The Beginning of an End

Dreams. Amassing, cold, cruel presence. Each of them reach to him with shadowed vines, each of them a rusty nail to his coffin. They gnaw on him, like he was a delicious morsel, filled with blood, flesh and… memories. They trap him in the past, feasting on his regrets, on his losses and grief. And there, among all those creatures – monsters – craving for his pain, is her. Looking at him with a scorn, when he stabs countless of victims – in her eyes a heavy disappointment. His dagger falls off his hand, he reaches to her with scarred fingers… marked with wounds of the past days.

“You could be all…”

 It’s all what he hears, it rings in his ears with a reproach. She changes into a flurry of golden moths, leaving him broken, with only a bloodied dagger, a lonely dead soul against a world of living debris. He hates himself. Himself, the most, he is only a wretched life in ruin, flaming wicker dummy, tossed to the river to end the winter.

“You could be all…”

He woke up, in a dug bed, his face and hair wet.

That was only a dream. But why on gods it was so painful. Memories of another life, when he was another person, another being, not dragged through a road of rusty nails.

You will never age, trapped in this failure of a body. Cursed and hopeless, aiming the pit without end.

He huffed in anger. The rest of this dream will haunt him, but he was used to it. They always were returning, when he was least expecting them, but… not completely not awaited. They always lingered on the verge of his mind, seething… hungry… a price he had to pay for what he has become.

Deciding to leave his bedchambers, do anything to stop the dream from leeching on him, he stood up and wrapped a blanket over his arms. The air was chill, even with closed windows. Not chill enough to calm his tormented senses.

Dreams… human mages were saying they were the door to gods’ realm. He was sure they were dragging their victims into insanity of purgatory.

He had all means to end this, but he bathed in this feeling, knowing it makes him even more determined, even stronger. Even if for others, they seemed weakening and doomed, he was pulling the strings of power from his own demise.

A noise, not exactly loud, but his senses always were very acute. The glass separating him from the outside didn’t manage to mute it completely.

Tucking himself more into the blanket, he looked above the windowpane, annoyed that his smaller posture doesn’t allow him to see better.

Someone moved on the courtyard, in the darkest corner, where shadows persisted. A small figure, yet not as small as his own. He had not only acute senses but very good sight. Without problems he recognized an elf.

If the king was awake and saw a free and unowned elf before his windows, disrupting his rest, it could end quite unfortunate for this lost creature. Or if guards found him on a patrol, and that could happen anytime, any minute.

The elf looked completely ragged – clothes, face, hair, everything looked torn. If he ran from a cruel master, he chose the worst place to settle himself. A fool, young, naive fool. 

Raithea’s sharp gaze was searching for any signs, any sigil or tattoo, that could indicate that it was an escaper. Nothing. Perhaps, it was better hidden, under clothes that were hanging on him like on an abandoned scarecrow.

He could later also be useful, to pull out valuable information about his owner… or owners.

He can help him… of course for his personal gain.

And save him from a fate that awaited him, if he stayed under the king’s tower, moaning into the mud.

Raithea took the keys and closed his door, carefully, to never allow anyone to enter his rooms. Here, he kept things that could be dangerous, not necessarily for him, but more to Zakrivea. Or Keeral. If he was found with particular magical recipes or blackmail proofs – or other, more deadly items – they may not be able to harm him – after all, they were more like ants to the forces that stood behind him. But they could definitely use his student to break him. Use Zakrivea, tear her from his life, along with Keeral.

He made many powerful enemies, who had spies, just as he had his.

“You could be all…”

You fool yourself, Rhuitaure, he thought, feeling again a pang of anger, and the worst fool is the one that lies to himself.

Descending from the stairs, and going through a hall, ridiculously concealed in the blanket and with hair still wet from sweat, he disappeared. Guards could not see him in that state, and it was additional safety for the broken elf on the courtyard. He opened the door used by the servants, to not allow any guard to see a misty shadow coming through the suddenly open gate.

The elf was curled in the fetal position. If he had any wounds, they had to be internal; he looked even more like a broken doll now, when he was close. Raithea crouched next to him and then he felt it. Actually,he saw it.

Shadow. Amassing, cold presence. Colder than ice and embracing his body with invisible hands, fingers, talons.

It wasn’t easy to shock Raithea but he didn’t feel this kind of magic  – not even mention seeing it – in a very long time. This kind of creature. The shadow was imbued with darkest desires, darkest wishes and darkest nightmares.

And it was bound with the elf that lay next to him. How much of a torment for him, it had to be, being sewn together with darkness.

Raithea knew it, because he was sewn with it as well. Needles deep in his veins, reaching with dreadful threads into his mind.

The elf seemed to feel the Royal Advisor’s presence, because he opened his eyelids, with a great effort. His eyes were big, very blue, carrying countless nightmares in them.

Raithea knew them too, as he held them as well, just behind his closed eyes, rooted deep in his soul.

“He–help me… please.”

Raithea was impressed. Not only this dark child sensed him but also seen, even despite his protective spell.

“You found yourself in a dangerous place,” the blue elven eyes widened at that, but Raithea didn’t allow him to speak. “You chose indeed the best time to be a sacrificial lamb. But I have a soft spot for sacrificial lambs.”

The elf almost smiled. Maybe he felt the darkness in Raithea too, and that soothed his tormented heart. Lord Rhuitaure felt like shadows emanating from the boy reached him, wanting to touch his core.

No.

Too early for such experiments.

The elf’s hand, though, crawled in his direction and long, spindly fingers closed on Raithea’s wrist. Lord Advisor somehow expected him to use him as an anchor to reality. It was easy to see that the elf needed help. Raithea’s mind entered effortlessly the shallow waters of the elf’s mind and wrapped himself around his nerves, around his spine. He didn’t meet any resistance, he was welcomed in the elf’s mangled soul with a silent keen on his relaxing nerves. The elf huffed, a slight sigh leaving his mouth.

Good. At least now he won’t be protesting.

Calling for Keeral was the only option now. His apprentice won’t ask questions and his own child body would not be able to support the elf, not even mention carrying him. And he didn’t even want to try using any more powerful spells on the bubbling shadow that held the elf together.

Keeral. Why not Zakrivea? a dark voice rang in his mind.

Because I am not a fool, he replied to himself.

Not a fool.