by Lloyd Baron
“It’s the blood,” he hears between the heart wrenching cries coming from Fia. “Something to do with when he touched the blood. Think of our lessons, boy! Think of that blade of grass. Push the energy in a different direction.”
Tarfleam clenches his eyes tightly and grits his teeth. He can only feel Fia’s life energy pouring into him. Life blood. The pain ends abruptly and both men sag to their knees. Fia’s hands are no longer around his neck, but he still clutches the man’s thumbs. “Did I stop it,” he pants as he regains control of his senses. He looks upon Fia and begins to weep. Laying with Riochald, and with Chaz supporting him, he is small and shriveled like he has been in a bath for days. His skin is broken in many places and blood oozes thickly down his sunken chest, which rises slowly with life. “I’m sorry,” is all he can muster to say.
Suddenly the man sits bolt upright and screams into Tarfleam’s face, his creaked lips tearing open and spraying blood over the old bully. His eyes roll up into his head and he slumps back down, but he supports himself slightly more than the girls are doing. As they watch, the wounds begin to close, his skin smoothing out and knitting together, wasted muscles growing firm and strong again. Everyone gazes at Riochald, but she holds up her hands and shakes her head.
“It is not over,” Bassok’shu mutters as he crouches beside the pair of them. “You have diverted the flow of energy in the opposite direction. You are giving back what you took from the man but you are giving too much. Like with the grass…”
“He’ll grow too fast and…”
“And what?” Chaz screams. “He is getting better, is he not?”
“He is already better then he was, my dear. Even old wounds have healed, scars he was proud of have gone. He is aging. He is perhaps almost a sun older than a moment ago.”
“Older,” the mountain girl whispers and then more fiercely. “Let go of him.” She grabs hold of Tarfleam’s hands, but jerks them back as if scolded. “Please stop this,” she crumples to her knees and sobs. “Please!”
“I want to stop. Make me stop!” He glances at Riochald, sees the fear in those sad eyes. She will lose so much if this man dies. Her only chance of love, love he denied her. She knows what he means, but she shakes her head. “Kill me, Riochald. Please kill me! Stop me!”
“If she cannot,” Chaz breathes the words out as she reaches to grab her sword.
“Ah, there it is,” Bassok’shu says leaning in closer to them. He puts his hands together like he is praying and then reaches them out between the two men. Tarfleam eyes him and Chaz together, his desire to have this end reaching a fever. “This will hurt.” The Dark Clan flings his arms open, striking the backs of his hands against the men’s chests at the same time. A force like a bull hits him and he feels himself tumbling through the air, the wind rushing around him. His ankle hits the back of the bench Riochald had sat upon and he flips over it, bouncing across the gravelly stone paving. He comes to a stop. He gives himself only a moment to feel the pain before he pushes himself to his feet and hobbles over to where Fia and Bassok’shu lay slumped. Chaz is on the far side of the yard and Riochald crawls from a patch of long grass. They had all been hit by whatever the Dark Clan had done.
Tarfleam clutches his battered body as he staggers across the practice yard to where the mountain man is just beginning to sit up. He hurts everywhere and can feel blood running down his face; but it is the hurt inside that drives him forwards. Chaz and Riochald are there in seconds. Chaz is running hands all over Fia’s body trying to find any wounds, while Riochald just stares, unshed tears in her eyes. Tarfleam smiles despite himself. He tries to take another step, but his knees give out and he falls flat on his face. Strong arms grab him and lift him up like a father would a baby.
Fia Sharphorn hefts him easily over his shoulder and begins to carry him towards the large doors at the back of the garden. The large man mutters something in an angry tone. Chaz falls back with a sullen and bitter twist to her features, all the while staring hate into Tarfleam. “I feel fantastic,” the mountain man calls back to her. “Now let’s get this little runt to a healer.”
Tarfleam closes his eyes and the gentle swaying motion of being carried settles him. He can hear Riochald’s breathing close to his face and for the first time in his life he takes comfort that the woman is close.
Halk’sha’s eyes slide back in the direction of the pile of books in the corner of the bed chamber and he stops his lecture. Darwin’t frowns at the books, not for the first time but refrains himself from asking after them. Halk’sha is fond of talking as it is, not that he can be “fond,” Darwin’t reminds himself. It seems that at the very least the Dark Clan is finding having him around unsettling. He had explained that some emotions, or what we call emotions, are in fact natural bodily reactions to events in our environment. Dark Clan can get nervous, and if they are in mortal danger they do feel fear. It is just not that emotion as others feel it, it is purely physical and does not impede the mind. Darwin’t has a sense that Halk’sha is nervous about something that very second. His constantly glances at the books, but then his reluctance to mention anything about them is almost like the time Danlynn had written a poem to Florence Bloom and hidden it under his pillow. He looked at the pillow so often that Darwin’t knew something was hidden there. With Canace’s help they had distracted Danlynn’s mother long enough for him to sneak into her son’s bedroom and take the parchment. He had been right to hide the thing—it was awful! In that instance they had both handed the poem back to Danlynn, told him what they felt about it and ran off laughing. He could see doing that here would not be very useful.
They sit in silence for a few more minutes until it is clear the Dark Clan has forgotten he is there. Finally he takes a deep breath and asks the question he has been putting off. “So those books over there; are they any good?” Halk’sha’s eyes flick back to him and he almost seems started to see Darwin’t sat upon his bed. Darwin’t cocks his head to the side in a mocking reflection of what he has seen many DarkClan do and ponders if being alarmed is possible for a Dark Clan. Is being startled anything to do with emotions? If Halk’sha had been startled he certainly does not show any sign of it in any way but a slight widening of his eyes momentarily. A very slight widening. The Dark Clan grimaces or perhaps smiles; either way he sweeps from the bed and grabs the book on the top of the pile.
“They are tales of love. I borrowed them from Marragest, who in turn had borrowed them from some of the maids. They have been bothering me ever since I started reading them, and I only read them because Marragest said he had been bothered by them. They are not very well-written. The language used is basic but then I do believe they are written for people who have less intelligence than I. It may also be that the author was not competent or had never been in these situations so had no prior knowledge to base the ideas upon.” He narrows his eyes at the book and opens the front cover. He hastily scans through the pages until he finds one that he is looking for and clears his throat. He begins to read in the blandest voice Darwin’t has ever heard reading a story. He smiles to himself. Even worse than Danlynn trying to act.
“She would never feel his hands upon her shoulders or the gentle touch of his fingers in her hair. She remarks to her sister that she could live with never touching him again, yet as the tears leak down her face like a bucket with a hole in the bottom she cries that it will be his smell and his smile that she will miss forever…” Halk’sha closes the book and stares at Darwin’t as if waiting for him to answer a question. Darwin’t shrugs and the Dark Clan begins to explain. “I would like to know why you would miss a smell. If someone smells then surely they need a bath. Why would you miss a dirty person over a person who is clean? I would find it very distracting to smell someone every day. Marragest thinks that perhaps she enjoyed washing him and that by missing his smell it meant giving him a bath.”
Darwin’t laughs so hard that Halk’sha does indeed flinch. His head twitches and he blinks his eyes a few times. Tears be
gin to trickle down his face and he swipes at them with the back of his hands. He wheezes to a stop and composes himself while the Dark Clan just waits, his expression unreadable. “I guess it is to do with love. Everyone has a smell and not a dirty smell. I do not really know how to explain it but I cannot smell men, I cannot smell you and you are very close. But I can smell Canace when she walks into a room, even if she is far.” He sighs and tries to think of a simple way of putting it. “I love Canace,” the words just come out and he feels his cheeks begin to color and he rushes ahead. “When I am close to her I can smell her, it makes me feel safe and loved. It makes me warm.” The embarrassment becomes too much and he trails off, fidgeting with a frill on one of the pillows. Halk’sha nods once and asks his next question. Darwin’t winces. “Why can she live with not touching him again?” He repeats the question. “You thought that being touched was what people in love do…” Oh, by the Creator, this is torture! He looks at the pile of books and wishes he had never asked. “Erm… well… you see it… I um do not know.”
“Have you never experienced becoming physically linked with another, as I suspect the author had not? His descriptions cannot be real things.” He starts to flick through the pages. “The small injured girl you arrived with. You say you love her, so you must have…”
“No!” Darwin’t barks roughly. “That would not be proper before we are bonded at the shrine.”
Halk’sha stops turning pages and looks up. “The lady in this book is unmarried or bonded and she does not seem to think it improper on many occasions.” He turns the page and looks as if he is about to start reading again.
“Perhaps we should continue… um… training. Dreams and all that.” Darwin’t’s face burns under the steady gaze of the Dark Clan. Darwin’t muses that even the thought of sharing this bed with this strange man will be less uncomfortable than that line of conversation.
“Yes of course we can. We very much should, in fact. I apologize for turning the subject away from important matters to ones of hobbies such as reading. You have helped me, however. Smell can be emotional as well as practical. I would never have thought of it like that. As for the other matter I will need to ask more questions when we are done with your training.” He places the book back on the pile and moves over to his desk, talking as he does so. “Greshuim of the Nature Clan can do wonders with plants. He made this little concoction that can stop all pain. He is working on a way to make it taste pleasant. At the moment it is so bitter that pain is better than the taste.” From anyone else Darwin’t would say that was a joke, but coming from Halk’sha, he knows it is simple truth. Not really knowing why the subject has been switched to this, he just sits there quietly waiting. Everything he had ever been told or learned about the Dark Clan is clearly wrong. If anything, they remind him of a bunch of elderly women who have forgotten how to act around those much younger than themselves. “He has tried everything,” Halk’sha continues as he searches through the desk. “All the tests end the same way. Your young lady friend will probably have the same grimace on her face as I did for the next few days. It is a shame that your old healer friend decided to stay outside the walls. He would have been useful here with tests and such.”
Darwin’t smiles slightly at the mention of Canace but he blushes furiously at the remembrance of that last conversation. Wonderful, now he is thinking about her in ways he should not be. Why shouldn’t I? He thinks angrily. We would have been bonded by now had we gone to the shrine. It is not too late. There are two weeks left of the shrine this sun. They could make it in a week if they pushed the horses hard. To distract from that line of thought he says, “Riochald makes nasty-tasting powders. Unless she wants you to suffer as punishment she puts it inside hollowed out dried beans. They can be slightly hard to swallow but better than the taste.” He shudders when he remembers the time she had made him crunch the bean instead of swallowing it, all for having a sulky face.
“That is ingenious. Greshuim will be impressed and will probably try to adapt the vessel used in some way. Ah here is what I am looking for.” He carries a small silver box no larger than a ring box, worked with detailed scrollwork on the lid over to the bed and sits down. He opens the lid and sets it aside, removes a tiny silver spoon and places it upon the upturned lid. “Pour us two glasses of water, would you? Only half fill them.”
As Darwin’t swings his legs over the side of the bed and begins to pour the water from an ornate silver pitcher into two glasses etched with swirl patterns, Halk’sha begins teaching him again. All his false emotions gone. “There are three things you must always remember in the world of dreams. First is that it is only a reflection of this world. However, sometimes things change there, move by themselves or disappear altogether. We believe this is to do with things changing in this world, though that is mostly speculation. You have to be careful. An empty street can suddenly have a carriage rumbling down it. No horses or driver to slow or halt it. So keep your eyes open.
Second, is that dreams can suck you in, or rather you can be sucked into the world of dreams. A dream made real can kill you and death there is death here.”
“I could die!” Darwin’t bellows, his uncertainty replaced with cold fear. He sloshes the water over the side of one of the glasses and hopes it was not noticed. “That should be your first point not the second.”
“You need not fear. During our lessons we will use this powder. It puts you into a deep and dreamless sleep. No dreams, no threat. It will only be once you are trained and enter on your own that you will be in any danger.” He waits for Darwin’t to nod, which is one of the hardest things he has ever made himself do.
By the Goddess! Does everything have to have death hanging above it?
“Returning to what I was saying. Dreams may trap you. You could dream of your perfect life and you won’t want to leave, starving to death in this world, unable to be woken by anyone. Nightmares are different, and you can only run or wake yourself from them. A sword in the chest is a sword in the chest. If you ever see anyone else in the world of dreams, leave. They will most likely be dreamt up or up to no good.
Third and last, is that you can move time forwards in the dream world.”
“Can we call it something else? I like dreamland.”
Halk’sha tilts his head to the side and then smiles or grimaces—it could be either. “That was a joke? Indeed, it does have a real name. It is called Je Sub Threllin. Threllin is the name of the man who first went there and Je Sub means ‘to dream’ in the old tongue.”
“It was a joke,” Darwin’t says and smiles at the curt nod from the Dark Clan.
“As I was saying. In Je Sub Threllin you can move time. I simply will the sun to set and to rise, and that works. I can only make it move a short while before I run out of control, and it stops. Perhaps you will fare better.”
Darwin’t hands Halk’sha the glasses and the Dark Clan spoons some of the white powder into them. The water swirls around the glass on its own and Darwin’t believes magic had been used yet there was not any sign of this. Halk’sha hands the glass back, and like Riochald had always said, it’s better to get it over with, and so he pours the whole glass of water into his throat at the same time as the Dark Clan tells him only to take a sip.
Darwin’t has only a moment to stare at Halk’sha before he drops the glass and tumbles from the bed. He hits the carpeted floor but it affords little protection, and he jumps up. The fall from the bed shocks him out of the effects of the drug. He rubs at his back and goes to complain that Halk’sha needs to work on his warning technique when he realizes he is in the room alone. “Halk’sha!” he breathes, turning a circle in the room. Where could he have gone in the second he had been on the floor?
“You drank too much,” the Dark Clan says, rising from the bed. Darwin’t grabs for a large book before he realizes it is just his teacher.
“I am asleep?” He mutters glancing around at the room. It looks no different from the waking world, but something about it se
ems wrong. It feels like there are more people in the room than just the two of them. “I feel like I am being watched,” he says folding his arms to hide the fact he had gone to attack the Dark Clan. “Is that normal?”
Halk’sha nods and strides to the door. “It is stronger when you are in normal sleep. At the same time that you are here you are also dreaming standard dreams. It is those dreams you can feel. Those dreams you can drag here. If you ever feel frightened here then you are having a nightmare. You are lucky to have that ability over myself.” Instead of opening the door with his hands the door simply opens and the Dark Clan is striding through it. “You will get used to things here quickly. Doors open and close. Fires burn and give light or snuff out, but you can still see as if they are burning. You will understand.”
“Where are we going?” Darwin’t calls as he quickens his pace to keep up.
“Just to the next room over. I want to show you something.” On the long climb up to this floor Halk’sha had mentioned the Dark Clan who lived in this room was always up late making notes. He traveled around the world all the time and only came back once a sun to write a book of his travels. He had returned the day before they arrived. The door is open as they walk towards it. The pair walk into the well-lit room. “What do you notice?”
Darwin’t scans the room and right away sees what Halk’sha refers to. The contents of the desk are shifting from one place to the next. He never actually sees them move; they are simply in one place and then the next. He glances at Halk’sha and the Dark Clan nods. “Is he at the desk in the real world?”
“He is always at that desk in the real world. That is how I knew you would get to see this part of Je Sub Threllin without trying too hard.” He looks at Darwin’t, seemingly weighing him with his eyes. “Try to picture the sun in the sky. It is midday and you are working in a field. You are so hard at work that you do not notice the sun is setting and it is night. Now as you walk back towards your home the sun rises and sets with each step you take. All you need to do is think of the sun moving and…”
