Shadowrun - Earthdawn - Mother Speaks

by kubasik

  I was furious at myself as well. Why hadn't I tried to escape yet? I had to find the two of you. Yet, to make my way down Twilight Peaks, alone, and then travel across Barsaive to Sky Point ... assuming the Overgovernor's castle was still there ... We had needed time to rest and recover from our battle with the Therans and the treckas. But we were better now, and it was time to move on, agreement or not.

  All these ideas passed through my mind, though at the time they came not as words but as overwhelming emotions. I pulled my hand away from him and began to walk away, saying, "Come." He followed, and when we had found an isolated spot amid a few boulders, I addressed him with firm tones and a stiff body. "We have to go now. We can go now. We have to find Samael and Torran."

  He put his hands on my shoulders, and I shrugged them off. How often do men try to replace intimacy with domination? "I might make it down the mountain, Releana," he said. "But I have the abilities of a thief adept. Without equipment I don't think you would manage."

  "Enough. It will be difficult. Will you come with me to rescue our sons?"

  "In just over a month ...”

  "Our boys may be dead! They might be dying right now. If you won't help, I'll speak with the others. I know some will come with me."

  I began to walk past him, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back. The muscles of his face became twisted and tight, a mask I'd seen hundreds of times before. The man who only minutes before had been a swirl of motion and impromptu tales was suddenly frozen and unable to speak. He struggled to form his thoughts into words, but as had happened so often before, the ideas clogged in his head, blocking one another from finding release.

  "I want to help them," he finally said, softly. Whatever it was he needed to say, this sentiment was not it. It was a sentence carefully picked to keep me concerned for him.

  Not for our children, but him. He said what he thought I wanted to hear.

  What I wanted to hear—what I have always wanted to hear from him—are all the ideas that so clogged his thinking and jammed his words. I wanted him to take his time and let them out slowly, one by one, so that I might listen to each one carefully, tend to them, like children, and finally understand what it was that had haunted my J'role for so long.

  7

  Perhaps this is why he has written to me. Is he finally ready?

  8

  We stood in silence for a long time, he consumed by whatever monsters ate at his thoughts, I by frustration.

  "I don't have time anymore, J'role. Either be a father to these boys, or do not. But stop thinking you can be a father off in a corner, without the problem of actually being responsible for your children."

  His head snapped up then, and he looked straight in the eyes. I saw him become determined—a determination as affected as everything else about him, it seemed to me.

  HR held my gaze for an appropriately dramatic amount of time, then said with a level voice, "All right. We'll get

  Then, to make it clear he had assumed fully the responsibility at hand, he walked by me, defiant.

  I think I sighed. I certainly sighed at the memory just now. Your father was an idiot. He knew only how to show concern, not be concerned. It never seemed to me a subtle distinction, but the number of people I've met who confuse the two is overwhelming.

  He stormed his way to Vrograth's cave. Even in my anger I was relieved by this turn of events. Whether his heart was in it or not, one thing was simply true. When J'role set his mind to something, he usually got it done.

  9

  Dark furs and blood stained shields and swords hung from the walls of the cave. Several large fires were burning, their red glow flickering across the ornamentation— sharp and bright on the arms, dull and dark on the furs. The shifting illumination and the odd combination of textures on the wall tugged at my attention, making me somewhat dizzy.

  The firelight pulsed with a rhythmic flickering, and its red coloration reminded me of the pulse of blood from a wound. The objects on the walls seemed arranged in a pattern, though I could not quite grasp it. The overall impression was that the mountain was somehow alive.

  Vrograth sat on a large mound of furs, with several of his notable warriors surrounding him. J'role and I stood before Vrograth, having roused the chieftain and his followers from their sleep. The trolls had asked if it could wait until morning. I would have been willing to do so, but J'role would hear none of it. His chest puffed out, he made it clear the matter had to be addressed now.

  Krattack supported J'role, arguing quickly that Vrograth should see us before any emergency situation got worse. Though the logic was sound, it seemed to me that Krattack simply argued the opposite of whatever Vrograth wanted. If Vrograth had wanted to listen to J'role and me immediately, Krattack would probably have advised getting a good night's sleep before hearing problems and making decisions. As was common in such situations, Krattack won the moment, and Vrograth convened a clan council.

  The cave was hot. The breathing of the dozen trolls gathered echoed through the cave, adding to the impression of its being something alive. Vrograth stared at us, bored and looking somewhat stupid in his sleepiness. He treated us much as he treated the children of the clan— with indifference and occasional fits of annoyance. Only J’role's stories made him think of us as anything but servants, and that impression left him the moment J'role finished his tale.

  He yawned—a massive yawn that turned his mouth into a cavern filled with large, sharp, yellow stones. His yawn ended, and he abruptly pulled back his shoulders, placed his huge hands on his massive knees, leaned for ward, and said, "What you want?" Suddenly his bearing was powerful and worthy of a leader. His attitude and proportions turned me instantly into a child standing before my father, hoping he would find what I had to say pleasing.

  I was taken aback. J'role, as usual, was not. He raised his hand, dramatically, the wrist slightly turned, his fingers pointed up the ceiling. He opened his mouth to speak ...

  "No, storyteller," Vrograth interrupted. "No story." He leaned even closer to us, and drew air audibly into his lungs. When next he spoke, his voice was soft and menacing. "What you want?"

  It was at that moment I realized we were less than children to him, we were pets. And though pets must be given a certain amount of attention, that attention is limited. I realized that if we were to gain anything from our audience, it must be done quickly.

  Directness seemed an innate part of crystal raider culture, and I thought it the best tactic.

  "Chieftain," I said, bowing, "the Therans—the people who fly the stone ships—stole our children several months ago. They have enslaved them. We want permission to leave and get them back. We must get them back."

  When I looked up, I saw Vrograth staring down at the ground. His eyes seemed fixed on a distant point. I realized then that he was not stupid, but thinking did extract an enormous amount from energy from him.

  Oddly, Krattack seemed impatient. He licked his lips. His eyes contained the realization of being on the other side of youth, the knowledge that whatever dreams he had would come true now or never. He took a step toward Vrograth, and this time there was no smile of the competitor or taunter on his face. Suddenly serious, he also seemed about to speak before Vrograth had made a decision.

  Or, at least he wanted to. Without turning his head, Vrograth swung up his hand toward the old troll, a lazy swing that would have shattered some ribs if it had connected with me. Krattack pulled back at the last instant, then tried to step forward into the fist's wake.

  But Vrograth said, "No."

  For a moment I held my breath, not certain whether he was speaking to Krattack, or telling me my request had been denied.

  "No," he said again, more firmly this time, and suddenly I realized he was speaking to both of us.

  "But Vrograth” the old troll said with a gesture toward J’role and me.

  Vrograth turned sharply on him. "I say NO!”

  That last syllable echoed endlessly down the cave and then
rushed back up, filling my ears with despair.

  "Chieftain," I began again.

  Vrograth stood then, leaping off the mound of furs, and stood before me, towering over me. He poked a finger into my shoulder and I staggered back. J'role leaped forward, in a reckless attempt to punch the troll, but Vrograth merely swatted him away. J'role slammed onto the ground, and two warriors pinned him down with heavy feet.

  While J'role squirmed and tried to get away, Vrograth spoke loudly at me, his face inches from mine, his hot breath streaming down against my flesh. "I have spoken. You made deal."

  Krattack made one more attempt for my case. "True Chieftain ..."

  Vrograth turned on the old troll, his face full of rage and suspicion. He cocked his head to one side, examining Krattack carefully. "Others warned me about you. You turn on me now?"

  Krattack's body went still and stiff, and finally he shook his head. Just slightly.

  "Good. I sleep NOW!"

  With that he turned away from us. The trolls released J'role, and the warriors made a line to block us from their leader as he stretched himself out on a mound of furs. Krattack stood outside the line with J'role and me, separated from Vrograth. I saw him look with longing past the warriors. Then he turned to us and said, "I think you had better leave."

  There was, of course, no choice—other than risking our bodies in a desperate argument with an adamant troll. We passed through the flaps of fur at the mouth of the cave and out into the cold night air. It chilled my flesh, but that was nothing next to the icy fear filling my heart for the two of you.

  10

  "We'll just have to go ...," I said under my breath.

  J'role answered, "We can't. You know that.

  "I don't know that! Don't tell me what I know!"

  "How are we going to get down a mountain?"

  "I'd rather die trying than do nothing."

  He grabbed one of my shoulders. I shook his hand off. He grabbed both my shoulders. I whirled around. "Don't do that?"

  "Do what?"

  "Try to force me."

  "Force you? Force you to do what?"

  "To ... Just force. It's never what you're trying to make me do. It's the forcing. It's the forcing all by itself."

  "We were talking about going down the mountain ..."

  "Now we're talking about this."

  "What this? What's this this? What are you talking about? Forcing? What about the mountain?"

  "Forget the mountain ..."

  "Isn't that what we were talking about?"

  "It's not what's important right now."

  "All right. All right. Tell me now. What's important right now." He crossed his arms and stared at me silently. There was nothing to be said. He wouldn't listen. I began to walk away. "Releana," he said, surprised, but I kept on walking. I wanted nothing to do with him. I heard nothing after that, not even his footsteps pursuing me, and that made me even more furious. Was he truly so cowardly? Any idiot can face a monster—

  circumstances often demand it, whether for survival, a desire for glory or wealth, or a desperate, hidden desire for the final rest of death. But how many men fail to face their wife and children? Too many.

  I made my way to a poorly made tent where my companions and I slept. I slapped aside the flap of fur, but calmed myself when I saw that my fellow former slaves lay gathered around a dying fire, stretched out and fast asleep on their furs.

  I turned back, one last time, to see if J'role followed. If we were going to have a scene, I would rather do it outside the cave.

  He was nowhere in sight.

  The stars shone bright, appearing at the edge of the cliff and rising up and over me. They reminded me of the fingers of babies—tiny and unique and magical in their mystery. No one else was about, and for a moment the deep quiet stilled my fury. It is odd how our passions, no matter how intense, can become snuffed and transformed in the face of the awe inspiring magnitude of the Universe. We are but small specks in the face of history, which stretches backward and forward endlessly from the moment of our contemplation.

  I felt both chilled and warmed by these thoughts. It is not pleasant to acknowledge insignificance. But it is freeing. One can act as one wants, live as one chooses. Our passions and actions are glorious if only because they should not matter against the cold indifference of the Universe. But they do, we make them matter. We have that power.

  I realized I was not alone. A large, still figure that I had at first mistaken for a tall stone now moved. A troll.

  The shadow moved its hands to cast a spell, and before I could react, a shimmer of silver light formed itself around the caster, revealing Krattack. Strangely, I could see his face clearly, despite the distance and darkness. His eyes particularly. He stared at me, and it seemed as if we were very close to each other. "Will you speak with me?" he asked. His voice was soft, barely audible, yet I heard every word quite clearly.

  11

  I was not afraid. After the encounter in Vrograth's lair, I knew there was more to this troll than I had originally suspected. I knew now Krattack was an illusionist of some kind, and I would indeed speak with him.

  He waited for me to approach, and then without another word, led me down a gently sloped path. When we were out of sight of the rest of the camp, I created a large flame in my hand so we might walk more easily through the night.

  Finally we reached a collection of rocks resting against a sharp rise in the mountain.

  Krattack placed his hand against the side of one rock, then slowly lowered himself onto another large one. How old was he? In the last hour, age seemed to accumulate on him like raindrops from a stormy sky. Illusionists, I knew, were crafty, and did not always depend on magic to carry out their deceptions. Did he usually carry himself with more youth than he actually possessed? In the violent society of the crystal raiders, where strength mattered so much, such a ruse might serve him well.

  "Apologies for such a late meeting," he said.

  I spread my arms. "Please. Thank you for what you did in Vrograth's cave. I appreciate it."

  "Nothing, at all," he said, kindly, like a faint memory of my grandfather. Then serious.

  "Something, actually. I wouldn't be honest if I didn't tell you I had my own reasons for trying to help you." I remained silent I didn't know what to say. "You listen. That's good.

  I can't say I'm used to that around here. A noisy bunch. Deliberation is a rare commodity here."

  The quality of his Throalic was very good, and I commented on it.

  "I'm from the lowlands, originally. I was captured at the age of twenty. The Stoneclaws raided my village, killed some of my people, including my parents. You know of the custom of newots?"

  I shook my head.

  "Odd bit of business. Newots are prisoners taken by crystal raiders." He turned his bald head up, his old face searching the sky. "Not prisoners, really. They take you in as their own. Not just trolls. Anybody. But usually trolls. Trolls can survive the harsh life. Most other races might not make it out here. Exhaustion soon takes them." He paused, stared at me. "You look concerned. It happens. People die."

  Once more his words confused me into silence.

  "A harsh point of view, I know. But living with these people—the death of my parents—

  coldness can be acquired. At least your husband—yes?—he is your husband—?" I nodded reluctantly. "At least your husband is helping to reduce the work load for the rest of you. I don't know where he finds the strength. Humans don't usually possess the endurance, but he's going to keep some of you alive. That much I'm sure of."

  "I'm ... What are you talking about?"

  He looked at me carefully. "Those rests your people take while the trolls of the clan continue to work—you don't think that's normal, do you?"

  I shrugged, embarrassed.

  He laughed. "They're not. You're doing it because it seems normal to you. Not normal to a member of a crystal raider clan. No. But it's all right because J'role makes so much noi
se with the children all day long and then telling stories half the night that he creates the illusion you're all so busy. By representing the rest of you with his antics, he gives you the chance to do whatever you want. A simple manipulation of attention, but it works."

  The words stunned me. I hadn't thought of it that way, but it certainly seemed possible.

  "I'm sure he isn't doing it on purpose," I said suddenly.

  Once more he examined my face, as if looking for the solution to an intriguing puzzle.

  "Whatever do you mean by that?"

  "I ... I mean, he just plays with children. He just tells stories. He doesn't mean to be helping us."

  "Us?"

  "Well, not that he's not part of us ... It's just that...” My words trailed off into confusion.