doubtless lack any concrete plans for this evening. May I extend the hospitality of my modest residence?" he asked, with a sweeping gesture to enter. Solvan responded immediately, with a small smile of nostalgia.

        "Why not."

        II.

        Crano rose to his two feet and pulled a tattered curtain in the arch open, revealing a compact sitting room lit with candles from shelves set on the walls above. The floor covered in an exotic carpet, moth-eaten and burnt in places. Several sitting cushions were placed around a short table in the center with strange runes carved into its surface in a circular pattern, similar to arrangements on the walls. A bookshelf held numerous ancient tomes, several suspicious instruments with cruel hooks and blades, and, for good measure, a grotesquely deformed skull. Solvan couldn't suppress a laugh.

        "Don't you think this is a bit much? This shit is way over the top."

        Smiling in return, Crano pointed behind Solvan. Solvan turned to see a worn and cheaply printed sign.

        Crano
        Mage Extraordinaire

        - Scrying -

        - Charms -

        - Consultations -

        - Magical Aid -

        For Reasonable Fees

        Inquire Within

        "I find it acutely depressing to see the number of people who truly expect the dribbling candles and these meaningless scrawls," Crano said, indicating the runes inside. "The minute I had these..props installed, my business increased tenfold."

        Solvan sighed. He'd always envied how easily Crano had profited from his talent. "You've given up those shows you used to do in bars, then?"

        "How could I continue, lacking my assistant?" Crano asked with mock solemnity.

        Solvan snorted. "Guess you would have had to take all the falls by yourself. You know I still have scars from that 'shocking grasp' incident?"

        Crano put on a wounded expression. "How was I to know casting the cantrip in thunderous weather would exponentially enhance the power of the spell? You regained consciousness soon enough."

        "In a few days, you mean? And quit trying to bullshit me, I know the drunks always threw twice the tips if I was out by the end."

        "You should be grateful. A sorceror of my talent could have found a more attractive and certainly a less sullen assistant instantaneously."

         "Hah! Then what the hell was all that about 'how could I, lacking my assistant'? Not so easy to find a girl willing to work for you after all?"

        Crano smiled thinly. "Solvan, do you want a place to stay or not?"

        Solvan relented.

        Crano stood and left the arch to sit comfortably on one cushion, adopting a meditative position. Solvan followed him, grabbed several pillows and amalgamated them into a bed he sprawled out on, setting his boots on Crano's table and cupping his hands under his head with a euphoric smile.

        "This is great," he said, eyes shut with relief. "Didn't realize how much I missed a real bed!"

        "I am glad you enjoy my sparse comforts," Crano replied with evident amusement, "..however..perhaps you would consent to..bathing, before you further dirty any of my furnishings?"

        Solv an's face grew hot. He realized he hadn't washed for at least three days of traveling under the summer sun. Crano laughed at his obvious discomfort. "You will find a pail in the back room; please make free use of it,"

        "Shut the hell up," Solvan muttered, face still flushed, as he stalked his way to the closet.

        He drew a curtain behind him and stripped himself of his well stained vestments, pulling off his vest, yanking off his boots, and the pants he'd well outgrown by now. Turning to find a cloth for the water he saw his reflection in a mirror. It was the first clear sight he'd had of himself in three years. Solvan was startled by how much he'd grown, and the obvious development in muscles Crano had alluded to. Still just as gaunt as always, though, and his hair had grown in length but was still hopelessly disheveled, stubbornly defying gravity.

        He also noticed the need for cleansing and set himself to it. He'd always used a stream or a river while he was wandering, and splashing the tepid water over himself wasn't half as enjoyable as a cool plunge after a day of traveling. He remembered instigating brawls with Linor over the bucket they had to fill at the river themselves and dragged all the way back to the house (no one could bathe at the river, the city guards chased children out and beat them), splashing and shoving each other's heads in, giggling madly. But Solvan didn't want to remember Linor, or any of them. That time was past and pointless to obsess about. So he finished washing, dried himself on a ragged old towel and dressed in his change of clothes, which were if anything even smaller on him.

        He emerged to see Crano still sitting, reading a musty tome intently. "Spell book?" Solvan asked.

        Crano did not respond immediately. "..Yes," he replied finally, not looking up. "A gift from long ago."

        Solvan lay down again, this time thoughtful enough to avoid putting his boots on the table. "Looks like heavy material," he remarked. He noticed all of the shelves seemed to be crammed with similarly intimidating texts.

        "Contrary to what you may believe, Solvan, I do take my arcane arts quite seriously," Crano told him. "However, the fact remains that studying alone brings no sustenance. To my chagrin, our fine city has no inclinations to support my studies. Thus I find myself reduced to 'singing for my supper,' so to speak."

        "Fuck that," Solvan retorted angrily, "You know how hard it is for anyone to survive on the streets. Your gift makes easy cash, and doing parlor tricks is still a better way to live, and a lot less humiliating, than begging. Trust me."

        "Of course, forgive my insensitivity," Crano said quickly, glancing up. "I did not intend-"

        "Forget it."

        A pause fell. The sun's last ray of fiery rage consumed the room, lending it an eerie bloodstained tint. Abruptly it vanished, leaving only a twilight glow.

        "So, Crano; what's up with your growth anyway?" Solvan asked finally. "I knew you for what, seven years? You stayed the same the entire time. What changed?"

        "I told you then, it was a temporary state; I began to grow soon after you left at a vigorous pace. Now I have finally begun to age naturally. But enough of me."

        Crano lifted his face from the book to regard the emerging night sky, his features softened by the dim grey light.

        He rose and turned to Solvan. "You must be famished. I recall a tavern of favorable repute nearby; would you care for dinner?"

        Now that the subject had been broached, Solvan realized he was indeed quite hungry. "I'm penniless, you know," he warned Crano.

        Crano grinned. "Nothing changes, does it? Still, I can hardly starve a guest, can I? Allow me one brief moment to change." He strode for another curtained doorway.

        "What, is this some formal place? Will my clothes be alright?" Solvan called after him, sitting up.

        "Your attire, though unkempt, is acceptable," Crano shouted at him from another room. "I, however, must change for a different purpose;" He shoved the curtain aside; "Advertisement."

        " What the hell are you wearing?!" Solvan asked incredulously, hilarity tugging at his lips.

        Crano was now wearing a grey short-sleeved shirt over a long- sleeved white shirt, with green pants and grey boots tucked under, and an obnoxiously bright red headband. Strings of the same hue were tied at the end of the sleeves of both shirts, around his ankles, and his waist as a belt that held a vivid green satchel.

        Crano shrugged. "As I commented earlier, I tend to receive patrons far more often if I give them signs of my status as a magician, ridiculous as they seem."

        Solvan stifled his laughter. "On the other hand," he said thoughtfully, face blank, "I never had to dress like a colorblind clown reject to beg.."

        "Don't push me," Crano warned him.

        Solvan, smiling, shrugged in submission and rose to follow him outside.

        The sky was now dark and streaked with heavy clouds (when did they come in?), a midnight sea above them, only now beginning to produce the glimmering stars between the flurries. The road below was shadowed, but Crano seemed certain of his path. Watching his determined stride and intent face, Solvan had to admit that the foppish costume, in this light, appeared otherworldly and strange. After a few more minutes of winding, narrow streets Solvan realized that he could only hear the sound of his own boots on the stones; Crano walked silently, an inaudible spectre stalking the city streets. Which was a ridiculous idea, but nonetheless, Solvan felt oddly discomfited by Crano's presence.

        Soon enough, though, they passed into a loud and bright region of bars and shops. Sober revelers passed them talking loudly and erupted into laughter, while the drunk stumbled past to fall into gutters, snatched up by shadowy figures in dark alleys. Vestiges of that universal, unofficial mob of children still ran and played with one another, and upon strangers. The aroma of roasting meat drifted across the street temptingly, making Solvan's hunger that more acute. Strains from a fiddle carried to him, played by a beggar crouched against a wall. And Crano turned at a large inn and pushed the door open for Solvan.

        Inside the scent of food intensified, mixing with the smoke of plainsweed and other less legal substances. Huge wooden chandeliers made the room an artificial day, illuminating the long and nearly full bar, and the many high-backed, private booths. Crano procured an empty one almost instantly, leading Solvan to suspect he was a regular. Sure enough, when the serving girl arrived she greeted him familiarly, and gave Solvan an embarrassing (but certainly enjoyable) amount of attention after him. Crano quietly ordered their dinners and, after she left, turned to face Solvan from the bench opposite.

        "Good service," Solvan commented with a grin.

        "Of various sorts, I understand," Crano replied dryly. "But-" He leaned forward; "-that is not why I brought you here. Tell me, Solvan: what do you plan to do with yourself?"

        Solvan shrugged. "I enjoy my life the way it is now. I get to see the plains, I get a meal now and then by helping a village out; building a new fence, helping with a hunt, whatever they want. And I feel free."

        Crano gave a small nod. "That may be so; but have you considered your future, my friend?"

        "What about it?"

        "You may be doing well for yourself at present, but what will you do twenty years from now, when you begin to tire faster and rest longer? You will age, and your innovative lifestyle will fail you."

        Solvan snorted. "Twenty years, Crano; anything could happen in that span. That's as long as I've lived, and think about what's happened to me so far. I'll find a way."

        "Well, that certainly could happen;" Crano tilted his head to agree that this was possible; "-but wouldn't you prefer a future with better security? In addition, hypothetically once again, you could grow tired of the plains by then."

        "Never," Solvan said firmly. "You wouldn't say that if you knew them."

        "Solvan, let me be frank." Solvan found himself fixated by Crano's bright green eyes. "I am offering you a job with me."

        "Not again!" Solvan groaned. "I hate to let you down, but one was more than enough."

        Their meals arrived, and Crano lifted his wine to his lips and drank before replying. "You mistake my intentions. I need an assistant of a different sort now."

        Solvan, set upon devouring his food to staunch his hunger, failed to answer.

        "As my sign said, I provide magical assistance. In fact, this is one of the functions I provide most. People need magical help, Solvan; to cure an illness, track a thief, or protect them from assassins, as the case may be. And I can do these jobs easily enough alone, in theory. Yet in practice the situation is somewhat different. Some of the sorceries I use require time to cast, during which I must not be interrupted. Sometimes I simply cannot move fast enough alone to accomplish my goal. For these, and various other reasons, I need your help."

        "Why me?" Solvan demanded.

        "I can trust you," Crano said simply.

        Which was touching, but still not exactly enough to convince Solvan to abandon his contentment for the unknown.

        "I'm sorry, Crano, but that's just not what I'm looking for. I like what I'm doing now."

        Crano gave him a half-smile. "Oh, come now, won't you at least try for me? At least try one job with me. Should you decide you do not desire such partnership, you will be free to leave."

        Solvan sighed. He pictured the open fields in his mind: the wind rippling through the green grass of the rolling land, the cloud-scattered sky sweeping all around him, the sun rising on the grass with its golden light. But stubbornly a sense of guilt made a memory rise in his mind; Crano, the mysteriously unaging twelve year old getting him off the streets, into a shithole, near masochistic job certainly, but nonetheless better than the shame of begging at ten years of age for a sick family..

        "I really hate you sometimes, Crano," he said in defeat.

        III.
< br>         The distant winds woke him.

        Far above they roared, singing and screaming at once, of hatred, enmity, and vengeance. They tore the skies until they bled a bitter tempest upon the land in a raging staccato of pain. And the groans of the land, bearing the raw force of this deluge alone, swelled in despair and aching grief, wound their voices around the others into a twisted symphony of discord and misery.

        
  ;       Denying the apathy the melody awoke in him, he opened his eyes. He lay curled like a child in a great but time-worn citadel, at the top of a staggeringly tall spire, with only fragmented walls around him, and no roof at all to shelter him from the relentless rain. He shivered, from the cold, and from the melancholic atmosphere of the old grey stones.

        He was not alone. The small chamber was crowded with people, sitting on the floor, slouched against walls, perched on the precarious edges of the floor. They were featureless, of variable sex, and their skin had a dull gray cast that complemented the wild skies above. Their faces were turned downward in dejection, and as they ignored the rain that streamed down them, they could almost be mistaken for statues in their stillness. Squinting, he saw they were not alone; even from the formidable height of his tower, he could see the tiny shapes below, in courtyards or on balconies, reclining in resignation. All around, the ashen people waited.

        He stood. The wind slung rain into his eyes mercilessly, and his limbs grew heavy, and longed to be joined with the earth once more. But, with a thrill, he saw the heads of the people, near and far below, begin to rise to regard him, and he willed his eyes wide open to meet their gaze with iron determination.

        The n the birds flew at him. Their feathers were white, but their beaks, talons and, strangely, wing tips, were painted with blood. Their eyes were small, hard, and remote. They tore at his flesh, and he stumbled back, dangerously close to the border of stone and air. His blood ran and mingled with the frigid rain in rivulets down his body.

        But he caught himself, feeling resentment grow within him and fuel his strength. The faces of the others stared at him mutely, pathetically. His temper broke and, closing his eyes again, without knowing how - in fact, seemingly instinctively - he filled. An alien, raging energy flowed through, suffusing even his most small of particles with white fire. He fused with it; and he shone forth upon all that surrounded him, entrapping all with his pure gravity until he could feel it all revolving around him. He reopened his eyes and engulfed the birds; blackened feathers fell with the rain. His person shone so that the eyes of all that watched him burned with light and vigor. And all was well..

        Abruptly the energy took a new path and converged on his brow. A fiery rune emblazoned itself there; what shape exactly, he could not tell, through the immeasurable agony it brought as it seared into him. Now the others stood also, and, one by one, took halting steps toward him, hands outstretched -

        - Cold -

        As the first few touched him, his being exploded with a new, unbridled power that swiftly won over the fire. It felt like icy shards ripping his insides apart. His vision shifted. He could see two images at once, different interpretations of identical images. One was sharply defined and painful bright; in it, he stood at the center of a vast cyclone of crackling sorceries. The other was not blurry, but sketchy, so that all regular details were drawn in his mind in three lines rather than one, like a child's rendition; a dark and flat plain lay before him, riddled with dead trees and cracked from inconceivable drought. The rune on his brow had become the fulcrum for this disparity, and with agony so strong mortal senses could not have conveyed it, stretched his existence through the worlds around him. A triumphant and terrible grin bared his teeth.

        And Crano kicked Solvan off of his pallet in exasperation.

        IV.< br>
        "Ah-..What the hell.."

        The world manifested in Solvan's vision indistinctly. He blinked reflexively, and the blur convalesced into a worn wooden floor.

        "If bodily harm is necessary to wake you, Solvan, I fear you truly have grown lax." Crano sounded impatient.

        With only a slight groan, Solvan staggered up to his feet. "Well.no one wants to wake up to a hang-over," he replied, wincing, unspeakably grateful for the thick curtains in Crano's flat. "Another part of city life I didn't miss."

        He swore he could hear Crano's smile, even before he raised his eyes to him. "Do you mean to imply that you ceased to drink during your absence? I am sorry to say that I find that..hard to believe, given your history."

        Solvan glared at him, and found that though frowning made the pain throb, it also cleared his vision. Sure enough, there was a sizable smirk on Crano's face. "For one thing, I always ended up spending my money, when I had any, on food. And that foreign drink you kept on telling me I needed to try was a lot stronger than any villager's brew," he said hotly.

        Crano shrugged. "You failed to object at the time, so..But that is not what I woke you to discuss. I hope you at least recall that your agreement to act as my assistant?"

        Solvan experienced the same sinking feeling he'd had the previous night. He considered lying. "Yes," he admitted grudgingly, "though not much past that."

        Crano turned. Solvan followed his gaze and saw a set of packed canvas sacks and well weathered trunks. "We leave this very morning," Crano explained. "We will board a caravan headed south. Consider the care of my luggage to be your first responsibility."

        " You bastard! You got me drunk deliberately!" Solvan accused him through gritted teeth.

        Crano developed that slightest sign of a frown once again, and strode over to the windows. Before Solvan could utter a desperate plea, he tore them apart. The full brunt of the rising sun's amber fury struck Solvan's eyes.

        Crano opened the door to their small room. "Work it off," he advised serenely.

        ***

        One eternal agony later Solvan had succeeded in shifting Crano's formidable possessions to a cart outside, taking a grim pleasure whenever his clumsiness made Crano's face fall. By then the sun's hateful flames had been tempered by its immersion in the liquid blue skies and distorted by a dramatic array of clouds above, so Solvan's trial had lessened. He stepped into the driver's seat of the cart steadily, a good sign. Crano was already reclining amongst the jumble in the back lethargically. Solvan examined the two horses attached to the cart and was satisfied that they were sturdy enough.

        "Wait. Before I entrust my health to you, let me at least grant you a greater degree of clarity," Crano called. He shoved himself up and extended a hand to Solvan's forehead, closing his eyes in concentration. Solvan was helpless to prevent the sweat that he broke out in, but he contained his urge to jerk himself back. Crano's fingers were frigid, as always, despite the pleasant heat of the early day. Solvan felt energy gather where the fingers touched him, not heat, but simple power. An instantaneous explosion of acid light inundated his mind, but by the time he reacted by arcing back and away, the surge had dissipated. As had the vestigial ache of the liquor.

        Solvan shook his head to orientate himself. "Couldn't do that when I needed it, could you?" he muttered to disguise his awe.

        "I was too tired myself at the time to attempt it. I might have done it for you sooner, if you had taken a little more care with my belongings.."

        Solv an scowled, but dropped the subject in resignation. "If you can do things like that, why do you bother with all your theatrics and stage tricks?" he asked.

        "Sadly, drunkenness is considered disreputable among the nobility, so the vast majority of those who would benefit from that cantrip cannot reward the service adequately. Besides, Solvan, it is as I have always said; my patrons prefer 'flash' to substance. Usually, entertainment is given higher priority among the rich than practicality. That is the effect of wealth, the greatest narcotic of all."

        "But some of your jobs aren't just shows, right? Otherwise you wouldn't need me," Solvan said persistently.

        "The re are certain exceptions," Crano conceded. "I will elaborate on this particular example later. For now, please take us to Eleanor's Gate, by the fastest route."

        "Well, it's been a few years, but I can try," Solvan answered.

        He headed off in the general direction of the gate as he remembered it, finding that as he lead the work horses through the winding streets of the older neighborhood that the mental map of the city's layout regrew quickly. Eventually the subdued houses of the early morning awoke with conversations muffled by stone and the laughter that comes so easily after a good night's rest. The sun climbed slowly in the typical summer fashion, taking as long as possible to blind the vision of those out early, but steadily. By the time Solvan made it to the avenue leading to the gate the streets were bustling with the frantic rush of activity before the arrival of the noon heat just as they had the day before. He joined the sluggish procession to the city walls.

        "I must confess, I am surprised at your driving skills," Crano commented from behind. "I had not realized your father trained you so well."

        Solvan took a moment to respond. "Well, the owners of the stable he worked at didn't like seeing him 'waste his time' by 'playing' with me, but whenever he could he snuck in a lesson or two, even if he couldn't give it to in an actual cart or carriage." His smile was subdued. "He wanted me to take up his work after he died, so sometimes he even let me drive across town. He'd drive out of the stables himself, but then he'd switch with me as soon as we were out of sight. Linor, too." He fell silent.

        Crano apparently sensed his discomfort, and said no more. A question rose in Solvan's head that he firmly denied and worked on ignoring, reminding himself that he didn't want to know the answer.

        They waited in the queue, loud and abrasive as it was, silently, moving forward with flow every now and then. The horses grew impatient and snorted.

        Solvan couldn't help it any more. "Have they begun to move back into.that part of the city?" he asked finally.

        "There have been attempts at reconstruction, and many squatters have settled there..but, for the most part, it remains empty." Crano paused. "The children claim it is haunted."

        "I could believe it," Solvan remarked with a tinge of melancholy.

        "Wheth er that is another of their lies or not, the ruins seem to resist the weather, and the entire area has an odd and unpleasant atmosphere."

        At last, they drew near to the gate. It was wider than the one Solvan had entered the previous day, and bore fewer traces of age upon its stone faces. Guards circled the carts and carriages of those planning to leave, the obvious reason for the delay.

        "What are you carrying?" a female officer demanded of Solvan from below. Her ornate armor marked her for one of the city's elite, the Filenian Knights. He opened his mouth to answer.

        "Pardon me, but I believe I could answer your query far more aptly," Crano interjected glibly, rising to seat himself in front with Solvan. "I am carrying my possessions with me, including numerous articles of clothing, texts, and many miscellaneous artifacts; I am somewhat of a collector."

        "Show me," she ordered him curtly. With a shrug, Crano extricated one of his older magical instruments whose purpose had never been explained to Solvan. She regarded it disinterestedly. "Of very little worth, I'm afraid.." Crano informed her apologetically.

        Sh e passed it back to him without a word, and, after satisfying her curiosity by peering into several trunks and bags, named a moderate tax on their departure, which Crano paid immediately. They passed through the gap in the city walls.

        After a safe distance had been covered, Solvan turned to Crano with raised eyebrows. "Conning the Knights? Pretty smooth. Wouldn't they've hung you for treason or something, if they'd realized?"

        Crano laughed. "Solvan, that trick has never failed. With all the ruins from the ancient people you can find around here, artifacts are utterly worthless. And few members of the 'Knighthood' are capable of distinguishing between stone tools and magical tools. Even if my lie had been exposed, well.since the disaster, the Knights have been somewhat less immune to monetary encouragement."

        So lvan shook his head.

        "Now that that has passed, we must locate our caravan.as we were to assemble directly outside the city, it seems safe to assume that the group to our left is what we want. If you would be so kind as to guide us there, Solvan."

        Solvan scrutinized the train forming. It seemed a rather luxurious affair, with overlarge compartments being pulled by several of the larger and stronger northern breed of horses. There were numerous uniformed figures running about the chaos, and a tumult of voices raised.

        "How could you have lost her purse, it contained all of her jewelry! Find it or we're ruined!"

        "Yes, I'm aware the arrangement of our carriages is somewhat confusing, sir.."

        "I apologize for the complications, madam, of course we will ensure we reach Tharsis before your son's wedding.."

        "In case of attack, the crossbows are stowed in the overhead compartments, with plentiful spare bolts. In the event of sickness or malady, a complimentary vial of scents has been provided under your seats, accompanied by a copy of Filen's prayers for the doomed soul and wards against contagion."

        "Your party, sir?" asked a man in a particularly ornate cap. A captain, perhaps, Solvan decided.

        "Echryn, two" Crano called from the back, not bothering to rise this time.

        The officer consulted a tattered ledger. "Very good, sir," he said pompously. "Thirteenth carriage. Lendreth will assist you," he said, indicating a hardy boy next to him. "We leave in half an hour."

        Lendreth quickly and expertly stuffed Crano's luggage away, and leapt up to perch atop their cart in the driver's seat. Solvan opened the cart door and relaxed into a ridiculously wide leather seat, marveling at the comfort. There were even crystal wineglasses provided, and a well- stocked mahogany rack of vintage treasures was affixed to the wall.

        Before he could ask his question, Crano answered. "The family paying for the commission provided the travel arrangements, after no little bargaining on my part. The name I gave that fop outside was theirs."

        "They must've had to widen the roads for these carriages. On the roads I usually take, the wheels would've been in the ditches." Solvan commented.

        "Quite opulent, is it not?" Crano said, glancing around the carriage with a satisfied expression.

        "Our journey will likely take several days. We travel first to Tharsis, the port city. You had best get as much rest as you can; there will be ample occasions for you to exert yourself later on our errand."

        Solvan shrugged. He was still tired from Crano's little joke, and the stuffed cushions still felt remarkable against his aching limbs after his long journey. Why not..

        V.

        This time he was in a white space, without floor or ceiling, though he stood on firm ground nonetheless. A sourceless light pervaded the air, and the lack of shadows it produced was mildly unsettling to the eye. All around him, grey figures crouched in dejection, each with a partner. One by one, they lifted small blades and carefully aimed them against the other's face. Solvan watched with dull horror as they delicately cut through thin layers of skin and peeled them off. No blood flowed from the incisions.

        "What are they doing?" Solvan wondered aloud.

        "They're letting their true selves show," Crano answered from beside him. "Here, let me help you."

        A glacial blade pressed against his cheek.

        VI.

        Solvan's eyes flew open.

        He panted for breath, coated in a cold sweat. The coach was dark; in what had felt like only a few harrowing moments, morning had become night. In the erratic light of an exterior lamp, Solvan could just make out Crano's shape, curled up, seemingly comfortably, against the other coach wall. And not next to him, holding a frigid dagger. His figure was still, and his chest rose and fell regularly Solvan relaxed somewhat. He lay back against the seat, shoving the complimentary holy texts onto the floor irritably, and let himself fall back asleep, freed from dreams for a time.

        Crano watched him carefully, eyes narrowed, for some time before allowing himself to return to slumber.

        When next Solvan stirred, he shivered. A cold wind sent icy chills across his face, and his body; little surprise, given his light garb. The open window showed a forested, sharply ridged land contrasting greatly with his homeland's rolling prairies. The light was still dim, suggesting the day was yet young. Crano was still asleep. An idea entered Solvan's head.

        Crano caught his hand before he could throw him off. "I'm afraid that your attempt for petty vengeance was all too predictable," he said, grinning smugly. His fingertips flashed.

        "OWW!! Fuck!" Solvan cursed, clutching his throbbing hand. He glared at Crano, still in serene repose. "It was just a fucking joke! What the hell?!"

        "Solvan," Crano replied softly, looking right into his eyes, "waking me before I choose to wake..is a jest in exceedingly poor taste." And with that, he rose languidly, arcing his spare frame out and yawning blearily. He peered out the window. "Had you noticed we have stopped?" he asked.

        "No, I just got up myself," Solvan answered. "Maybe this is when they feed us?"

        "An astute hypothesis," Crano confirmed, dressing himself carefully. "May I recommend haste? The time elapsed since the commencement of the meal is unknown, and thus we may find ourselves deprived of sustenance most injustly; and surely, after your protracted slumber, your hunger must be formidable indeed." He threw open the car door.

        Now that he mentioned it.."Ugh, where's my luck today?" Solvan complained, springing out of bed hurriedly and pulling on his worn boots. He leapt down from the carriage.

        Sure enough, a sizeable gathering of his fellow passengers had already congregated at a nearby clearing, and the tantalizing fragrance of fresh fruits and panbread alerted him to how empty his stomach had truly become. Beating away the roadside tree branches, he emerged into the gathering.

        He became acutely aware of many curious and hostile stares being directed towards him. Simultaneously, he realized there was a significant difference between the lace-ridden, baroquely elegant finery of the nobles and merchant lords around him and his own small (and thus awkwardly tight) vest and breeches. He flushed a little to see the disdainful glances many of the men gave his largely bare chest. Still, he had passage paid for him, and belonged there just as much as any court peacock. He waited in the queue patiently, ignoring the scarcely muffled snide remarks of those around him, but when the cooks tried to pass him a noticeably smaller portion than those before him, he complained vocally enough to earn himself a full meal. He wore a satisfied smile as he made his way to Crano's table.

        "Ah, there you are," Crano said as Solvan sat down. "Lord Jasper, Lord Koen, Lady Hestia," he said to several highly decorated persons sharing the table, "this able youth is my assistant, Solvan DeMarko."

        "Oh, but Mage Crano, surely one of your talents could enlist a more.reputable assistant?" remarked Lady Hestia, her grey eyes full of distaste for Solvan. He felt his face heat again, and tried his best to focus on the meal.

        Crano laughed politely. "You flatter me, Lady; I am no Mage, merely a traveling wizard, of dubious repute myself."

        "But that butterfly you created, with the incandescent veridian wings, was truly remarkable," interjected Lord Koen, still wide-eyed.

        "An illusion of the most basic sort," Lord Jasper retorted. "A scattering of light and color is pretty, of course, but if we had tried to touch the thing it would have proved insubstantial. True illusions affect all of our senses."

        Crano shrugged amiably. "Alas, Lord Jasper has the right of it. My spell was regrettably unsophisticated. But," he continued, raising his hand above his head," I am capable of certain more..strenuous magics."

        Upon his outstretched palm a strange disturbance formed. There was nothing to be seen on his hand, but an area in the shape of a sphere above him distorted vision through it; the trees seemed to blur, and, standing up, Solvan saw the faces and shapes of the other travelers grow more indistinct.

        Lord Jasper regarded it warily. "What is that?"

        Lord Coen snorted. "A work of breathtaking beauty leaves you unmoved, yet mere haze has you unmanned, Kristopher?"

        Jaspe r whirled on him. "That isn't haze at all, you fool," he said, words dripping with derision through his apprehension, "it's-" Seemingly ignoring them both, Crano flicked his wrist lazily.

        The disturbance above his hand flew with the motion, soaring over their heads faster than they could register, though Solvan felt the sweep of wind ruffle his hair. It struck a regal old tree on the other side of the clearing, and half of the tree's sea of leaves and tough, aged branches disappeared, leaving only a fine dust that scattered with the breeze.

        The tables fell silent and all stared at Crano.

        He smiled brightly. "As we are all lords and ladies of education and wisdom, I believe I may assume that the effects of such a spell on an enemy is easy to surmise. Unless I have a volunteer?"

        After her shock wore off, Lady Hestia leaned over to Crano and said, in an incredibly audible whisper, "Perhaps, supposing it were possible, you could weaken the spell somewhat, and use your underling? To replace him would be the easiest of tasks, I assure-"

        Solvan rose from the table abruptly and, mastering a sudden urge to strike Lady Hestia, made his way through the murmuring nobles to his cart. He opened the door calmly and sat, contemplating.

        An hour or so later the door opened and Crano stumbled in. His green eyes gave him a sympathetic glance. "As you can see, the nobility has changed little," he remarked wryly.

        "Why should they? If I had money, I'd probably be an asshole too," Solvan replied bitterly.

        Crano kicked off his shoes. "When one has everything, and one has always had this, it is difficult not to feel contempt for those who must earn their right to survive."

        Solvan said nothing, his head sunk in memories.

        "The rich are not only taught from birth of their own superiority," Crano continued, tugging at his headband irritably when it would not untie, "but also learn it through logic. Their station allows them tools to give them greater beauty and intelligence than any commoner." Solvan tensed. He hated the word. "Therefore it seems only rational to assume that their birth marks the inherent superiority of their self; their soul, if you prefer." Finally free of the scarf, Crano drew a hand through his long black hair and let it fall disheveled.

        "Anyon e can see that," Solvan shot back. "Just try walking down a Filen avenue. See if the noble's coaches stop or even try to avoid you." At least two of his childhood gang of friends had perished that way. The first time, the lords had complained of the "urchin's" carelessness. On the second occasion, they had laughed at the sport.

        "But perhaps what you cannot see, Solvan;" Crano arched an eyebrow; "is that in some ways your character is just as judgmental as the aristocrats'."

        "Re ally." Solvan said flatly.

        Crano turned away. "Solvan, if you feel so certain in your power to accept, then it is not my place to question you. To mold another to become more accepting of others is a strange form of hypocrisy. Our opinions do form our identity, after all."

        "...sometime s, Crano, you really confuse me," Solvan told him. They sat in pregnant silence as the train began to load all of the cooking and seating equipment.


        Th e awkward quiet was finally broken by a timid knock at their door. Solvan gave Crano a questioning look, but Crano only raised his eyebrows and shrugged. He attempted to tidy his belongings and tame his hair, but resigned himself to his untidiness, looked through the door window and then opened the door.

        A boy, certainly no older than 10 or 12, gazed up at them both in awe and entreaty. "I saw you make that butterfly come and the tree blow up," he announced solemnly. "You're a mage. I want you to make another thing come, for me."

        Crano nodded without the ghost of mirth on his face. "What did you want to come?" he asked.

        "I wanted..." The boy hesitated. "I wanted to see...one of the Phoenixes. Father says they've all gone away with the goddess, but I want to see one," he said in a rush.

        Crano scratched his head. "Well, they certainly have vanished with Filenen from their sacred fire mountain-"

        The child's face fell. "You can't make one come?" he asked, turning to face them both.

        Crano patted him on the head. "I'm afraid that to summon a phoenix is beyond my skills," he confirmed.

        The boy turned and ran off.

        "You could've made an illusion for him," Solvan accused him. "Don't tell me that making a single child see a phoenix is harder than making a crowd see a boy fly."

        "Don't be foolish. As you should know, that was no illusion; or have you forgotten how I inadvertently dropped you a little too soon? But actually, the reason I didn't show the boy what he wanted was that we might have found ourselves under siege by children until we arrived at Tharsis. And," Crano said with a haunted look, "I absolutely abhor performing for children."

        Solvan shook his head. "I don't know how you think of all this, but you're right, being annoyed by children isn't fun. I know; I was good at being a brat. But still."

        "If it makes you feel that much better," Crano sighed irritably, "I touched his head so that he would have phoenix-filled dreams tonight. The boy will be content, rest assured."


        "Yo u can affect dreams with a touch?" Solvan asked incredulously. "Isn't screwing with someone's head a little dangerous?"

        "I'm very skilled," Crano said, a cocky smile playing at his lips.

        A thud overhead announced the return of Lendreth. In near unison, every driver's whip cracked, and every horse began to trot. The sunlight through the lush summer leaves cast little holes of light through the windows, seeming to light some of Solvan's copper strands of hair on fire, and leaving shadows on Crano's face from his unruly bangs of blue-black. A gust of air came in, pleasantly cool, and Solvan decided again that resigning himself to travel could certainly have been more difficult.

        "Occasi onally, a client requests that I alleviate a recent series of nightmares," Crano commented casually. "I have had no complaints thus far."

        Solvan almost mentioned his own dreams, but held back uncertainly. That last one, with Crano himself in it, made him wonder if Crano hadn't done it to him on purpose. Sometimes, despite their long and close friendship, Solvan couldn't shake a vague sense of a secretive and hidden face to Crano. Of course, it could also have been just a side effect of the mind-clearing spell Crano had given him the morning before. In any case, he remembered that he had ample reason to doubt Crano's concern for his well- being where magic was concerned, and kept quiet.

        He found himself instead thinking of the boy. He'd been clad in such fine clothing that he simply had to be a noble, yet he hadn't expressed any of the arrogance Solvan had come to associate with noble children.

        "Was that boy who asked you for help really a noble, Crano?" he finally asked.

        "Solvan, I believe you and I must be the only peasantry on this convoy," Crano said. "Do you ask because the boy was so polite to you?"

        "Yeah, it was weird." Solvan admitted.

        "Not all nobles, children or adult, despise those further down in society," Crano reminded him. "Did you note the slight darkness of his skin tone? That, and his unusual request for a symbol of the traditional god, lead me to conclude that his family may be of mixed descent, both Anemian and Pyrenish, much like yourself."

        "Well, he may be friendly enough now, but he'll be just as fucked up as all the others in a few years."

        "Perhaps," Crano allowed.

        Solvan fell into contemplation once again. He found himself appreciating his sylvan surroundings in the carriage, so reminiscent of his days of liberty. But he was still free, he reminded himself, he was only repaying a debt, of his own will. And afterwards, he could return to the welcoming shades of the southern forests, living unattached and unbound again.

        Crano reached up for the wine bottle and crystal glasses, proffering one to Solvan courteously. Solvan laughed. "I don't think I'll go drinking with you for a while," he said.

        Crano drank from his glass delicately, then gave Solvan a wounded look. "You malign me, Solvan. I have not touched the wine, and as you can see, have already partaken of it. You have nothing to fear."

        "Right," Solvan replied with a skeptical smile.

        Crano sighed dramatically. "Very well. But tell me, what do you plan to do while we travel? We will arrive at Tharsis at a very unseemly hour, I have been informed."

        "So getting drunk will help pass the time?" Solvan asked, throwing his question back at him.

        "Solvan, Solvan," Crano said reprovingly. "I am never drunk. However, you often are, and tend to provide great amusement."

        "Fuck you," Solvan said sullenly.

        "Temper, temper," Crano chided. "I merely sought to suggest an alternative to boredom, the most unbearable state of our consciousness. Can you defeat my idea with a superior plan?"

        "Well, why don't you use your magic for something useful for once?" Solvan shot back. "If you've got enough power to torture me daily, you should be able to use it to keep us occupied."

        Crano smiled darkly. "I could make you think you were trapped in a plutonian labyrinth, feeling your way with a hand cut from the countless sharp edges of walls, sunken in despair and apathy, dying slowly from thirst and hunger in the incomparable chill of complete and utter isolation."

        Solvan gave him him a weary look.

        "I have been wanting to perfect that technique," Crano explained innocently.

        "Shoul d've known better than to ask," Solvan muttered to himself. "In that case, I think I'll just try to sleep off my throbbing, swollen hand," he told Crano with particular emphasis.

        Crano's unsettling expression didn't waver. "Pleasant dreams," he said, disconcertingly echoing Solvan's thoughts. Solvan wondered once again just who he had agreed to help.

        VII.

        The vision met him the moment he closed his eyes. It had been waiting.


        He was on a tall, grassy hill, crowned with a proud old oak. The sky was an empty, unblemished blue. He was ten again, and his siblings were playing with him under the warm sun, while his parents watched.

        But a surge of cold filled him. "Wait," he told Linor and Shala, but they didn't hear, giggling and capering. He ran to the top of the hill, and watched as a cold grey continent of clouds raced at him. He looked down desperately at his family as the clouds struck, but couldn't see them for the sudden mist. And when the clouds passed, leaving a black void above, he was alone on a barren hill, standing next to an oddly familiar skeletal tree. A cry rose from deep within him, threatening to tear him apart from the inside out.

        Before it could be voiced, a torrent of images assaulted him, scouring and scarring his mind with their alternating rage and sympathy. An empty city of white, immaculate perfection. A dark figure suspended from a monstrous tree. A woman clad in blood-red robes, regarding him enigmatically. A benign, almost familiar girl smiling as she poured water from one bowl into the other. A boy looking at him from a shining chariot as he rode him down. A young woman reaching out, as though to embrace both him and the entire world. And a shade, bent over in age-old fatigue, raising a rusty scythe to swing at him.

        And they swirled in his eyes, expanding to a network of esoteric connections and alien significance. And he lay at its heart, glowing with white-gold flames of fury.

        He found himself again, standing in a Filen street, a faceless throng pushing at him. The street he had been born on. But it was wrong. Yes, he thought, I don't belong here anymore.

        A drop of rain struck his head, a call to wake.

        The air around him filled with the strongest storm he had ever seen, drenching every inch of his body. He was no longer in the discordant street; he was standing in front of a shallow pool he had once drunk from on his wanderings. His reflection gazed back at him, then was distorted beyond recognition with the power of a thousand tears of the sky, and finally vanished completely. He turned, feeling the ache within him grow to become a torment of grief for a forgotten sorrow. And he stood in front of a cliff that dropped into the grey heart of the storm, his only company a tree half on and half off the land, frozen in eternal indecision. He thought he could hear a call from the sweet oblivion below, a voice he had once known, beckoning him to follow it. Lost and alone, he pursued it gladly.

        With one foot off the cliff and in the air he began to walk up an invisible arcing bridge, leading presumably to some unseen far side of his mind. His mind rejoiced at his long wished-for power, the capacity to transcend, as the white flames filled him, and a pure note from a voice- his own?- suffused the air around him. And then, looking back, he saw the edge lined with the innumerable wraiths of his dreams, staring at him hungrily. Dread filled him. Stretching out their hands, they leeched his fires, consuming them with inhuman avarice, and he felt himself falter, watching in disbelief as his own flesh dulled to their grey. And from above the raging storm, he fell.

        A hand on his shoulder, pulling him back with inhuman strength. Crano's eyes- was it Crano? They were so empty of..anything, devoid of something that should have been in the eyes of everyone- gazed into his. "Surely you are not yet so pessimistic?" He asked softly. He pulled out of that disturbing stare to note that he now sat with others around a feeble bonfire flickering in a harsh wind. One girl with strangely slanted eyes caught his notice in particular; he thought he had seen her before. Yes, she was the one who had been pouring the waters. She realized that he had seen her. "In our minds, we can walk across the waters," She explained. He found no reply. She continued to stare at him. "Who are you praying for?" She asked.

        The image imploded. For an instant, acid green runes flared in the air, tracing a violent spell, and then he could feel his environment again.

        Now it was a white field, streaked with lines of deep veridian and azure blue colors, and he saw himself facing a gathering of others. They all twisted inside, responding to a pain he could not perceive, though he felt that he would soon know all too well; and they showed him. Crano was pierced through the heart with a black spear, impaled upon an ancient tree. The ebony spear matched the darkness of his eyes. A woman, familiar again, fought her shadow with a blood-drenched sword. And the girl from a moment ago sought passage through a mass of thorns, blindfolded and guided by a shadow. They, and many unrecognizable others, directed their haunted stares to him. They waited with accusatory faces.

        "I don't know what you want of me," he yelled at them in frustration. "I can't understand any of this!"

        "You will," a new voice assured him sadly, that of a child.

        "Who are you?" he asked.

        Laughter answered him, pure and beautiful; that of an innocent child. For an instant, his heart lifted.

        It was all he needed. In the exact center of an infinite ocean of cloudswept skies, he felt the call to transcend again, and this time it came upon him in a state of certainty. Wings, not feathered, not reptilian, not even gossamer, but of some material beyond waking comprehension, exploded from his back. Laughing with the child, he leapt further into the sky and soared towards a distant door with ease. He flung it open.

        It was his old home in Filen. His family looked up from their business to welcome him. He strode into his home and basked in the mysterious completion it gave him. Narma clasped him in an embrace.


        A sinuous blue rune flickered.

        His dream fell to ashes, and he found himself holding a grinning, charred skeleton in a charcoal waste.

        He sunk back into anguish, abandoning himself, even as he rose, stiffening his spine and striding coolly out of the wreck and into a cataclysm.

        It was a concentrated cyclone of an odd green stone, reminiscent of a luminescent jade, whirling around in forms ranging from mere sand to monoliths. He stood in its eye, buffeted only by the occasional pebble. A shadowed silhoutte crouched in defeat before him.

        A feeling of nausea struck him, and the world flickered again. The outline in front of him transformed into an unremarkable man.


        "You certainly took your time. A curious dream," the man commented lightly in a lilting voice. "I think not prophetic, but perhaps significant nonetheless."

        "But ..you're a part of the dream," he pointed out, even more confused.

        "I was. But by calling my identity to your dream, you called my existence."

        "But I don't know you!" he said, exasperated.

        "No, you don't. But you are more than yourself. Who are you?"

        "I am.."

        All the illogical fearlessness of youth.

        A life lived again and again unto eternity.

        Golden flames emanating from his person to return a lost soul.

        Blue veins, ivory skin, and a shared vessel.

        A brutally shattered unity.

        He looked up, shocked. "I..don't know..I feel like.."

        A reserved expression crossed the man's face. "Everyone," he finished for him. "But who are you, when you wake?"

        "I..just don't know."


        The man sighed. "Thwarted by such a pitiful little defense.No matter."


        "And who are you, exactly?"

        "Enough, " the man said. "If you can't help mitigate my solitude, there is no reason for you to visit this realm. It is not meant for you."

        "Listen. I don't know how to even try to begin helping you. But maybe if I could understand you-"

        "Understand? " the man cut in, spitting the word. The man's eyes burned. "That is simple enough."

        In a blurred motion of the man's hand and a flash of steel, a dagger thrust was thrust through his heart. A gasp escaped him. "It..burns.."

        "The n you see," the man said, satisfied. And the man walked away into the green chaos.

        He staggered and fell back, spread-eagled, against the hard ground. He could barely see anymore for the acid eating at his organs, but he noticed the storm fade to grey, then to a simple white. He feebly raised a hand, to pull out the dagger, and saw himself begin to lose substance also, his tan skin becoming white, bounded by simple black lines to distinguish him from the pale expanse around him. And the lines were shrinking.


        "W hat's..gotten into me..anyway..?" he asked himself.

        The lines vanished.