by S M Briscoe
“Orna can wait,” he answered. “I’m too exhausted to get into it with her tonight. Besides, I think we could all use a good night’s rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”
“Why?” Kern asked. “What do we have planned?”
“Yeah,” Sierra echoed. “What do we have planned?”
Jarred shot Elora a quick look as she stepped up next to him, then turned back to face Sierra. Already appearing less than pleased with the circumstances in which she had found them and with her obviously distrustful nature, she was regarding Jarred with a look of suspicion. Elora was positive he would have noted as much himself, but if he had, he didn’t show any sign of a reaction to it.
“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” he said, setting off in the direction of the village, Elora doing the same, while trying to ignore Sierra’s obvious glare, as she and Kern also turned to follow.
She wasn’t entirely sure what Jarred had planned either, but after what had just occurred between them, it was the furthest thing from her mind. What had just happened between them? The kiss itself had been mind shattering in its intensity, but what had the meaning behind it been? She wanted to talk to him about it. To ask him how he felt. But she knew better than to ask those questions now. There would be a better time and place for that conversation. For now, she could direct those very same questions to herself.
She realized suddenly that her head was actually clear enough to do so. The whirlwind of emotions that had been threatening to consume her since leaving Trycon had gone quiet. Even if it was just for a moment, she welcomed the relief. Though the pain and grief was still there, she could finally breath again. With all the bad that had occurred, there was at least one small ray of light for her to grasp hold of to keep from drowning.
For that reason, if nothing else, Elora allowed the slightest of smiles to come to her face.
* * *
This place was cold and desolate.
Far from the reach of the sun’s warmth, the ice world’s frozen surface was a barren wasteland, incapable of supporting any kind of life. Jarred knew as much, and yet here he stood, gazing out at the endless white expanse, feeling the cold sting of the wind against his skin.
This was a dream of course. He could not possibly survive out here like this otherwise. Without the protection of an insulated environment suit, he would be flash frozen in an instant. But where was he? He had never been to the ice world before, and yet, it still felt somehow familiar to him. There was a powerful presence to the world, or more specifically, somewhere on it. A hub of energy that he was being drawn towards. He had experienced a very similar sensation only just recently. He looked down to the sword in his hand. The sword that had sought him out. The source of the power he had been drawn to in the mountain. He squeezed the hilt of the weapon in his grip, feeling immediately comforted by its presence. It quelled his apprehensions about this place and the reasons for why he had come.
But why was he here? The sword had guided him to this world. Of that he was certain, as it continued to urge him forward even now, leading him on to . . . what? He had traveled here in search of something. Something important. What was it? He felt that he knew the answer, but it lingered like a haze along the edge of his consciousness, just beyond his ability to grasp.
As he moved across the frozen wasteland, he felt the powerful presence growing nearer, its source appearing to dwell within the mountainous ice formations ahead in the distance. What was it that was calling to him? The answer was so close. Why couldn’t he see it?
Perhaps it was because he didn’t know the answer. Not entirely. Not yet, anyway. Perhaps the thing inside the ice formation itself, that was so strongly calling to him, was what held the answers. The answers to all of his questions.
As he neared the now luminous entrance to the frozen mountain, he felt the anxiety of a lifetime of questions gone unanswered, of lost memories and missing pieces, all of which seemed on the brink of being answered and restored. He took a breath, holding it, before stepping through the bright opening.
The light faded to darkness and instead of finding the answers he sought, Jarred found himself in a familiar place, a long row of steps leading upwards before him. The ice world was gone, replaced by another, who’s sky was dark with a coming storm.
He had been here before, many times.
And he knew how this dream ended.
Chapter 26
Closing his eyes against the dawn's breaking light, Jarred let its warmth wash over him, taking in the soothing sounds and smells of the surrounding wilderness. He breathed in and out deeply, letting the sweet scented air purify him as he quieted his mind. Out of practice in the subtleties of meditation, he was surprised at how quickly he was able to find his center. It was this place, he suspected, or more likely, the mysterious weapon that had been hidden here, that allowed him to so easily calm his mind and body and bring them both into complete focus. The mysterious sword he now held in his hands.
Bringing the blade up, he twirled it back and forth around himself, testing its weight and feel. Perfectly balanced, the familiar weapon felt like an extension of, not only his arm, but his entire body. It sang as it cut through the air, a fluttering voice Jarred felt he could almost comprehend. As bizarre as it seemed, it was as though it enjoyed being wielded by him, or was it he that enjoyed wielding it? It was, at times, difficult to distinguish his own feelings from those of, what he was coming to think of as, the sword’s presence. As strange as it was to think that an inanimate object could feel anything, he felt sure that somehow, in some way, it did.
Crouching into a lowered stance, he brought the hilt in close to his body, like a coiled snake preparing to strike. Feeling the weapon’s energy building like a tidal wave gaining momentum, he held it in place, letting its electric tendrils dance through him. Finally releasing it, he thrust the blade outward in a powerful stabbing motion, continuing forward into a fiery sequence of slashes and parries. A flowing dance of perfectly balanced movements, each one blending seamlessly into the next. As he moved deftly, the sword seemed to bolster his strength and agility, its energy complimenting his own.
He continued the exercise, hardly aware of his own movements, letting instinct and natural rhythm guide them. When he finally brought the hypnotic dance to an end and let his conscious mind return to the present, he was surprised to find himself soaked through with sweat, unaware of how much time had actually passed.
Bringing the blade into a horizontal position in front of his face, he ran two fingers of his free hand along its smooth surface. Reopening his eyes, he followed his fingers along the blade’s length to its point, holding them there a moment before bringing them along one cutting edge. Feeling no stinging slice, he examined his fingers to find that the blade had indeed not cut him, as he knew instinctively it would not.
Through his peripheral vision, he saw a large rotted tree stump, and readying himself, lunged towards hit. With a single sweep he felt the sword pass through the stump, and not stopping, turned to thrust it through another tall tree, sinking it in effortlessly up to the hand guard. Releasing his grip on the hilt, he took a step back to inspect his strikes. The stump he had swept through appeared to be still intact and untouched. Pushing its upper portion with his foot, it slid off from its base, revealing the perfect cut the blade had made.
The blade was like no other he had ever wielded. It cut effortlessly, and even through solid stone, as he had learned in the underground cavern. Not only that, but the sharpness of the blade seemed to be controlled by his own thoughts. It did not cut him when he touched it, because he did not wish it to. Yet, what weighed more heavily on his mind was what he had felt when slicing through the stump and into the tree. Somehow, he had felt the cuts, as though he himself was making them. He had felt himself pass through the organic material, cutting through the dead wood and then the living tree.
Eyeing the protruding hilt, he stepped back to the tree and withdrew it with as much ease as it had tak
en to penetrate the thick trunk. He examined the unmarked blade, turning it over in his hand. Where had it come from? Who had forged such a weapon and how?
“Hey,” a woman’s voice called out from behind him and he turned to look in its direction. “What did that tree do to you?”
Elora stood, leaning up against a nearby tree, a smile on her face. Seeing her pulled him from his inner thoughts and he smiled in return.
“Just getting in some exercise,” he answered, starting towards her.
“I saw. Very impressive. Do you always exercise with your eyes closed?”
Jarred nodded, sheepishly. “Sometimes.”
“Well, just let me know if you’re planning to do any more when I’m around. I can move to a safe distance.”
“I will.” Jarred came to a stop in front of Elora and they both stood in silence for a moment. “How did you sleep?” he finally asked.
“Well,” she answered, looking a bit surprised. “Very well, actually. I woke up feeling better than I have in . . . a while. Strange, considering everything.”
He understood what she meant. He had seen the pain she’d been going through. What it had done to her to leave her brother behind. It gave him some relief to know that she was at least feeling a bit better. Seeing her smile again warmed him.
“And you?” she asked.
“Me too.” Truthfully, he had also slept quite soundly. More so than he could remember, himself. There had been the usual recurring dream, though this time it didn’t wake him in a cold sweat. And a new one had preceded it. The strange vision hadn’t so much troubled him as aroused his curiosity and, surprisingly, he had woke feeling rested and focused.
“You left this morning before anyone else had risen,” Elora began. “As usual. I wanted to talk to you. That is . . . I thought we should talk. About what happened . . . last night.”
Jarred grinned at her awkwardness and took another step forward, leaning on the same tree she was. “Alright. Let’s talk about it.”
Looking suddenly uncomfortable, she began to slowly back away. “Alright . . . well, I think that what happened was . . . very nice.”
Jarred smiled. “I thought so.”
“Yes,” she nodded. “But . . . also, I think that we were both a bit vulnerable and . . . maybe it shouldn’t have happened.”
Jarred furrowed his brow at her, stepping forward to follow. “Shouldn’t have happened?”
Elora nodded in agreement. “Yes.” She then began to shake her head negatively. “I mean, no. Not that I’m upset that it did happen. I’m not. Upset that it happened, I mean. Quite the opposite, really. I mean, of course I would want to.” She put her hands over her face, which was quickly reddening. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”
“No,” Jarred answered, grinning. “None, whatsoever.”
“I’ve just been under a lot of stress and very emotional,” she explained, “which is probably why last night happened at all. It’s my fault. It’s not yours. It’s mine. I apologize for that.” Bumping into another tree behind her, Elora’s backward motion came to a stop.
“And what exactly are you apologizing for?” Jarred asked, playfully.
Elora blew out a breath, causing the strands of hair hanging in front of her face to flutter. “You’re not making this very easy for me.”
Jarred put on a mock serious face. “I’m sorry. I just have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Jarred!” Elora scorned. “You do too. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Fine,” he admitted, keeping his serious face. “I know what you’re talking about.”
She folded her arms in front of her, putting on a stern look. “Well, do you or don’t you?”
Jarred shrugged. “I don’t.”
Elora scowled at him.
“Look,” he said. “Why don’t you just take a deep breath and tell me what it is you’re trying to say.”
Elora let out a moan of frustration, but seemed to compose herself a bit. “Considering everything that’s happened . . . or is happening right now, I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to . . . let our emotions get the better of us.”
Jarred stretched one arm out and rested it against the tree just above Elora’s shoulder. “I understand. You don’t think we should . . . start something.”
“Exactly,” she agreed, not seeming entirely sure of herself.
“I agree,” he said, placing his other hand on the tree above her opposite shoulder.
Elora looked almost surprised. “You do?”
Jarred nodded, leaning his face in closer to hers. “Absolutely. It’s a terrible idea.”
“Well,” she said, shifting her gaze away from his. “I’m glad we’re both agreed then.”
Jarred waited until her eyes came back to meet his. “So am I.”
He made to lean in again to close the small gap between them and stopped when Elora’s eyes widened, a look of general recognition rather than surprise, her gaze settling on something over his shoulder. Craning his neck around to see what had distracted her, he wasn’t entirely surprised to find Orna standing in the clearing, watching them. He had every intention of speaking with the strange being that had self admittedly led him here, and subsequently to the sword, but her timing couldn’t have been worse.
Breathing a sigh, he looked back to Elora who was already ducking under his arms to come up beside him.
“We can talk more later,” she said, backing away. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
Jarred thought to stop her, to ask her to stay, but resisted the urge. The conversation he was about to have would probably require some privacy, so instead he watched her go, waiting until she had disappeared into the thick tree line before turning back to face Orna. He eyed her for a moment, attempting to measure her intent. What was she leading him towards? He had no doubt that was what she was doing, but the where and why were still a mystery. Approaching her indirectly, he made his way to the edge of the scenic clearing to gaze out over the mountainside, remaining close enough so that they could speak comfortably.
“You are fond of her,” Orna commented, breaking the long silence.
Jarred didn’t bother confirming her observation. That made it no less true, of course. The more time he spent with Elora, the more drawn to her he was becoming. The more attached he was becoming. His initial instinct was to view that as a negative thing. Any attachment could be seen as a weakness, an anchor to hold him in place, though he knew that particular philosophy was a self imposed one, meant to keep people at bay. Apparently, it wasn’t working. He found it odd that he was actually beginning to analyze himself, and even more so, that he was poking holes in his own logic. His armor was failing.
Regardless, he didn’t intend on divulging any of that to Orna, and instead, changed the subject.
“Are you ready to tell me exactly what it was that I found down there?” he asked.
“Do you not already know?” she returned, seemingly unfazed by the abrupt subject change. “Inside the sphere, you were shown, were you not?”
“I was . . . shown something,” Jarred answered, still trying to make sense of the barrage of images that had been blasted, like a cannon volley, into his head when he had taken hold of sword inside the sphere. “But I don’t know what it meant. Or what any of it has to do with me.”
“Are you ready to know the answers to those questions?” Orna asked.
Jarred looked at her. It was a good question and, as always, she seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. Wherever all of this was leading, he wasn’t sure if he was ready for the end result. The questions that had plagued him all of his life, that he had tried so futilely to put out of his mind, were suddenly before him. Did he want to know? That was the question he needed to answer for himself. Not whether or not he was ready, but if this was what he really wanted.
“I’m still here, aren’t I?”
Orna blinked something akin to an acknowledgement. “Then it is up to yo
u now. With my help you have taken the first steps to finding the answers. Now you must continue along the path on your own. I have revealed to you all that I can. The rest you will need to discover for yourself.”
“How do I do that?” Jarred asked.
“By the same means that you found the sphere.”
Jarred looked to the sword in his hand.
“It will lead you,” Orna continued. “The sword has chosen you as its bearer. You are bound to one another now. It will protect and guide you, but you must first learn to listen to it. Trust in it. It is far more than a weapon. It is a key . . . to unlocking many things and many truths.”
Jarred considered her words. The sword would lead him to more answers. Orna claimed that she could not. He didn’t buy that. She knew far more than she was saying, but this had been her game all along. She didn’t give him answers, but redirected his questions back at him. Whether he liked it or not, if he wanted answers, he was going to have to find them for himself, just as she had said. Which left him with only one question to ask.
“So, where does it want me to take it?”
Though the question was a rhetorical one, and he suspected Orna knew as much, her answer was not totally unexpected.
“That is a question you must ask of that which leads you.”
He supposed he had already come to that conclusion himself. The dream. It was telling him where he needed to go. He woke with none of the answers he sought, but feeling compelled to seek the place out. Images of a frozen wasteland weren’t exactly coordinates on a map though. The system had dozens of frozen planets and satellites. Was he supposed to travel to each one? What was he even looking for? Would he know it when he found it? If the last day’s events were any indication, he supposed he would. He would feel it, as he had when he’d found the sphere. He was reaching of course, but under the circumstances, he had little else to go on. And what if he did find it? Would it only lead him to the dark place he found himself again once passing through its luminous entrance? His dream seemed to tell him as much.
