by Lloyd Baron
She stares at him with tight eyes and a small grimace on her mouth but nods her head and walks back past him in the direction of the yard. Fia smiles to himself before following after her.
Tarfleam Midigon was always a coward. Back home in Gressgs he used to hide behind his parents and his only friend Tye. Well, them… and a cudgel… or some stones. He always attacked first, through fear that he would be attacked—get them running before they can get you. He cannot even remember why it all started. They had all been friends at one point in his young life, but something had happened to change that. He had become an outsider as much as Derry’n was, yet he would not just simply take it like the big man did. First off he made Tye his own. It was simple to plant thoughts in the minds of the others. Tye was as bad as he was. Soon they were all turning against each other. He then presented himself as the only one who believed Tye and who trusted him. Tye always thought of himself as smart, but really he was rather stupid. Maybe more intelligent than Danlynn, but that was hardly a challenge. Once he had Tye, he began needling the others, making them fight, twisting the friendships that he was so envious of into mere husks of what they had once been.
Riochald had always been their leader of sorts as she was the eldest, and she was the first target of his hatred. She was to go to the shrine and present herself with her bonded to be as it was written within the laws of their country. Any of those who were of the right age who did not have a bonded would be put aside until they could have a bonded found for them. If there were none of their own age group then they would look to those one sun younger. Riochald was one of those who had been put aside as she knew she would be. However, Tarfleam had snuck into the grand library during the pairing and somehow managed to remain unseen while he removed her name from the list. On the final day of the shrine Riochald stood dressed in her bonding gown. It was a rather beautiful flowing dress with white lace and silver threaded embroidery running through it, but her name was not called. She stood there alone, hands trembling at her sides. Tarfleam was standing in the corner watching with a smile on his lips all the way until that moment. He wanted her to suffer for some reason, but seeing her there, standing so small and broken, dressed to be bonded when there were no others left….
He had hesitated. He hated himself suddenly for what he had done and was about to step out of the shadows and announce that he would bond her, when she fled. She didn’t run far before the head of the shrine, Master Toshin, caught her into his arms and held her while she cried. It was that day that Tarfleam Midigon realized that he was a monster. A monster he would grow into and become every day. Not anymore; he can make amends for everything he has ever done. He started with Riochald many suns ago and he will start with her again. He will guide her towards the love that she missed out on and he will not stop until she is happily in the arms of Fia Sharphorn, the only person he has ever seen not pull away from her.
Almost as if they have heard his thoughts both his old nurse and the mountain man stroll into the practice yard where he is sitting. One of the Dark Clan had retrieved him from his room a while ago and was trying to explain the gifts that he could feel inside Tarfleam. It is not that he is not interested in what was being said to him, it is just that he is not telling him anything he did not already know. He could feel the life energy of living things was new, but this only explained what the strange feeling was when he touched something. That he could speed up aging by feeding power into this life energy was still only adding fancy words to what he had worked out. What he really wanted to know was how he could use it to help others or to hurt those who are chasing them. Beyond that though, were the other things he knew he could do. He knew that people sometimes did not see him even when he was standing right beside them. For many suns he felt like he was invisible to everyone in the whole world; yet sitting in the Queen’s residents listening to her call him “the Thief” and giving him the cloak that changed color and shimmered, he had felt something deep inside: information about himself that was still hidden but of which he could begin to form some semblance of knowledge. They had been told not to reveal too much about themselves, but he had to know what was locked inside his head.
“I need to talk to my friend,” he says getting to his feet. “I will return shortly.” He goes to leave, but the Dark Clan simply catches hold of his wrist and tugs him back to the grass. Tarfleam narrows his eyes and sets his jaw. He is beginning to hate this man.
Bassok’shu sits with his legs crossed under a tree, his dark robes discarded so that he only wears a pair of baggy black breaches with green ivy embroidery up the sides and a sash in the same green. His chest is bare and well-muscled with small black hairs making an x shape between his nipples. Tarfleam had for some reason thought that he would not look so normal while he was undressing, but twice the man had caught his elbow while removing his robes and had to do an odd dance to free himself—really scary these Dark Clan! The man fixes a firm look of his own and in a tight voice tells Tarfleam to stay and to concentrate. Bassok’shu was one of those Dark Clan who had thrown himself into the study of the outside world and put on a good show of having a temper.
Tarfleam does as he is told. He closes his eyes and begins to concentrate on the grass in the way he had been instructed. He feels it instantly: a war of life and chaos as the grass fights with everything around it to dominate and grow. The life energy feels like warm sunshine on his face and relaxes him deeply within his core. It is what he is about to do that he has failed on every attempt since they arrived here. Each blade of grass has its own life force, tied together with the others by its roots. He had been instructed on how to feel through all of them until he found a single blade and fed power into it to make it grow. They had had to move twice because he had fed so much energy into the ground that the grass and plants around them had engulfed the pair in moments.
It is not like he can see what he is doing; nor is it feeling along with his hands or even his mind. It seems to be sounds and colors and textures swirled together to form, not pictures, but something like that. If grass is unrelenting and chaotic, forcing their brown and green armies everywhere they would take, then roses are sleek, beautiful ladies in flowing gowns, gliding about a great ballroom to floating music of harps and flutes, all the while waiting to strike with thorn-shaped daggers. Slowly the roaring of the life energy all around him ebbs away, and as he tries to fix his thoughts onto a single blade of grass he hears a slow, lonely song and the image of an elderly creature. It forms as a wolf, turns a circle and settles down to die.
Tarfleam follows the sad lament until it reaches the source, and the sadness floods into him. He snaps open his eyes and follows the trail across the yard to a single wild pansy twisting back and forth between Riochald’s fingertips. He stares at her, the sadness of the dying flower still filling his entire being. If he can feel the sadness of a single pansy then perhaps he can tap into the person holding it in the same way. He settles back to the chaos of the yard but keeps his thoughts focused on the pansy; but nothing else seems to stand close to it. How is it he can feel it at all as it is not connected to the ground, its roots no longer in the soil? He shifts his focus instead on trying to feel the earth in which the grass grows beneath him; if there is a war then there must be a battlefield for them to fight upon. The roots pulsate life into his vision, yet between them there is nothing, just an empty space. A void. He pushes his thoughts into this space and, as if a wall collapses, he tumbles into the darkness. Something malevolent snaps its attention upon him. Cold corrupting eyes bore into his mind, though they do not seem to know what he is. He thinks he feels his body shudder. He turns away from the watcher, trying his best to ignore the feeling of dread that is slowly filling his senses. He casts his mind out in the direction of Riochald through the thick, never-ending black. A rapturous explosion of emotions hits him so suddenly that he yells out and opens his eyes. The Dark Clan is staring at him with those blank eyes, but everyone else just ignores him as usual.
“What happened?” Bassok’shu asks blandly. “I notice that the grass has not grown under us again.” The smile which slips crookedly onto his face does not touch those eyes.
Tarfleam glances past the man and stares at where those emotions had formed. Fia Sharphorn spars with Chaz but his eyes dart every now and then to Riochald, his jaw is set and his eyes are tight. She pays as little attention to Fia as she does to him. For a moment Tarfleam watches the dance, for that is what it is, between the two mountain people. Their weapons never come near to touching as they move from formation to formation. Fia swings his mighty two-handed sword with large sweeping motions and twists so easily that he could be wielding a stick, while Chaz’s twin blades move with deadly precision, swirling so fast that it seems as if she is a series of still images over his vision. The large man hefts his blade skywards at the same time as Chaz steps forwards, her blades crossed defensively in front of her face. Riochald looks up then and Fia smiles despite himself and flicks the blade downwards over his head. The clash of steel rings out across the practice yard and Chaz drops her blades, clutching her wrist.
“I’m fine,” she snaps before Fia can move an inch towards her. “How am I to learn if you do not let the blades touch? It is just that I did not realize it would sting so much.” Fia mutters something but Tarfleam has already returned his attention to the Dark Clan.
“I just spread out too far. It overwhelmed me a bit.” He is not even sure if what he just said could happen, but the Dark Clan seems satisfied and returns to his meditation, adding that he still needs to concentrate on that single blade of grass. Tarfleam closes his eyes again and pushes his way back into the darkness between the roots. The unseen watcher is still there waiting, but Tarfleam turns away hurriedly and pushes his will outwards. Guilt flashes into him briefly as he passes Fia and what seems to be jealousy and annoyance from Chaz but he moves on quickly. Darkness rolls over him and smothers of his entire form, darkness so thick that even the unseen watcher seems to back away. He tries to pull back from it but he is held fast as if in thick liquid. Thousands of hands reach out and grab hold of him, tugging him in every direction at once, clawing deep into his flesh. He screams but no sound comes, no breath fills his lungs to make a sound. Panic engulfs him and he starts thrashing around in the oily bonds. Oily bonds. Riochald’s aura. A face lashes out of the darkness, twisted and unrecognizable as human. Jaws of razor teeth snap at his neck. Then it stops short, and seems to regard him, even smile wickedly. “Tarfleam Midigon,” it purrs an instant before sinking its teeth into his throat.
Tarfleam flings himself backwards into the tree Bassok’shu sits under, and the sudden jolt of pain causes his eyes to open. He clambers to breathe and finds his lungs filling with air. He shudders with relief and drops his head to his knees. Nobody even glances in his direction, not even the Dark Clan. What had that thing been? He stands slowly, not wanting to disturb Bassok’shu and creeps across the practice yard. It galls that nobody pays him any attention, even as he strolls between the sparing giants. He sits beside Riochald, who studies the flower between her fingers like it has the answers to all her questions. He does not know what to say to her. I just looked at your aura and it tried to eat me. He is about to ask about the flower when he sees Bassok’shu stand and scan the yard. He calls to Fia who stops his fluid motion to answer.
“No I haven’t seen the scrawny runt anywhere.”
“Fia,” Chaz admonishers harshly, but softens her voice when she talks to the Dark Clan. “He did not pass us here. Only a fool would walk between two practicing swordsmen.” She laughs mockingly.
A fool, is he? He goes to stand and call her the fool when Bassok’shu turns his eyes on Riochald. “Did you see the young man from your village leave the yard. He still has much to learn.”
Riochald begins to shake her head but does not get the chance. Anger bubbles up in the skinny man. It is one thing to ignore him but quite another to outright pretend he does not exist. He jumps to his feet and waves his arms at them screaming at the top of his lungs. “I’m bloody here, you fool-brained idiots!” Riochald leaps off the bench, startled horror forms a mask over her sadness. Bassok’shu does not flinch, only cocks his head to the side. Fia pulls his sword ready, but Chaz flinches, her swords missing Fia’s face by inches. A moment of unsettled silence stretches for no more than a few seconds, yet with startled eyes all turned his way it feels like hours. The clatter of Fia’s huge sword hitting the paving stones causes them to jump again; all except Bassok’shu who merely turns his head in that direction. The mountain man leaps angrily forwards, big arms lifted so fast that Tarfleam is still flinching from the sword ringing out. He hears himself yelp like a child but has no time to defend himself as those strong hands grab him around the throat.
“You pathetic little runt!” the man screams into his face, speckling him with spittle. “Jumping out on us training! Do you know how dangerous that was? Do you?”
Tarfleam’s shock is short-lived and his anger returns. It had been they who started it. If they had not ignored him in the first place he would not have needed to shout. He takes hold of the big man’s thumbs and tries to pry them off. “Just as dangerous as ogling Riochald while training, I’d wager.” He instantly wishes he could take that back.
“Fia,” Riochald barks but her eyes burn into Tarfleam’s. “Let him go this instant. He did not jump out on anyone. He was simply not there.” Fia narrows his eyes and he snarls, showing no sign of relenting. Perhaps he would have if he had he not made that jibe about him ogling.
“The young healer is quite correct. He did just seem to appear from the air.” He considers Tarfleam with those dark unfeeling eyes and for the first time Tarfleam is afraid of the man. He still wears only his baggy breaches but has his robes flung over a shoulder. Those eyes were weighing him like a farmwife deciding which of the hens to cook for a feast day. “There is no power residue. It was a natural gift.” That false smile reappears and he steps closer. Large bats begin to flutter around Tarfleam’s insides. He wants to run, but the mountain man still has him by the throat. “Perhaps you know how to shift. It is rather common, although most do not know they are doing it. Are you by any chance an assassin?” The Dark Clan’s head jerks to the side in that strange bird like manner they all seem to have. “There is something else here, though. Tarfleam, there is a…”
Tarfleam has heard enough about him and his gifts for the day, the sun even perhaps his entire life. He had been the one who was normal, the one without powers; he and Canace. Now he can feel life energy and make flowers grow until he kills them. He can feel people’s energy also, the sadness and the hurt felt by others. To discover then that he has another gift is too much to stand. He just wants to be normal. He digs his nails into Fia’s thumbs and tries to wrench himself free.
“…strange and unsteady power surging through your…” The Dark Clan’s hands fly forwards and he raises his voice. Not a note of panic enters his shout but it does sound urgent. “Tarfleam! Not blood! Do not split the skin!” His hands settle on Tarfleam’s and he is flung backwards a few paces. Tarfleam and Fia turn their heads to watch the Dark Clan regain his feet, his robes forgotten. “Tarfleam, let go of him! Fia, let go of him!”
Fia stares back at him defiantly but finally his face relaxes and the tension leaves his shoulders. Tarfleam goes to do the same but something stabs into his fingers. He tries to pull his hands back but they won’t move. He frowns down at his own hands, clutching Fia’s just below his chin. He wants to let go but cannot make his fingers open. “I… I… ca… can’t,” he stutters.
“Neither can I,” Fia says with a shocked expression. “What magic is this you have now, Midigon?”
“He is connected to your life energy,” Bassok’shu says as he approaches slowly, his face studying the pair of them. “Your arms, Tarfleam. You have two different energy patterns running through them. It is like they are not your arms.” Tarfleam glances at Riochald so fast that he almost misses the startled loo
k that she tries to smooth over with a frown. “Your right arm is drawing energy from Fia, taking it into yourself.”
“Taking my energy!” Fia roars. “How?”
“I do not know how he is doing this; it is not a power I have any experience of.”
Tarfleam shudders and can almost feel the serpent tattoo burning through the sleeve of his shirt. The woman in his dream had given that to him. She had called it a gift that would help him do a job for her. He had kept it a secret, and nothing had happened until now. He focuses his thoughts on that arm and he can feel Fia’s emotions coming through the link. So that is how he had done it! He had opened a box within himself trying to help Riochald, begun using the serpent tattoo to drain energy; perhaps he had even taken energy when he had watched the man sparring.
“I healed his left arm,” Riochald says stepping closer. Bassok’shu waves her to stand back; she stops her approach yet does not back up. “He was badly burned and I used my healing to mend it.” She searches the Dark Clan’s face for something she will not find there.
“That would explain what the energy is doing there. Yes… yes. It is similar to the power you have surrounding you, my dear. A dark twisted form of healing. It works, yet seems to leave this residue behind.” The Dark Clan moves forwards so suddenly that everyone flinches away from him. “What have you done?” He bellows an instant before absolute pain engulfs Tarfleam everywhere in his body.
He flings his head back but no sound comes to his open mouth. Tears leak down his cheeks as the cramp hitting his entire being pulsates harder. Somewhere, seemingly far away he hears a deep agonized screaming. Adding to the pain are raw emotions. Not his own but Fia’s. Fear so strong Tarfleam wishes for his death to come so that he does not have to feel it any longer, fear of death and wanting death and wanting to live so badly. Another emotion sweeps through him also. Self-contempt for dying by his own hand, the hand of Tarfleam Midigon, and not on a battlefield or in the arms of Riochald as an old man. Tarfleam fights the surge of power and thrashes around in Fia’s grip to sever the link.
