He remembered moving, or at least being moved, as he was still, at the time of his movement, unable to move himself. He remembered flying on the back of a Dragon, and as impossible as it was, he could not deny the utter conviction of its truth. As his mind transitioned from his remembrance to his present, he felt the supportive gathering of hay under his head and body. It was soft, providing adequate support, but it had begun to poke into his soft skin. His ears heard several mumbled conversations whose location he could pinpoint, if not the words themselves. His mouth tasted the rank sweat of several men sitting close to him, all of which were embraced by the sands of slumber. His nose could smell the sweat as well, but along with it, he could sense the odor of several animals, dogs possibly. Yes, dogs, and the more he concentrated upon them, the more aware of their breed he became. Within a few short minutes he was certain they were the Northern Red Hounds, well known for their tracking ability and used exclusively as adjuncts to the city guards, specifically the arm dedicated to the tracking and retrieval of escaped prisoners. It was well known that this particular breed had a sense of smell exceeding all other breeds as their lineage was traceable to lupine heritage.
Even without his knowledge of the dog's breed, he would have been able to sense his current confinement was within the halls and walls of a rather large dungeon. For reasons unknown to him, though he posed no threat because of his unconscious state, he was imprisoned behind bars in a cell held him and him alone. Yes, there were others who shared his similar state of confinement, but none within the same cell. This was odd to him because he could sense the location and number of each man within each cell, and he was the only one who was alone. In fact, each and every other cell contained no less than five other men, a few of which contained ten. So why was his confinement in solitude? Was he isolated to protect himself, or to protect the others?
"You there. I see that you are now awake," the statement was issued by a man seated three feet outside of his cell.
"Why am I wearing this blindfold? And why are my hands and feet in binds? What crime have I committed to warrant such confinement?" said Eriboth in a calm and unchallenging voice.
"I cannot say," answered the gruff and simple man. "I am only here to watch you and let them know when you are awake; and you are now awake."
"Who is it you are supposed to notify?" he asked.
"You will find out soon enough. You are of great interest to them," as he replied, Eriboth could hear the truth of his words. "They will be here shortly."
"Then I will await their arrival, for I much desire to speak with them," he said to the guard who looked at him sideways. Never had he heard a prisoner, taken under any circumstances, speak with a tone of this man's authority.
As the guard rose to exit, Eriboth attempted to remove his blindfold, but ran into resistance as his hands were bound not only together, but to the wall as well. As they were abruptly halted at least a foot from his face, he did the only thing he knew he could do, though again, he was unsure of how he knew he could; he extended his consciousness into his bindings and found he possessed the strength to break free, should he desire. As his muscles prepared to tighten, his attempt was ended by an all-consuming insistence that he wait and speak with those who were coming. Unlike his inner voice, that which he had always listened to and identified as his mortal intuition, he immediately identified it as something with its origin apart from him.
But such was the weight of the instruction he received, he was unable to resist and sat in quiet acquiescence, patiently awaiting those he was obviously meant to interact with. And as he sat bound more by his received instructions than his actual physical constraints, he decided to focus within himself. He knew he was Eriboth Dordrosis. He knew he was confined to a prison and he knew he was able to call upon powers outside of the limited physical construct within which all other mortals functioned. He knew there was a larger purpose to himself, his presence upon the grounds of Avendia, but he was unable to feel, with any certainty, what that purpose was. He knew he was meant to follow the leading of the separate voice that directed him to wait, but he did not know the nature of that voice.
Eriboth. As he searched his awareness for what this name meant to him, he began to have visions of his childhood. He knew he had a brother, and that his brother was a prominent figure in Royalty, but this royalty did not extend to himself. He remembered his mother and father, King and Queen. He remembered hours upon hours upon hours of education in the refinements and dignities of being royalty, although he did not remember directly sharing royal blood. But these were memories that were long past and held no relevance to his current identity or situation. In reality, they held very little significance to who he felt he was, and consequently, what he was here to do.
He remembered a life of searching and then a moment of finding. Though he remembered the stars, it was not they that conveyed the identity based purpose he now felt. With each moment he considered, or rather, focused upon himself, he felt the knowledge of himself growing closer. But it was still, if the physical could be utilized as an adequate description to the soul, leagues away. He remembered much of his life, but it was diffuse and faded, as if it was part of himself, but no longer held any sway over him. It was as if he was made a new creation, housed in the same physical body, but possessing none of his previously determined self-worth.
Worth. Value. He remembered a continual search for these, seeking to fill them by what he now considered as distractions, by consuming himself in the approval of those he entertained. Wait, entertained? He was an entertainer. He remembered words and emotions, tears and smiles, sadness and love; however, there was none of these he remembered as his own. Rather, they were created within those whom he entertained. But even these were distant, as if he was permitted entrance into another's life and memories. Yet, he held no delusions; they were firmly his and clearly a part of who he used to be.
Poems. Love. Her. He remembered her. Lifetimes ago, he remembered a vision of complete beauty; a vision of perfection within her imperfections because she was able to see he and his, and love him for them. He remembered leaving her, though could not recall the reason. But such was the power of his memory, and visceral nature of his love, that he knew the reason must have been powerful enough to cross into the realm of human necessity. For now, in the state he was, he could not imagine any force able to pull him away from the emotions contained within his remembering heart.
Return. Heart. Pain. He remembered its pain. He remembered his heart and its shattering, and with it was the capability to ever love again. As he sat, with his head declined and resting upon his knees, he remembered seeing her with another. White, she was wearing white. And she looked happy; at least her joy was indicated by the smile upon her face. Whatever his reason for leaving was, he remembered it had cost him more than he ever believed it would. And in that cost, he remembered losing himself, which lead to his searching. Which lead to, what? He was not sure.
"Well, well, well. It is nice to see you finally awake. Are you aware of how long you slept for?" said a very smooth voice, hovering between treble and bass.
"I am aware of a great many things, Wizard, but one of them is not the current state of myself. Tell me, how did I come to reside within your dungeon?" Eriboth said as his head was still resting upon his knees.
"You do not remember who I am, do you?" asked the Wizard.
"No, you are correct. I do not remember who you are, for I have never met you before," Eriboth said with confidence.
"You have not met me before you say? Then you certainly do not remember holding your sword to the nape of my neck and threatening to educate me upon the speed of your reach. Come now, Eriboth, surely you remember that," taunted Bengrako.
"I remember that as concretely as I remember that I was a member of the Royal Family of House Dordrosis, though that solidity is lessened as I do not remember, fully, that it was me."
"How do you mean, not fully you?"
&nb
sp; Ignoring Bengrako’s question, Eriboth responded with one of his own, "Why have you placed binds upon my hands and feet? And why have I been blindfolded?"
"Forgive me, it was not our intent to bind you at first, nor was it our intent to place that blindfold upon you, but," the High Wizard paused to search for the correct word, "it was found to be a necessity."
"A necessity? By whose standards was it deemed necessary?" asked Eriboth with authority extending beyond that of a prisoner.
"Mine," replied Bengrako, challenging his current captive.
"And who are you?" Eriboth asked as he turned his head to stare directly into the wizard's eyes as if his blindfold was of no consequence.
"It seems that we both know each other's name, Eriboth. And it seems we are both unsatisfied with it as a sole definition of each other's identity. But since you are in bindings and I am not, it is I who will be asking the questions seeking greater clarity into your identity, and not the reverse," Bengrako said in a voice of authority. "So now, I ask you, what happened to your eyes?"
Force, weight, remembrance, visions, all the answers to Bengrako's question, and all the answers to Eriboth's questions were unloaded the moment the wizard mentioned the word 'eyes'. He remembered everything with the acuity of the greatest of naval looking glasses. His entire life, including his death, landed upon him as if they had amassed into a great tidal wave whose only target was his mind. He remembered how he was forced to relive all of the transitional moments of his life through the perception of utter truth, and how this revelation allowed him to see himself for what he was, without self-deception. And with it, he remembered the shame of it all. But that was all it was; a memory.
Right now, even within his cell and bound by ropes around his hands and feet, he felt none of the condemnation he should feel in response to remembering his life and its consequences. Instead he felt freedom; a freedom he could not explain. And one he need not explain, because its explanation was based upon no principles of logically deduced justifications. But it was there, guiding his cascading understanding like a multifaceted waterfall with and endless amount of parts all creatively flowing into a singular end. And at this end was his purpose. But to reach it, he needed to follow the first level of the waterfall which ended at a door surrounded by light. He remembered seeing the door, but it was placed at the end of a very long corridor of darkness. Yes, the tunnel and door of light were the first two things he remembered before being on the Dragon’s back.
"My eyes? Yes, my eyes. I can assure you their function has been greatly limited. I cannot see in the traditional sense, but that does not mean I do not have sight. However, to answer your question directly, I do not know what happened, or to what end," he answered as he remembered walking through the tunnel. It was not the absence of light he remembered as being its most oppressive characteristic, however. It was not even the memories of his life, but rather the emotional clarity with which he saw them, and the resulting shame he felt as a result.
"Does there need to be an end to its purpose?" questioned the Wizard. "You speak as though it was a designed impairment."
Remembering the flood of all-consuming light as he opened the door, and the freedom he felt from his previous shackles of shame through the long and deep darkness, he answered Bengrako's question, "There was always a design and, hence, an end to that design. But think on this, though I am blind, do I seem impaired?”
Considering Eriboth’s question for a minute, because indeed the warrior seemed to possess no impairment resulting from his physical limitation whatsoever, he decided to answer with a question of his own, "Do you know its end?"
Eriboth did indeed know there was an end, but to what specific end, he could not say other than there was one. He heard his voice and the words he said, but with each of his answers he gave to the Wizard, he became more and more aware that they were not a reflection of whom he had been, but whom he now was. And while he knew he had been changed, his recollection of how and certainly why he had changed was just out of his reach. And so he followed the only leading he had, the internal waterfall into the all-consuming light beyond the tunnel. But it did not end with the opening of the lighted door, or with his progression through it.
As he transitioned from the dark corridor into the light, its brilliance began to fade, and he was left inside an existence of stark whiteness. Such was the totality of this whiteness, that it imparted unto him the lacking of all other things claiming to be white as only imperfections. Everywhere he looked, this white reflected a cleansing intention. So permeating was it that all things existing within had no choice but to be cleansed by its completeness. It was, in all comprehensions, perfect.
"No, but it is not my intent to know its end, only to know its present. And as such, I understand that it is, nothing more, and nothing less," said Eriboth as he now understood the removal of his shame and guilt.
"Granted, there is a benefit, or so we are told, to exist only in the present, but that still does not explain the condition of your eyes. And I must admit, they are rather," the wizard search for the appropriate word, "unnerving. At least, for those of common ability."
It was then he understood his eyes had reflected the pure perfection of his white surroundings as he entered the door. Yes, he could see how they would unnerve those who were immersed into the labels of mortality, those who could not see beyond the defining norms of physical existence and were instinctively repulsed by the unnatural. Yes, that must be the reason for his incarceration at the hands of this wizard. "So it is my eyes that have warranted my incarceration," he said with no question indicated.
"Well, to be honest, Eriboth, yes. It is completely due to your eyes, and with rumors of dark armies and all sorts of other treachery in the land, you can understand and forgive our apprehensions," he said as he extended his hand as a gesture of apology, but not remorse.
"Though you extend your hand, I sense and ingenuity behind it as though it is done to measure something else. Something questions and answers cannot contain. So you will likewise understand and forgive me as I do not grasp it," he said flatly and without challenge.
Withdrawing his hand, the wizard considered how Eriboth was able to know it was extended, also how he was able to sense the true intentions behind his action. It was also true that his eyes were the reason for his confinement, but not because of their appearance, though they were definitely worth asking several questions, but because they provided a physical justification to a greater concern, one that remained hidden from those whose perception was limited. Though his eyes were completely white, a pure white with no imperfections, he was yet able to "see", though the wizard suspected his sight was anything but the traditionally defined.
Physically, there were several structures, when present, resulted in sight. The research of the long dead wizard Corilianous suggested as much, even proved as much. Through his work, it was understood there must be a hole at the center of the eye to result in sight. This hole allowed the eye to intake light. Therefore, it followed that without it, the eye was unable to allow light to enter and thus, one could not see. It was also previously thought that it was the colored aspect held the key to the eye's proper functioning. However, later it was discovered that the colored interior served as more of a diagnostic function rather than purposefully adding to the ability for sight. So when rumors surfaced regarding a man who could see without the requisite structures, the wizards took notice.
"Quite right you are. But we are still here, you within your cell, confined by your binds, and me, still bound by knowledge I do not possess. So it is that I would submit to you an agreement bound by both of our words that would ultimately lead to each of our freedoms. Will you, Eriboth Dordrosis, allow your submission to a series of magical tests with the sole intention of understanding how it is you retain your sight in spite of the absence of that which is required to see?" asked Bengrako, indicating the reason for the wizard’s involvement.
To see. The
meaning behind the newly appointed High Wizard's request was obviously a reference to the mortal condition of traditional sight where one was able to detect the physical descriptions made possible by the existence of light. As such, what Bengrako was asking was Eriboth's permission to test his ability to physically see regardless of the absence of the physical structures of his eyes. But therein contained a problem. He could not see as defined by his mortality, at least, he could no longer see as he had before. But something, not a voice nor anything he could assign substance to as an exterior existence of himself, prompted his answer in the affirmative.
"Very good!" exclaimed the wizard with excitement. "We here at the University of Knowledge will be forever in your debt. And that is no small promise of collection. But first, we will need to find you suitable clothes. We cannot have you ascend into the visual halls of The University as its guest while dressed with those rags. They simply will not be measured equivalent to your stature."
Before the excited wizard rose to exit, Eriboth spoke, "I am afraid my answer will not contribute to your freedom as I have not retained my sight. At least, not in the terms you have defined. Nor will it speak to the state of my freedom, for in spite of my physical bindings, I am still free."
"What do you mean? You have just agreed to have your sight examined as a condition of your release," asked Bengrako.
"Indeed I have. But you should know, my dear Wizard, that in spite of the bindings confining my movement, my freedom exists entirely beyond the scope of physicality, and therefore, cannot be manipulated by you. As such, you are now presented with two greater questions: How can one see who does not physically see, and how can one be free when yet still physically bound?"
As Bengrako removed Eriboth's blindfold revealing a brilliant white he had never before seen, he spoke in response, "Perhaps we will find the answer to those questions as well, Eriboth. Either way, we will be thorough."
Convergence (The Dragon Within Saga Book 1) Page 68
