However, during each of those instances, she suspected those asking her identity knew of something deeper within her, or at least supposed there was more to the woman standing before them. Furthermore, it was each of their responsibilities to unlock more of her potential. As if the those who asked her were somehow in a position of greater knowledge than she, and she needed to acquire their knowledge to improve herself. But standing before the barbarians, she felt none of that. Actually, it was quite the opposite, as if she was in the position of greater influence and knowledge and they were asking her for an honest answer born from their lack of understanding, an understanding they believed she possessed. Yet, she could not imagine a position where she would possess more knowledge pertinent to the barbarian plight than the barbarian elders themselves. Yes, she was trained in their techniques at the School of Chaos, but no more than she was schooled in all of the different tactics for warfare.
Seeing no other alternative, nor possessing any understanding of his implied comprehension, she allowed her answer to reinforce what she had already stated, “I apologize for my lack of understanding, but I already told you who I was. I am Soliana Solaris. I am the leader of the refugees from the Stone Keep.”
The Barbarian who asked her the question sat quietly and considered her for a moment. Soliana suspected that he was considering whether to believe her ignorance as either genuine or fake. She supposed his decision would largely be decided on whether he believed her purpose existed as a threat, or a boon. Either way, she knew she was under scrutiny. As expected, there was a follow up question to her answer, but it did not come from the barbarian in front of her. Rather, it came from a voice from behind her. Startled, she turned around. The new speaker was still barbarian, but he was not dressed as the others were. Instead of being mostly bare chested, and wearing only lightly made leather armor, he was almost fully clothed in animal furs. Likewise, while the other barbarians had markings painted on them in either blues or grays, this barbarian was marked with dark red paint covering his face. But the most striking difference is that this barbarian was not a he at all, she was a woman.
“How is it then you were able to visit me in my dreams?” asked the woman as she walked over to her.
“‘Visit me in my dreams?’” Soliana repeated. She had heard tale of the barbarian shaman possessing some form of raw and untrained magic, but assumed they were largely just rumors or myths to explain some of the mystical fascination those who were not barbarian had with those who were. “I am sorry, truly. But I do not know to what you are referring,” she said addressing the female Shaman.
“Then you do not know about the prophecy of our people?” asked the woman as she moved to stand in front of the head barbarian.
“I am afraid I do not,” answered Soliana.
Upon hearing her answer, the Shaman exchanged glances with the elder barbarian who nodded his head. She turned to Soliana and spoke:
“Upon the winds when autumn comes
She leads through chilled deceit
Into the lands of sacred lost
When dreams in hope repeat
Our Princess saved from brutal hands
The lying Chief revealed
To place atop the throne of clans
The marriage bonds repealed
As fires scarred, she rides alight
Her flames of battle spread
Into their minds, or enemies
Will flee her blazing dread”
There was no sound other than the voice of the female shaman as she spoke. Her words were laced with a solid understanding and reflected a firm conviction that her prophecy was being fulfilled with the presence of Soliana. As she spoke, it seemed the air grew in gravity. Such was the attention she demanded that even the wind was stilled to silence. All eyes were on the Shaman save one set. The barbarian leader and apparent chieftain never took his gaze off Soliana. And although she was listening intently to the woman Shaman, she felt his eyes boring into her as if the weighing of her response would either prove or disprove the validity of the woman’s words.
“These were the words I spoke while in the Wakened Trance,” said the woman Shaman. “But I did not know who they were about until I entered the Dream Trance in which I saw you.”
“Are you sure these words are about me?” asked Soliana.
“Inside the Dream Trance, we Shaman are subjected to the influence of powers that are greater than we are. This is where we hear words and receive prophecies guiding our people. Each Shaman is taught the techniques required for its entrance from our very first words. All of the training I received from my mother, the hours of meticulous potion making and meditation techniques, are all done to allow us to connect with spirits from the realm beyond our own. Once inside this realm, or at least on the outside, for one can never truly enter it unless death has occurred, it is impossible to hear untruths,” she said to Soliana.
“I understand that. But how can you be sure the prophecy you just said is about me?” she asked the woman again.
“The correct interpretation of what the spirits tell us presents with its own difficulties. Because the beings we contact are no longer of the physical realm, their thoughts, words, and interactions are not governed by the same constraints we are subjected to. Because of that, there is much room for misinterpretations. However, under the gravest circumstances, the spirits will offer added council and clarity to the words they give us. This comes in the form of the Dream Trance,” answered the Shaman. During the exchange between Soliana and the Shaman, the barbarian chief still did not take his eyes from her.
“What is the Dream Trance?” she asked.
“I can say only that it is the point of no return. Its truth is so multiplied that those who enter it are never the same. For in the deep truths of immortality can we understand the ephemeral nature of the mortal. And once exposed to the consequences of knowing the infinite, one cannot go back to the finite.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the only way for you to know it, is to experience it. The spirits are ready to receive you if you are ready?”
Had her refugees not been threatened, then she probably would have refused the invitation. She had not the time to indulge into the superstitions of other cultures at this moment. Right now, for all she knew, the forces of the dark army could be furiously riding to capture the refugees. So, her time was limited at best. But just as she did not have time to enter into the delays presented to her currently, neither did she have the time to enter into a lengthy deliberation regarding them. So, and perhaps not at all in her best interest, she agreed to enter the Dream Trance in the hope it would be the quickest way for her to return to her people.
“What must I do?” Soliana asked.
“Follow me,” answered the Shaman.
She was led into an interior room behind where the barbarian chief sat. It was much smaller and had two raised beds in the center of it. On the walls burned torches of an earie green color. When the Shaman saw Soliana’s attention drawn to them, she said, “We add special herbs to the wood that causes it to burn dark green.”
“Is that necessary for the Dream Trance?” asked Soliana.
“Necessary, no. But it does ease the transition which can be quite uncomfortable for some,” she answered. “The process will not take long as the potions have already been made. I will enter the Dream Trance with you.”
“Why do you need to enter?”
“It will limit the possibility that you become lost and never return.”
“Does that happen often,” Soliana asked.
“It can, but because I will be with you, it will not. Just be sure to stay within the sound of my voice. Do not stray,” she said looking at her gravely. “Do you understand?”
“Yes. Where will we be going?”
The Shaman did not respond with any verbal acknowledgement that she heard Soliana’s question. Instead, she simply smiled and said, “Let us begin. And should you need it, my name is R
hashana. Just call my name of you get in trouble.”
Rhashana lead Soliana to one of the raised beds and bid her to sit. When she was seated, the Shaman walked over to a small cabinet, removed three small vials, walked back to Soliana, handing them to her, “Drink these. This one first, this one second, this one third. They will allow your mind to enter a state suspended between this world and the next. Reality is a very different thing on the other side. In life,” she paused and smiled before she corrected herself, “well, life on this side at least, is grounded to a set of very linear rules. Moments follow a predictable pattern of progression just like the sun rising before it sets. We wake up before we go back to sleep. Our perception of reality is dictated by our expectations as defined by these set of rules. But on the other side, in the beyond where life is not governed by a set of expected progressions, it is very difficult to decipher exactly what is real, and what is not. That is why you need a guide. Follow me and you will not be pulled into a reality that really is not.”
“As long as I see what I need to see, I will be fine,” said Soliana. She had never been one to believe in the fantasies of metaphysical possibilities. She had found that life in the moment, the tangible solidity of things in the physical world were what mattered most. After all, her life had been defined by the horrible atrocities of the world regardless of how many times she called out to the powers that may or may not exist. Time and time again her pleas fell upon either celestial ears that could not hear her, or indifferent ears that simply did not care to exert the effort to right the wrongs its creations had suffered upon her. However, given her surroundings and the peril facing her refugees, she had no other choice than to play the game.
“That is all you will see,” said Rhashana with a wink. Now, take the potions and lay back. As I said before, the transition can be somewhat uncomfortable.”
Soliana made sure to drink the potions in the correct order. The first one she noticed smelled distinctly like the field of flowers she and Dominia would sometimes walk in to escape the reality of their lives. She never knew the name of the flowers, but she absolutely remembered their smell. And just like decades ago, they smelled of hope and possibility. The second vial was more viscus than the first, probably because it was more densely packed with herbs, but it was just as smooth. Whereas the first one left her mouth and throat clean and clear, this one seemed to leave a thin coating. She felt her eyes getting heavy and noticed a slight tingling in the very tips of her fingers and ends of her toes.
She drank the third vial. Almost as soon as she finished it, she felt thick all over, as if her body was stuck in a vat of pudding that made it difficult for her to move. But it was not an uncomfortable feeling. It was rather warm and soft. Her mind was influenced in a very similar fashion, and before she knew it, she was lying down on her back looking up at the ceiling of the small room. From her periphery, she saw the green lights from the torches gaining intensity, but when she tried to turn her head to see them more clearly, she realized she was unable to move. The same was true for the rest of her body, even her eyes. As her gaze remained on the ceiling, and the green glow from the torches continued to grow, she began to feel like she was floating; but not in any particular direction or with any particular intent filled purpose. She felt as if she was floating for the sake of floating. She lightly and slowly twisted this way and that, seemingly rising up as she did. And then, everything dissolved into the deep green glow of the torches.
Had she been able to distinguish time in the moment between the green dissolve and when she clearly saw that she had been taken into a large room, she would have known it was only a fraction of a second, but as time was now an incomprehensible notion, she had no idea just how long she had been immersed in the green luminescence. Before she could consider it, she heard a horrible scream come from the direction of a door just on the other side of a series of wooden benches. As her vision attuned to the direction of the scream, she saw that the rows of benches ended in a raised dais upon which was fashioned a rudimentary altar with an odd symbol suspended just above it by a small, interlocking chain. Right under the suspended symbol and resting on the center of the dais was a large, copper or pewter bowl with what appeared to be a lattice of green marbling throughout the material. Off to the right, but still on the dais, were three drums of differing size, each with the same symbol carved into it as the one above the altar. Behind the alter was a huge, dark grey tapestry embossed with the same symbol as the drums.
Although she could see clearly, the periphery of her visual field was somewhat faded. Or at least she thought it was, but every time she tried to focus on it, whatever blurred residue there had been became sharply focused. The visual contradictions lead her to take inventory of her other physical senses. She felt her feet on the ground through the soles of her boots, but still felt as if she was floating. She saw everything clearly, but everything seemed to have a slightly hazy effect, as if she was looking at things through a faint mist even though there was no mist present. She smelled a crispness to the air that suggested late autumn or an unusually warm winter spell but did not feel any amount of chill that traditionally accompanied the crispness. One thing she did not notice were any of the ambient sounds of life that were always present, even in the silences of the deep night or in the solitude of a mountain top. There was nothing audible for her to focus on. Nothing, that is, until she heard the scream again.
“You are meant to follow,” said a diffuse, female voice emanating from all around her. She knew it was Rhashana’s, and knew it was meant to guide her and keep her from being lost. She admitted that she was thankful for it for no other reason than it provided a link to reality inside the dreamlike quality of this place. It was intensely gripping the way something not quite the same arouses the curiosity to the point of necessity. Even the scream provoked more curiosity than urgency, and had it not been for the intrusion of the Shaman’s voice, Soliana was not quite sure she would have followed it. But as it was, with the assistance of Rhashana, she resolved herself to follow the direction of the scream and opened the door.
Before stepping though, she found herself in another room much different than the one she was just in. Whereas the previous room was large and disconnected from personal intimacy, this room was much smaller and lent to personal connections. She looked to her left and saw two small dressers, each with two small drawers. Their metallic silver handles were set just above the etched symbol of the first room. The dressers were a dark wood, roughly assembled, but did not seem out of place. To her right, there was a large bed with four posts jutting up, each from a different corner. Atop the posts was draped a very thing cloth of black fabric. The bed and posts were made from the same make of wood as the two dressers. The door to her right was made from the same wood and had a large green symbol nailed to it. She looked at the symbol, but was interrupted from examining it further by the third time she heard the scream.
“Keep to the course. You are to be shown something you need to see,” said Rhashana, her voice laced with the diffusive nature of this place.
“Where am I?” asked Soliana, but there was no answer.
The third scream came from behind the door, but the balance between curiosity and urgency previously contained in the sound was beginning to tip causing her to focus more intently. She walked more quickly, and more purposefully. She gripped the handle. Before she twisted it, she heard another of the screams. This time, though, there was even less curiosity. She quickly twisted the handle and simultaneously reached for her sword. When her hand met air, she glanced down and saw that she was not wearing the armor she had been, instead, she was dressed in the night gown of her childhood.
There are moments in life when we are shaken so absolutely to our core that processing anything beyond breath is impossible. Such was this time for Soliana. As soon as her eyes lifted from her night gown, she looked through the opened door and was suspended by what she saw between horror and disbelief. There, on the bed, was a girl being
beaten by a man. Somehow, she knew who this girl was, though she appeared much older than she had ever remembered her. She knew the man as well. But he did not appear any different than what she remembered. He was exactly the same as the monster of her memory.
“Athlorial!” she heard the young woman scream just before she was brutally hit by her father. “Athlorial!” she screamed again. But Soliana was frozen in place by the horrible memories of her father beating her mother. Except it was not her mother who was the subject of her father’s horrible drunken rage, it was Dominia, her sister. But how could that be, they were both long since burned in the fires of her horrible past. “Athlorial!” screamed her sister a third time.
In response, her father placed his hands on Dominia’s neck and began to squeeze. Soliana stood and stared completely frozen watching the terrible scene unfold as her sister’s face began to turn a deep shade of red. She watched as her sister’s hands trying to pry her father’s hands off her neck, but seeing it was futile, tried instead to gouge his eyes. But he was too quick and too strong for the younger woman. He gripped both of her hands and pinned them to her chest allowing him to redouble his efforts to choke the life out of his daughter.
“Soliana!” said Rhashana’s voice cutting through her immobilized state. “Free her!”
“But I cannot!” she yelled back. “I am not strong enough!”
“You are Soliana, wielder of the burning flame and herald of promise!”
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