My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Fading out of the air itself, golden light shifted around to lend form to the arriving creature. It looked human, the silhouette almost a painfully thin female without hair or legs. Instead, the torso aimlessly drifted in the air as if the creature was above using legs or wasn't capable. No, the latter couldn't be it. Lana tasted the power rising around her - far more formidable than anything she'd felt before. There was a hint of a face beneath the light but the features were nondescript, only a dark shadow inside the light to give away the nose and mouth.

  It floated above her, not spitting fire or lightning, when a voice both smooth as silk and hard as ice flowed through the air. "I thought it long past time for introductions, Lana Amell."

  "Am I supposed to be surprised you know my name, demon?"

  The creature chuckled, "Demon is what you call those that attack you, and yet I have done nothing of the sort. Do you not recognize me?"

  She shut her eyes tight almost terrified of whatever form this one would take. The others came to her as the borrowed faces of her dead friends. Lana never questioned it, assuming they were plucked from her mind the same way they dipped in and out to take whatever else they wanted. "No, I only see light. A lot of light."

  "Perhaps it is my failing. I do not tamper in the realm of mortals often."

  "Then why are you here?" she shouted, her eyes watering from the strain of staring into this feminine sun.

  "Because," the light dampened slightly and the spirit floated downward towards the ground. The torso and head skimmed six feet above the surface almost as if it bore legs. "You drew me to you, as you did the others."

  "Another one? Wonderful," Lana groaned. Jowan already had free rein of her memories. What could another pick from the remains?

  The spirit chuckled again, a disturbing laugh that began bubbly and sincere until reaching an edge where it shifted into a sarcastic bray. "No, my darling, you misunderstand. I am not new, I have been here the entire time of your banishment. I've always been with you, since you first entered the fade."

  Lana shook her head, "No, I'd have felt you. Seen you. At least tried to kill you like I did Nathaniel." He took it rather well, all things considered-- the spirit always popping back up after her attacks and kindly asking for new orders. It was around that point she accepted he probably wasn't a demon. By the time she discovered Wynne, Lana grew used to spirits showing an interest in her.

  Something inside the spirit's chest lightened to a rose gold, lines of power streaming out like ribbons through its body. "You have felt me."

  "I..." she gulped, her fingers digging into her stomach, "someone, something saved me from the nightmare demon. Healed me before I died and then kept me pinned here while it was sucked deeper into the fade."

  "You're welcome, dearest," the spirit purred.

  "I'd assumed it was Jowan..."

  "Sadly, our little regret cannot handle much beyond himself."

  Lana snorted, that sounded just like Jowan. Even then, the real one often needed someone to help him helping himself. "Why help me?" Spirits weren't altruistic unless they were the spirit of giving. They took for the sake of need, and crossing over into want could give rise to a demon. She'd only managed to strike a bargain with Jowan because his nature already skirted the line, and if he ever tipped the wrong way she'd strike him down instantly, which he was vividly aware.

  The spirit craned its flat face towards the Black City and sighed, "Because I am nothing without you."

  "You were the one who-who snuck into my brain, who stole that memory when I was bathing," Lana riled up from the disturbance, waving her staff in the air.

  "I did nothing of the sort. I do not need to violate your memories, you created that thought of your own volition. The idea of you washing your skin reminded you of washing his."

  "That," Lana threw her hand up, awkwardness rising through her legs. She did not want to have this discussion with a spirit, "that's not the... You listened in on my memory."

  "Of course, we all do," the spirit hummed, its fingers parting through the air as if it was trying to comb the thickening clouds.

  "Maker, it's just as I feared..." Lana sighed shaking her head. If the nightmare could easily pull out their greatest fears, then the other spirits and demons had to be browsing all the time as well. She hoped that maybe being here could change it. That her being a mage might protect her from their claws, but every ounce of privacy she once held sacred fled from her the moment she fell into the fade. "Why have you come?" Lana suddenly asked. "If you don't need to talk to me to take whatever it is you are, then why reveal yourself?"

  "My dearest is sharp," the spirit hummed and Lana felt both proud and dirty from the tone. "I am here for your sake."

  "Mine?" Lana scoffed.

  "You need something, a want that's aching from your bones. It's so powerful its drawing the others near, others I've been keeping at bay for your protection."

  "I...I didn't know that." No wonder she'd been able to sleep at times, to have quite days, to survive at all. What was this spirit?

  "You're glowing brighter than usual, your flame attracting more demons from the darkest parts of the fade, and I would like to help."

  "To help how?" Lana didn't trust it, didn't trust anyone anymore. She couldn't afford it.

  The spirit parted its hands and hung them wide as if it was blessing Lana. "However you require, of course."

  Lana touched her forehead, raking her filthy nails across the skin as if that would dredge up the memory of the unexplainable. "Why do I dream?"

  "I'm afraid that's not my speciality," the spirit said.

  "Then you are no help to me. I need to speak to Wynne to solve this. It's my first possible answer since the breaches closed. I..."

  The spirit's hand lashed out and grabbed onto her wrist. While the others felt warm with human skin, this one's temperature altered from a boiling heat to a cold deeper than the most barren tundra. "There is more to this place than what lies beyond. Surely you've noticed by now that you shape this land. It is drawn to you, the only mortal here, twisted by your thoughts, your memories, your soul."

  "So I gave myself poisonous apples and that two headed horse creature?" Lana snorted.

  "Mortals are surprisingly complicated creatures. If you let me help you, guide you, then you can change things here."

  That caught her attention, "You're saying I can alter the fade itself? Maybe even find a way out? Make myself a way to freedom?"

  "Anything is possible," the spirit said. She'd had nothing to go on for what had to be months now. Lana lost track of time in this night-less world, but she felt the day of the last breach slipping further and further away from her. After combing through the few books washed up in the fade, and trying her hand at gathering lyrium to burst through, Lana was out of ideas. The worst remaining option hung in the air high above her head, taunting mortals for daring to breach it, and she refused to even contemplate it.

  This may be her last hope. "What do you need of me?"

  The spirit smiled bright, "Relax, give me your memory."

  "Why?"

  "To alter the fade, you have to alter your mind, put yourself at peace. I know an easy place to begin. Here, let me." Before Lana could object, the spirit plucked into her head and yanked her back in time.

  9:28 Kinloch Hold

  Pain boiled up through her wrist from the slap against her knuckles and Lana tried to twist away from Aaron's thrust. Or maybe it was a parry. She had no idea what was proper sword fighting terminology, not that they were using swords. Someone thought it a grand idea to teach the apprentices to use wands to channel their mana, which lasted all of five minutes before they broke off into groups and started fighting with them.

  "Hey!" Lana shouted from the attack, shaking her wounded fingers. She spotted the beginnings of a bruise across the back of her hand. Slicing through the air like she held a saw instead of a stick, Lana tried to attack Aaron, but at nearly a foot taller he easily swiped her away and then
struck her again. The wand scattered from Lana's fingers, flying across the room and clattering off the tower's stones.

  "What is going on here?!" their senior enchanter for the day flew into the room, both hands on her hips and a sneer already in place. Every apprentice froze mid-attack and sheepishly lowered their arms. "We are to be using these wands for practice, not amateur swordplay."

  "That's practice," one of the mages spoke up, "just not the magical sort."

  "Give me your wands!" the senior enchanter hissed extending her hand. Muttering half hearted apologies, each of the apprentices dropped their stick into her bracken fingers and they shuffled out of the room with bent heads hoping someone else would bear the brunt of her wrath. "What about you, Solona? Where's yours?"

  Lana frowned at her proper name, then pointed at Aaron. "He..." but the mage snickered and stuck out his tongue at her as he dashed out of the room, avoiding any possibility of punishment. "I-I lost it, senior enchanter," she said.

  "Well, you're going to bloody well find it," the woman curled her fist up around the nearly full pile in her fingers. Waving her free hand over the box, the locking mechanism gave and she deposited nearly all of the wands inside. "And you're not to leave this room until all the wands are properly stored away. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Lana sighed, her foot shuffling in the direction she saw it roll towards. Appeased by Lana's placating to her show of power, the senior enchanter sauntered off leaving Lana more or less alone. As alone as a mage ever got in the tower. She knew the whack sent her wand skittering across the floor, but there was no obvious stick resting upon the ground waiting for someone to trod upon it. Sighing, she dropped to her knees and then her stomach, patting the floor to find her errant wand. Nothing remained by the light of the clouded windows. The only possibility was that the wand fell under the bookcase.

  Laying her palm flat against the floor, Lana slid her fingers as far as they could reach and skimmed it along the edge but nothing unearthed from below. "Damn it!" she cursed. Rolling around flat on her stomach, with all of her attention upon the case now, she called up a ball of light on the tip of her finger and thrust it under the case. Sure enough, there was her wand resting against the wall far beyond anything she could reach. "Double damn it!" she shouted again, even while jamming her hand back under. No matter how much she scraped up her forearm, there was no way she was reaching the wand.

  "Th-this might help," a voice spoke above her. Against all common sense, someone placed a sword in her hand. Not the fake sticks they were playing with, but a real one with sharp edges and bearing the templar symbol on the hilt.

  "Uh..." Lana held it limply in her fingers terrified that a knight was going to catch her and chuck her into the dungeon for touching a real sword, but it could probably get at her wand. Taking a few tries, with her one hand still lighting up under the shelf, she managed to wiggle the blade back and forth enough to knock the wand forward. Tossing the sword behind her, Lana reached in. "Got it!" she crowed, yanking the offending thing forward.

  Rising to her knees, Lana turned around to watch the templar pick up his sword and stick it back in its holder thingie. Without the typical head obscuring helmet, he was free to reveal the curliest hair she'd ever seen come in such a pale color. His curls were almost as twisted as her own, which she didn't think was possible.

  "Thank you," Lana said while scurrying to her feet.

  "It-it was...you're welcome," the templar stuttered and then he looked up at her. She didn't know him, but she recognized those eyes in an instant. They had a nickname for him, well, she had a nickname for him that caught like wildfire among the apprentices. Lana never learned his real name, but she wondered often, much to Margie's consternation.

  "Uh, um," Lana twisted the wand to her left hand and stuck out her right. "Thank you."

  She cursed under her breath for repeating herself like a foolish child but the templar took her fingers and he shook them. Pain lanced up her knuckles and she sucked in a breath. "Maker, are you all right? I didn't, did-did I, uh, hurt you?"

  He crumbled so instantly from that faceless walking statue into a stammering heartfelt concern, it threw Lana off more than her knuckle bruise. Shaking her hand like a wet dog, as if that would cure it, she hissed, "No, it was Aaron's attack. Bastard kept wrapping me across the knuckles like he was some chantry sister." That got her a soft chuckle from the holy templar, and she gulped a moment trying to wave away a flush on her cheeks. "It's not fair, I couldn't do anything against him because I'm too small to reach."

  "True, a shorter stature can be an issue, but there are ways around it."

  "Really?" Now Lana perked up, curiosity covering over the pain in her fingers. "Like what?"

  "Form is vital, of course," the templar spoke aloof, his eyes darting above her head as if he read that phrase off a chart. Did templars have books that they studied, too? Ones with pictures of sword fighting?

  Lana's nose prickled and she lifted the wand higher, "Is there something wrong with my form?"

  "You, uh..." It had to be her imagination that the templar's cheeks flushed bright red. She'd never known one to not be as stoic as an iceberg. Well, there was one, but that was a long time ago. "Not-not that, it's the stance, you're too... Here." Tender fingers cupped her elbow with the barest of touch and pulled it down. "You want to keep your arm low. Too high expends energy and leaves your entire side open for attack." To elucidate his point, he waved his hand down her side between arm and chest, giving a wide berth for the chest part.

  "Okay," Lana shifted back and forth on her feet as she lowered her wand sword. "What else?"

  "Put your shoulders back, you want to keep your head high."

  "Like this?" Lana asked as she stuck out her chest.

  "Uh..." the man's eyes flickered and he dug his fingers through the back of his hair for a moment. "Y-yes, that's um, good." Against all common sense, the templar didn't walk away or dismiss her back to her studies. He fished one of the wands out of the box and mimicked her stance. "Go on and attack me."

  "Is that wise? I don't want to hurt you."

  He grinned and Lana's eyes fell to the ground, a humiliating blush rising up her neck. Maker, how could he have that adorable of a smile? Shaking off the urge to curl her toes and also curl up on the ground in embarrassment, she lifted her arm again, then lowered it to an acceptable height. He nodded his head, "I will do my best to block you, but this is a good way to learn."

  "Okay," Lana nodded. She flexed her arms a couple times, then whispered, "Do I count to three or..."

  Maker's breath, now he laughed and she was certain she was going to die on the spot. "You can if you'd like, but most foes are not so kind."

  "Right, right," Lana nodded, feeling even more foolish, which seemed impossible at this point. With the force of a kitten swatting at string, she lunged for the templar. He easily knocked back her stick, his own wand meeting hers out of nowhere -- as if by magic.

  "When you attack, don't go for the wide open swings. They're showy but they also exhaust you faster and leave you vulnerable during the wide stance. What you want is to watch your opponent, learn their pattern, then strike."

  Lana nodded her head. "Makes sense. Like chess but with swords."

  "Ya-you play chess?" he asked. For a moment his own arm dropped lower, his wand waning down.

  "I try," she smiled. Following his advice, she pulled her arm in closer and tapped in rapid succession. One of her attacks glanced against his wrist before he pulled back. "Not well, mind. Not as well as I should, but... I've been trying to build my own board from various pieces found throughout the tower. It's a right mess of different sizes, materials. My black king is actually an old bit of carved brimstone no one wanted."

  His wand smacked against hers and she slipped nearer to him, almost tripping, but her feet caught in time. "I'd have, um, thought the mages would own multiple chess sets in the tower."

  "Maybe for the senior enchanters, up in the," Lana pause
d in her attack to wave her wand above her head, "higher echelons, but nothing down here. Which is probably why we fight with wands."

  "You're getting the hang of this," he encouraged. Never pressing his own attack, he was playing fully defensive. She doubted she'd last longer than a snowflake in a tea kettle against his real offensive.

  "You are..." Lana huffed, exhaustion tearing up her side as she stabbed towards him. Of course, he scattered her attack with a flick of his wrist "...a terrible liar." She laughed at the end of her sentence, joy overcoming the weariness. It felt like ages since they'd moved around in exercise. With spring around the corner, most of the apprentices were going stir crazy. Maybe they'd get out into the garden soon.

  "I am surprised that a mage would care about swordplay."

  "It's fun, like dancing but with more stabbing," Lana said, then blushed even harder from her idiotic statement. But he smiled at her, either taking pity or partially agreeing. "Sometimes we sit on the balcony and watch the templars sparring in the ring outside."

  "You, uh, y-you do?" His arm hung in the air a second too long from the block and Lana stabbed her stick deep into his chest. It skittered a few pathetic sparks from the attack down his armor. She leapt back triumphant at scoring a hit.

  As her exuberance faded, she stared up into the templar's shocked face, but it wasn't at the fact she'd managed a point against him. "It's, um, you know," Lana snapped her free fingers, struggling to find words, "exciting, with the swords clanging into each other and, uh..." the men in tight pants and often no shirts flexing sweaty muscle in the bright sun. She hadn't seen him in the ring yet, only having a few spare hours here and there throughout the week to visit the mage's secret viewing spot, but -- she had to admit -- she'd hoped to eventually see him and that he was one of the ones to go bare chested. Oh Maker, why was it so hot in here?

  Shrugging her shoulders and obliterating her fighting stance, Lana struggled for an escape, "Mages, we get bored a lot, so you know, anything to break up the monotony, and uh..."