Shattered Dreams

by Ulff Lehmann

  “You claim they are,” the spirit retorted with a clear, feminine voice.

  “The task the Lawmaker entrusted you with upon the child’s birth isn't yet finished, daughter of Lliania.” The ghostly woman sighed and bowed her head in acknowledgement. “But don’t worry, Cat, your time is almost over.”

  “Has it been this long already? Is the time nigh?” Dread seeped into the apparition’s voice.

  “No, he still has time, and that is why we need to start. This isn't Chiath where one opponent waits for the other to make his move. I am afraid keeping you whole and walking amongst the living has drained much of my focus, but no more. You know what must be done.”

  “Aye, Lightbringer.”

  “Lightbringer,” she scoffed as she looked at the being hovering before her. “Don’t call me that. Warbringer, now that‘s a more appropriate name.”

  “But you are the Lightbringer of legend,” her opposite insisted.

  “I’ve been called many names.”

  “What will happen?”

  The Warbringer sighed. “How should I know? I stopped guessing the future long before your kind’s blood first wetted the earth.”

  “But you had a plan… back then.”

  “Aye.”

  “So, you must know what is going to happen?”

  “You riddle me with questions I can't answer, child. Questions I stopped asking myself a long time ago.” She stood and looked around the cave. “I saw the first drops of water that carved the stone to create this cavern. I was there when the dragons erected the Veil of Fire to shut mortals out of their world.” She faced the floating ghost again. “If I knew the future I might have never done what I have done, but I don't, Cat! I always hoped and hoped… and hoped again.” She sank down onto her worn down blanket and sighed.

  “But I want to know if he will be all right.”

  “Even a feline, although caring for the litter she birthed, knows there will be a time for her offspring to be on their own. There is little you can do to ensure his well-being.”

  “I just wish there was more I could do.”

  “There isn’t, now off with you. And remember, the child must not fade.”

  “How can I forget?” the spirit replied as it drifted off. Cat’s outline flickered and vanished.

  “Watch over him, little one,” Warbringer said as the illumination left in the ghost’s wake vanished. “The events set in motion so long ago are finally coming to an end.”

  She looked around the room that had been her home for time beyond human, or even elven, reckoning. There wasn’t much to see, unlike the home she had had when she, and the world, had been young. Holding her clawed hands before her eyes, she wiggled her fingers.

  “Now do you remember all you have learned?” she mumbled in the song-like voice of her kind. The words alone left a trace of power hanging in the air, power that craved blood, like it always did.

  She had never been able to use the magic she had taught. Even after all this time she relied on life itself to fuel her magic. She shook her head.

  There was no way around what was to come, and she regretted it like she had always done. Not even Cat knew of the price her power demanded.

  Warbringer drew a knife and slit her wrist.

  For his people Bright-Eyes was the wisest and best searcher. He knew his way around the forest and the spooky ruins of the city of the nice people. The nice people had disappeared long ago, though, and now only tales, recounted from one generation to the next, was all the tree-people had left to remember. Well, that was not quite true. There was Bright-Eyes who told tales of the niceness of the nice people. He remembered them, for Bright-Eyes was old. Some of the oldest could remember Bright-Eyes being old when they were young. He always remembered the hiding-place of the stocks, so that no one had to worry about starving but the Oldest, as some of the older people called him, also ventured into the spooky city every once in a while.

  Today, Bright-Eyes led a group of bolder young ones there, knowing of some trees that bore the tastiest food.

  The group skittered over long deserted paths, instinctively using the undergrowth on the ancient stone-paths as cover. Every young one felt uneasy about venturing into the spooky city. They had heard about the things that haunted the stone-place, but the promise of tasty food made them overcome their fears.

  Bright-Eyes led them deeper and deeper into the spooky city. He knew his way around, following a straight path. Never looking back, he headed to the city’s center.

  Suddenly the young ones stopped.

  Bright-Eyes felt the chill breeze, too, but he remained calm. The others, though, couldn’t stand the sudden dread that surged up in them and they sped toward the safe forest. The Oldest shook his head, a habit he had acquired long ago. Something was amiss. It was a presence he last felt before the elves had left Honas Graigh, before the great trouble the burly humans had caused but it was also different.

  After the elves had left the city, Bright-Eyes had stayed with his people, to help in any way possible.

  He darted to an alcove and mounted the stones.

  The feeling was wrong indeed. The magic the elves had released to fight human wizards had been different. He had acquired a feel for mystical energies long ago, and this power was… wrong, far worse than anything he had encountered before.

  The breeze faltered and then stopped. Bright-Eyes looked around, trying to locate the source of the power. It had almost vanished, but he could detect a residue of energy, a lingering taint, just like the smell of rotten fruit. Or worse, flesh.

  He hopped down the stones again and followed its scent. It was definitely elven, though it also carried the strange smell of humans. It reminded Bright-Eyes of the smell that the ugly wizards had carried after they’d magicked up some really bad things. He shuddered. Those things had been really nasty. Burly men had defeated ugly, burly wizards and the stench had disappeared. Now it had returned, though it vanished quickly.

  He had to find its source.

  Moving slowly across the cobblestone, Bright-Eyes traced the disappearing smell. It reminded him of events that had happened many seasons ago, and it reeked of bad stuff. He still remembered how the streets went. Long ago he had walked them among the elves, running errands for his master, his friend. Those days had ended when the humans had begun fighting and had destroyed the beautiful city. The elves had gone off and had won over those humans, but afterward they had left their dwellings. Bright-Eyes understood them; he didn’t want to live in a ruined tree, either.

  The smell led him into a part of the city he hadn’t visited often. A quiet place then, but it had grown even quieter. He was certain the stink came from here. Standing on his hind-legs, he twisted his head from left to right and looked around, sniffing the air.

  Then he scuttled to the left and followed an overgrown path toward the source. His nose led him; the stench so strong it nearly choked him. It was magic, something he had been trained to smell from half a forest away, but it was twisted. His companions, the young ones, couldn’t have smelled it, but the wrongness, the tainted feel of the air, had scared them away. Bright-Eyes was glad; he didn’t want to endanger them.

  He reached a building that, strangely enough, was still intact. Among all those ruined homes, this single house was not. Bright-Eyes sniffed the air. Powerful magic surrounded the dwelling, protected it. The stench that covered the house was overshadowed by the wrong within.

  He circled the house and looked for a way in. Every home had to have a way in, be it window or door, big or bigger hole. He knew the difference between them, but had never bothered, for his friend and master had given him the power to pass through walls, but this time the magic prevented him from doing so. He had to find an entrance.

  Finally, he discovered a way in, a tiny hole in the ground. He crinkled his nose. Rats! The critters were everywhere. They didn’t respect the work of the elves. They were so like the burly men, always scavenging, always digging holes, and eatin
g away everything other people needed. They not only ate people’s food, they also killed for it. Bright-Eyes shook his head in disgust. Rats! Still, if this hole was a way in, he had to take it and find out where the smell came from.

  He blinked twice, making a quick gesture, and then edged toward the entrance, carefully listening for rattish sounds.

  Thanks to his master’s magic he had no problem seeing the dark passage beyond the hole. The path was smooth, worn by many seasons of use, and he hobbled down quickly and quietly, as was the way of his people. Fortunately, the rats had left some seasons ago; he didn’t smell a single live one.

  After a while he reached the exit and stood on a ledge, overlooking a nasty-smelling room.

  Bright-Eyes had seen many rooms in the city, before and after the elves had left. Before, they had been nice and clean, too clean for his liking; he had missed moss and leaves. Afterward, the rooms had become covered with moss and other plants, which he liked more, but since the elves weren’t there he didn’t like the rooms that much. The feel of the elves had left with them.

  This room was different.

  Not only did it smell wrong, but it felt gloomy. As if even the mere thought of the sun’s warmth spared this room. It wasn’t cold, yet it made him shiver.

  He wanted to discover why this place reeked.

  Slowly, carefully, he looked around, and when he found it safe he leaped down and hobbled across the floor.

  Flicks of ashes were strewn all over the room. They did not only smell burnt, as dead animals do when men sometimes put them onto flames, but it also stung in Bright-Eyes’ mind. They were bad, evil. The ashes were everywhere, save the middle. There was a free space, many strides wide and even more strides long. Its shape was rectangular.

  He crept closer, but not too near; his instincts took over, made him abandon his way, and before he knew it, he was cowering in a far corner, his body shaking. The center was wrong, more so than the rest of the room.

  What happened now, confused Bright-Eyes even more: out of nowhere a breeze came and brushed over the ashes, gathering them, collecting them. The wind closed in on the middle, piling up the ashes. Then it vanished, leaving the room quiet once more. Bright-Eyes knew something was afoot.

  Warbringer let her spiritform soar. She saw the world beneath, and felt her way through the myriad of souls that dotted the landscape like beacons. There were easier ways of doing what had to be done, but easy was the way and the sin of her people, and she was not willing to sacrifice others if all it took was a few drops of her own blood.

  Her attention was drawn to the northwest, and she followed the pull of power. It wasn’t easy to discern patterns in the muddle of what had once been Honas Graigh, home to the elves of Gathran before their exodus. The flow of old magic was strong here, not as powerful as it once had been, but still stronger than most other sites, with the exception of the Shadowpeaks further north.

  Not only was there a general magical aura about the place, but as she drifted closer she felt an uncomfortably familiar malevolent presence near Honas Graigh’s center.

  A mindstorm.

  The souls guarding this place should have been pure. Elves had voluntarily sacrificed their lives and bound their spirits to the Aerant C’lain to prevent their greatest achievement and failure from being repeated. Yes, over the ages some would have been corrupted, but this was worse than even she expected. Whatever had brought about the dissolution of the soulward, it must have been potent. Slowly the spirits that remained pure were driven mad by those that were not. She remembered the ritual, truly not one of the elves’ greater achievements, but not one of the sacrifices had given his or her life without knowing the danger. A memory nagged her. Now that she thought about it, she had been here only recently, drawn to Honas Graigh by the scream of innocents. Back then she had not been ready. Warbringer shook her head, saddened by her inability to protect those who lost their lives, but she knew she could not yet challenge whoever was at the center of the mindstorm.

  Then, as she prepared to follow the second, albeit weaker, soul north, she discerned the tiny bright soul the mind storm had almost overshadowed.

  “Would you look at that,” she whispered, “a familiar.”

  The presence of the storm prevented her from contacting the squirrel directly, but she was certainly able to draw the creature away from the whirlpool of madness that surrounded the Aerant C’lain.

  Bright-Eyes was scared. More so than ever before in his life, and he ran. Away! That was the only thought in his mind. The Oldest ran; blind panic overruling senses and reason, as he hurried through the rat-tunnel out into the sunlit plaza. Still he ran, even when the feeling of immediate danger was long gone he followed the urge to flee, an urge he could not quite explain. He willed himself to stop, but it was as if his legs and paws did not even hear his mind’s command. There was someone else here, in his body, he now realized, but before he could summon his strength to repel the invader, he heard her voice.

  “Don’t worry, little one. Only a little longer and we can talk,” she who was in his body said.

  The mindlink had another effect on Bright-Eyes as well. He remembered speech, and more focused thoughts and ideas. Words that were not chirps and rustles, the language of elves, returned in a rush that would have stopped his run had his body not been under the control of the speaker.

  With it also returned what Lloreanthoran had called his attitude. “I have a name, you know. And if you don’t mind, please tell me why you are taking my body for a ride around the forest.”

  His unseen passenger chuckled. “You’re a feisty little fellow, aren’t you?”

  “And you have not answered my question.”

  “In a moment,” she said with such a certainty that Bright-Eyes could only nod, mentally.

  A moment it was. His limbs stopped moving right after he had reached the outskirts of Honas Graigh, and Bright-Eyes felt the female presence leave his mind.

  “So?” he asked.

  “Do you know what place you have just left?”

  “If that’s an answer to my question, it’s a very strange one, indeed,” he replied as he sat on his hind legs.

  The spirit let out a sigh, and said, “I could not talk to you inside the Aerant C’lain. The mind storm would have sensed my presence and that I can’t risk, yet.”

  “But you could take me out for a ride?”

  He heard a chortle. “Gods, you are a piece of work, aren’t you?”

  “You try living a century with a bunch of squirrels!”

  “But they are your kind.”

  “Yes and no. Do you have any idea how tiresome it is to be the only one of your kind that actually knows there is a world beyond the forests? And when all of my senses slowly reverted to the instincts of my people, to actually be aware of your mind atrophying?” He hadn’t even been truly aware of those feelings until he spoke them out loud. How could he have been, his mind had turned into that of a mere squirrel, mostly. How could a squirrel be aware of its own limitations?

  He put his forepaws against his waist and looked up into the sky. “So, who are you, and what do you want?”

  “A name for a name,” was the reply. “You may call me Firebringer.”

  He nodded his head. “I’m Bright-Eyes.”

  “Bright mind as well,” Firebringer said.

  “Yup.”

  “And as to what I want. Let me put it this way, there are Veils which I better not pass. You, however, can do what I shouldn’t. If not bodily, then with the link your master and you still share.”

  “If he’s still alive,” Bright-Eyes replied.

  “If he is still alive, yes.”

  “And what shall I tell him?” He was getting annoyed with the voice’s riddles. Could wizards not speak clearly?

  “You know the place you just fled from?”

  “The Aerant C’lain.”

  “You know what goes on there? What has been going on for several years now?”

&nb
sp; How could he? He had just become aware of the greater world around again, and this spirit asked him such nonsense. Now that he thought of it, Bright-Eyes could at least connect some of the pieces of what he knew to what he had seen. “The shield’s failing …”

  “Not failing, being corrupted. It has been suffering for a while now,” the voice interrupted.

  “Whatever,” he grumbled and then went on. “Some stuff that had been stored there for ages is gone. I don’t know what was hidden in that tomb, but from the feel of it, it couldn’t be any good.”

  It seemed as if the unseen speaker nodded in approval. “Inside this place the elves had stored the vilest magic ever created since the olden days. The shield that was supposed to hold the knowledge safe has been corrupted and its guardian spirits are now twisted by madness.”

  “And that has what to do with the wizard who left me behind?” he made his annoyance plain to hear.

  “Someone has to start righting what has been wronged. The elves need to take responsibility for their mistakes. Tell your master that the door that has been locked for ages is about to be blown away. Tell him that the masters of old will soon reclaim what once was theirs, if we don't act fast.”

  Bright-Eyes remained silent for a moment. “You mean the demons?” he finally asked.

  “The firstborn, yes.”

  “But didn’t the humans beat them back years ago?”

  “They managed to lock the small window Danachamain had opened. If the elves don't act, there won’t be anything left to be locked.”

  He was about to ask another question, when he felt the spirit’s presence leave. There was only one thing he could do, and Bright-Eyes was both reluctant and excited to do something he hadn’t done in almost one hundred years. He hobbled back toward Honas Graigh, skirted the ruins to the south, and finally came to a building that seemed more than most to be apart from the way elves had built their homes.

  Although the ruin blended well enough with the encroaching woods, it lacked the pristine white of other buildings that could still be seen through the underbrush. Bushes, ivy, and low hanging branches now covered this drab building. Seen from afar one could almost mistake it for another plant, if it could be seen at all.