Interludium: New Day

Raithea woke up, his face flattened against the table. He was too tired to think up a better place to rest, and he found himself in his library more by instinct than true planning. Of course, he remembered to install protection. He would be a fool, if he exposed himself to the attack of Rog’s alikes. But that last spell drained him to the last drop and he fell asleep as he sat, surrounded by open books.

His mind started to work as soon as he was awake. The life he took at night still didn’t take revenge, but his left hand almost paralized and he was well aware that it’s only the beginning. Narrowing his dark brows, he looked at the limb.

It was red and veins were visible. But he still didn’t spot the marks. He should get used to them, his whole body knew the pain of markings, the blood’s punishment. He never got used to it, though. It was a side of magic he worked on, though, to eliminate it. He was at a dead end, but he was doing everything.

He didn’t intend to die as well, when the conclusion came.

With right, healthy hand, he pulled a small void capsule he held among his robes. It was filled with dust that was left after Rog disintegration. But it also held a very important element as well, not only his dried up and mashed up bones.

It held part of his consciousness. He knew that Rog’s soul went to whatever dimension humans believe in. In a dimension that Rog, personally, believed. Be the Amnott for forsaken, or a Pit of Wallowing so many humans were afraid of. All of this was a lie. They shaped their own afterlife, for gods’ amusement.

Dust particles were held together as an insignificant part of Rog’s soul, which helped him to create a new face for Arialin. He didn’t intend to tell his guest how he gained a new body for him. This was by all means unnecessary.

He took a small dose of self-made herbal pills and swallowed, not even taking a drink to ease the hard texture. They will help him to carry on through the day, after an eventful night.

He entered Keeral’s room without even knocking. His apprentice was sleeping soundly, his bed almost perfect, like he never laid in it – yet here he was, tucked in the warm bed sheets. Raithea hated the part of himself which was making him admire Keeral’s purity and dutifulness. Purity, which wasn’t stained by years in slavery. He possibly couldn’t even hate the invaders. It was enough that this good soul disliked them.

He felt the stark difference between them too, in such moments of peace. He could almost enter Keeral’s  mind and see unstained paper, on which he, Raithea, could write as much as he wanted. Keeral offered him his dreams and future. In return, he gave him lies and half-truths.

Raithea scoffed, angry at himself. When it’s all over, Keeral will have a much better life than this world could offer him. He was finding out, slowly, that he treats Keeral almost like a son he never had. That was helping him to actually do as he pleased, as long as his child is safe. This was a weakness he was accepting to have.

Raithea took the books which Keeral still had with himself and left the chamber, soundlessly, leaving his assistant sleeping.

*

Arialin slept restlessly. Nightmares were reaching into his mind with black tendrils. He dreamt of his clan. How its core was torn from their roots by the cruel fire sent by the vile humans. He never witnessed it, but he was seeing it in his dreams way too often. Darkness, screams, scent of burning flesh and wood. The forest was dying and his people were feeling its pain, as much as their own. Each tree, each leaf, was screaming, and they were screaming too, weeping, as the flame was devouring their skin and drank their blood. Melting, like a candle. Suffering, joining their ancestors in a burst of light.

When he opened his eyes, they were filled with tears and his shadow seemed to grow in his chest, pulling him to take revenge, even now.

I can’t. They will execute me. You have heard what he said.

They must pay, they must scream. Like broken puppets.

Only if I won’t be screaming too, when they capture me.

I feel the smoke. I feel the pain of the trees.

It’s only reminiscence. Try to trust him. He already has done enough.

I don’t trust anyone.

Arialin sighed, feeling though as the new energy fills his veins, given to him by his shadowed companion. He didn’t feel torn or pained anymore, but he was giving the rightful merit to the food he ate at night. Even his skin stopped looking like paper.

He almost believed Raithea cast a spell, but he didn’t have to. Night of sleep (even if filled with nightmares) and a filling meal, was enough to restore his strength, which was lost before.

I wonder how he plans to hide me in this castle full of enemies.

A sorcerer. A beast of night. He has many talents.

But you don’t like him, even if he helps.

He is unknown. He is darker than all I know. Connected with dark gods.

Arialin wrinkled his forehead. That was something new and that simple sentence made him feel crawling over his back. Dark gods. Demons. Anticreators and a mist between dimensions. The shadow told him about them. They were in every darkness, in every cruel deed. And they moved the cogs on the universal reality, alongside with creators.

To think that his host could have any connection with them, almost made him lose his trust too.

But he preferred to trust. If he stopped, he would be already dead.

At least inside.