by kubasik
They had traveled some short distance away from the forest before J'role realized that they'd left it. The stars, forming an eternal bowl of countless silver flecks, caught his attention first. That was wrong, he thought. He must have dreamed stars.
T hen, he told himself, No, that's right. He looked up and around, saw the broad, barren expanse broken only by the mountains and hills in the distance. He could see and see and see. No trees towering overhead, no foliage blocking all sight.
He dropped to the ground and rubbed his hands in the dry, chalky dirt. Lovely. No life, no moisture. It was a land he understood. The forest, he thought, had tried to suck him into it; had tried to make him one more living thing among countless other living things.
Here, on the dead soil, there was no confusion. He was himself, no more and no less.
“Grim?” someone said. Who?
He looked up. Yes. Releana. She stared down at him. "Come. We've got to hide."
Yes. Hide. He had forgotten who he was hiding from, but it was good to hide.
Why did he answer to the name Grim? he thought, rising clumsily to his feet. His name was . . . what? What was his name?
A voice in his head said, "I think she's nicknamed you Grim. You are Grim. It's a good name."
"Yes." J'role thought. "I am Grim."
"Do you want to know what happened, all those years ago? What happened in the kaer?
You've remembered more than I thought you ever would. You're so close....Do you want to know?"
A tremor passed through J'role, and he felt his chin shaking in fear. He continued to walk, following his father, who now staggered after Releana's lead. But his thoughts froze. Did he want to know what happened, all those years ago?
A blackness swarmed over him. No. No. No. He did not want to know. He was too close.
He'd remembered too much already, and all that he only wanted to forget.
His mother, holding him, "Shhh. Don't tell anyone.... You'll die if you ..."
"No," he said to the voice in his head. "No, don't tell me."
The creature said nothing. Purred.
Soon they reached some rocks piled up on the barren plain. "Here," Releana said, and J'role obeyed by lying down on the ground. Now he could truly rest, for which he was immensely grateful.
He spread out, pressing his face to the cool, dry earth. Home again. Home is lifeless.
Home is safe. Home is where the heart is frozen.
18
She pulled him tight once more and he felt her body tense. There was no doubt in his mind what she was going to do with him. Do with the knife she held.
He did not struggle, did not pull away. She was his mother, and he wanted so much to make her happy. To finally cease causing her so much pain. Whatever he had to do.
Why did his voice makes her so sad? Why couldn't he speak to people? Something had happened, but he couldn't remember what.
Even in his dreams, your father's secrets within secrets remained deeply hidden.
The sky above, now full of rain-bloated clouds seemed to swirl slowly. His body shook and ached, and he thought it would be better to be dead.
"Then kill yourself," the creature in his thoughts; said wearily.
"Quiet," he told it.
Looking around, J'role saw his father staring up at the sky and saying in a flat, detached voice, "Rain. Rain. Rain."
Beside J'role was the spear he had taken from the thorn man during the fight in Blood Wood. He didn't remember keeping it, but apparently he'd never loosened his grip on the weapon.
Also lying on the ground was Releana, still asleep. It was the first time J'role had seen her in full light, albeit the light of a gray day. She wore an emerald green magician's robe, now smeared and nearly hidden under a layer of mud. The robe's pattern showed a person—a child, J'role thought—running. The running child raced for a lone tree standing in leafless silhouette against the green background.
J'role had never seen such a stark magician's robe before. It chilled him, though he did not know why.
Releana's long black hair was loose around her face, her features as plump as the rest of her. Compared to the sharp edges of the elf queen, Releana's soft curves were wonderfully appealing. He wanted to roll over and snuggle up against her.
But even that seemed like too much effort. Skin raw and muscles brittle, J'role could do no more man close his eyes and fall back to sleep.
Releana had built a fire. J'role drew as close as he dared, trying to warm his body, which felt chilled to the bone. Bevarden still stared up at the sky. "Rain," he muttered.
"Feeling any better?" Releana asked, sitting down beside J'role. She, too, was wounded, her legs covered with thick welts, and on her arm the strange black scar from the thorn man's spear.
J'role shook his head.
"Well, you will soon. The wounds are clean now. You just need time." She sounded confident, but J'role knew she was lying. Releana couldn't know for sure. Without a healer he might well die. They both might. Wounds were like that. They started as one obvious point of penetration, and if they didn't kill you immediately, they often festered slowly, draining all the life out of you, corrupting your health until ...
Until what? How did you actually die? J'role didn't know. Maybe your body just got too tired to go on.
A drop of rain plinked against his temple, startling him. His muscles tightened, but instead of the deluge he expected, the rain began slowly. Big drops that splashed into the fire and fizzled with steam. They landed on his face, cold at first, but soothing somehow, He raised his hand to his forehead and smeared the drops over his cheeks, across his lips, and onto the tip of his tongue.
Bevarden tilted his head back and opened his mouth wide. J'role did the same, rolling onto his back. The drops fell into his mouth at unexpected moments, but they tasted wonderful.
“I've never seen you do that before," Releana said, her voice teasing.
J'role looked at her, puzzled and curious.
"Smile," she said. "It's the first time I've seen you smile. You are often Grim, but I'm glad to see you've got more to you than that."
He looked away, uncertain how to respond. Unable to respond. Why was the creature in his head ... ?
Seeing his deep concentration, she changed the subject with a bright tone, "So? Where are we headed now? Do you have a goal, or were you just wandering like I was? Each has its advantages and disadvantages, and I'm not saying one is better than the other. But if there's some place you're going, and you wouldn't mind, I'd like to come along with you. If that would be all right with you. I mean, I don't have a destination, and I'll tell you," she said smiling, "I'd sure like to have some place to go."
He hadn't thought about that: about her actually coming along. How would he explain it?
How could he possibly explain it all to her? How could he communicate the enormous complications of a magical ring, a hidden city, the strange, blind wizard with the eye in his hand, the one-eyed ork, and so on . . . Just thinking about it overwhelmed him.
He decided to start with little bits of information. She was a magician. She was smart.
J'role figured she'd be able to put some of it together herself.
He propped himself up on one arm and raised his other hand a few feet off the ground.
Releana looked at him quizzically, then her face lit up as she realized he was trying to answer her question.
"A child?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"A short stick? A wand! No? Longer? A staff!?'
He shook his head and rolled back onto the ground, already frustrated.
"No, no, no," she said quickly, her voice happy and excited. "We just need to make up more rules. Listen, when I get closer, point your thumb up. When I start guessing worse, point your thumb down. Now. Is a child closer than a wand?"
J’role propped himself back up. She waited for his response, leaning in hungrily, a child waiting for the next round of a game. He found that he like
d her immensely.
He held his thumb up.
"A child. It's like a child. A person?"
He mined stroking a beard, just as he'd seen his father do years ago, in the kaer, when telling a story about dwarfs.
"An-old man!"
He raised his hand again, then lowered it closer and closer to the ground. "A small old man!"
He shook his head.
"A dwarf!"
Her correct guess started him for a moment, and then he smiled. It had worked. And it hadn't been too difficult. "You're going to see a dwarf." she asked.
Not exactly, he thought. How do I communicate Throal?
He did it just as he had communicated dwarf. With patience.
"I've . . . the dwarven kingdom. Actually, I've never seen a dwarf. Only heard about them.
Strange, isn't it. I'm speaking to you with their language, but I have no connection with them. Or, I have a strong connection with them, but it's so strong I'm not even aware of it.
I'm babbling. Sorry." She stood quietly for a moment.
J'role realized that she wanted to talk to him. He was supposed to answer. A conversation. Not his father's incessant apologies and dreams, but an actual exchange. At the same time, unable to do anything about it, he felt his fever winding its way into a headache. The pressure to interact was too much to bear.
"Why do you keep doing that?" she asked, abruptly curious.
He looked at her, exaggerating the confusion on his face so she'd know he had no idea what she was talking about.
"Look like that, I mean. So upset. You're always so serious. Not always. But you seem to retreat to it all the time. Retreat? Is that what I mean?" She thought about her question for the briefest of moments, then answered herself. "Yes. That's what I mean. Retreat. I called you Grim as a joke. But you seem too—serious. I don't know." She drew in a breath and looked at him.
Her words made him feel bad, though he didn't know exactly why. Then he realized that the words struck a chord because they were true. He was often serious. And all he wanted was to be light-spirited.
He could not speak, so he said nothing.
"I'm sorry," she said, realizing she'd depressed him even more.
The words, echoing his father's perpetual refrain, sent a buzz of frustration through his head. The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for making Releana sound like his father. He got up quickly and took her hand-in his. Looking into her eyes he shook his head slightly.
As he touched her hand he realized how good it was to have someone near him who actually paid him enough attention to tell him the truth about himself, even if it was truth he didn't particularly like. How else was he going to know how others saw him? How else would he know if his behavior was actually different from what it could be?
Could be?
Yes. Exactly. He was serious all the time because it was his defense against all that had happened to him in his life. He'd assumed it was the only way to survive. Releana questioned his seriousness. Implicit in the question was the -notion that- he didn't have to be serious.
She assumed he could be happy. She wouldn't have asked the question otherwise.
She met his gaze briefly, then looked down at their hands, then removed her hand from his. J'role sat back down, almost disappointed to lose her touch, but not really. Someone had really paid attention to him. It was so wonderful in itself.
"I . . . uh . . . ," she began faltering. He smiled at her. In the two days they'd known each other it was the first time he'd seen Releana at a loss for words.
He raised his hands, waving them, signaling that she dismiss her concerns. She stopped trying to talk and he stood up, carefully. When he was up he gestured for her to sit down.
She did.
With Releana and his father watching, J'role began to do something he'd never done before. He began to tell a story, just as his father had done in the kaer years earlier. His father had used words, but he had also portrayed all the people and creatures with his body. Drawing on the memory of his father's talents, J'role began to tell Releana of the day he stood in his village seeing Garlthik One-Eye approach. He mimed how they had met and later gone to Brandson's Tavern, and how J'role had seen Garlthik gazing spellbound at the ring on the stairs at Brandson's.
As he introduced new elements of the story, he and Releana played a guessing game of nouns and words until she guessed correctly. It took time, but she was curious and energetic and full of life and loved the challenge of figuring out what J'role was doing.
Hours passed and the rain continued to fall. His father applauded. The day wore on. J'role told his story.
That night the rain stopped and the clouds dispersed, leaving the stars clean and shiny in their wake. Stretched out on the ground, Releana and J'role and Bevarden stared up at the sky, a fire crackling beside them.
Earlier that day Releana had gone off to one of the copses that circled Blood Wood, later returning with enough berries to feed them well.
J'role had not been so happy in a long time. Doing something other than glowering provided its own energy.
Releana said, “My parents were killed by a Horror two years ago. I had already started my apprenticeship as the village wizard. But just a few months ago . . . I don't know . . . I didn't want to be around the death anymore." She turned to him. "Does that make sense?"
She did not wait for a reply. "Death is strange. So I left. I've been wandering, waiting for something to happen. Something exciting, I mean. When I came to Blood Wood, I didn't know what it was. The elf queen asked me for my gift. I didn't have anything. She threw me into the pit. I thought the elves were supposed to be nicer."
'The world," Bevarden intoned to no one in particular, "is dying."
J'role thought that an odd statement. Hadn't the world been growing itself back from near devastation in the past few decades? Or maybe that didn't matter. Maybe deeper down it was dying. Maybe it was already dead and no one knew it yet.
"No," said Releana. "Parts of it are dead. Our parts. But there's life out there."
Bevarden began a coughing fit. Blood came up from his mouth and fell on the ground in thick drops. Releana and J'role both got up and held him. J'role rocked his father.
"We've got to get him to a questor of Garlen," said Releana J'role nodded. His father quieted.
"So we're going to Throal?"
J'role nodded again, smiling and relieved. She hadn't yet said she would travel with him.
Now he was glad to hear she would.
"Good."
They sat up with Bevarden until he fell asleep. At one point Releana extended her hand and squeezed J’role’s. "You're nice," she said. Then, with a laugh, she added, “I’m glad we were miserable together. We might never have met."
They walked south toward Throal. All three were weak, but the need for help and food and healing drove them on.
Releana talked. "The ring makes people care very much about it. And thus keeps people searching for the city.''
J'role nodded again, this time listening carefully to Releana. He liked it when she reasoned. He'd never met anyone who did it so intensely.
"So, when you wore this ring, you wanted to find the city?” she said.
J'role nodded, confirming what he had told her the day before.
"It made you long for the city," she said thoughtfully. Then she suddenly added, "A geas!"
J'role touched her arm, then shrugged when she looked at him.
"A geas ... it's a spell. A powerful one. I haven't the faintest idea how to do one, but I've heard about them. But never one like this . . ."
She started to drift off into thought, but J'role tugged her arm again.
"Sorry. Thinking. A geas . . . It commands a person to go on a quest. If I cast a geas on you, and command you to go find a particular magic sword, you will go off and find that sword. Whether you want to or not. You do want to." Her hands were moving quickly in the air now, as if she were casting a series of spells as she spo
ke. "You want to so much that it's ... it's like being in love. And not fulfilling your quest is like having your love rejected. It hurts terribly. It hurts so much you become ill. But if you fulfill the quest, everything is right in the world."
She fell silent just long enough to draw in air.
"Anyway. I've never heard of a transferable geas before. I mean, the spell is cast upon a person or a group of people. That's it. I give you, Grim, a quest. And you do it. But this ring ... It seems to pass the quest on from one person to the next. Do you still want to find the city now?"
He thought about it. Yes. But not as intensely as when he wore the ring. He didn't know how to express that. But he knew what she was getting at, he definitely felt differently about Parlainth when he'd possessed the ring. He shook his head no.
