Ruin Mist 01 - Keeper Martin's Tale, page 7
The boy, who was Vilmos as he looked in upon his dream as if from a distance, saw the evil one and looked into his eyes. The darkness within was well known to him. Its origin of rebirth was known. Held entranced by its call, he moved his hand forward to help it but was stopped by a sharp, stifling pain that shot through him. The shock and ache made his small body writhe as it carried him away.
Unconsciousness befell him, yet the images and the agony were still clear in his thoughts when he awoke some hours later crying out into the darkness, huddled in a cold, sweated corner, his body clenched and trembling.
"No!! No!! It will not be!" screamed Vilmos, perspiration dripped off his forehead.
"No, no, no," he continued through the sobs, unable to block out the lingering picture of the shadows in his mind, especially the evil, mocking grimace that laughed a deep, hideous laugh and the cold jet-black eyes that seemed to haunt every corner of his mind.
This was the worst dream he could recall. For a time the dreams had stopped completely, then they had returned with renewed fervor. Each night the vision came. Repeatedly it played, relentless. Each time growing worse, because each time it became more realistic. Now it was as if the Dark One was in the very room Vilmos occupied.
Normally he would have simply escaped to his private point to stare out across the vast expanse below, feeling more at home and at peace there than he had ever felt in his own home. However, this night Vilmos did not want to return there. Something was wrong, though what, he didn't know. Content to remain in his room in the dark, staring into nothingness, desperately trying to remember something that he knew was important, his mind raced in a million different directions.
Throughout the night he lay gazing into the darkness, searching for something that appeared to be just beyond -his grasp. His concentration was so great that he had not moved in the entire time and when the sun rose bright and beautiful into a clear sky, he did not enjoy its beauty. His mood only turned from pensive to dreary. The new day brought him only misery, as he knew it would. His body, stiff and sluggish, moving with the aches and pains of one well beyond his years, did not respond well to his desires and again it was a long, slow process to coax stiff muscles into movement.
After eating breakfast and methodically performing his perfunctory chores, his thoughts filled with dread. The tutor would come this day. Weary and fatigued, Vilmos trudged back to his room, slumped onto the bed, all his energy spent. Utter exhaustion played out on his face, though he didn't understand why.
The instant eyes closed, consciously or unconsciously, he drifted away to his special place. It had been calling to him in the back of his mind all that morning.
***
A chilling breeze blew through the vale. A wind that had never before been cold. Today something felt different, as if he were not alone. Worriedly, he scanned the little vale, its steep slopes and its large open floor. He was indeed alone or so he hoped.
He became a great silver eagle, fearless and swift. The dive from his favored cliff was accomplished in one powerful leap. Wings sliced the air and made it sing. Down into the vale's depths the eagle swept, with great speed and agility. The silver eagle's keen eyes had instantly spotted its prey and now it raced toward the unsuspecting valley hare.
This was the intruder in his domain, thought Vilmos. He would crush the life from his prey and then would indeed be alone.
He swept up the valley hare in razor sharp talons. The warm and fleshy hare writhed pitifully and cried out for escape. The eagle did not heed its cry, but a part of Vilmos did and he forced the great eagle to release the hare.
"Do you know what it is that you are doing?" beckoned a voice into his mind.
Vilmos was startled.
"N-no," he replied warily. The voice was somehow familiar.
Momentarily the vision of the eagle faltered. For an instant Vilmos stood on the high, raised cliff staring into the cold northerly wind. Then he was propelled back into the razor-taloned, silver eagle.
"It is called non-corporeal stasis, an out of body experience," said the other with evident wisdom.
"What are you saying? What does that mean? Are you here to take me away?"
Vilmos ceased being the eagle altogether, yet the cliff was not the place he returned to. Instead, he stood in the middle of the valley and searched in all directions for the source of the mysterious voice.
"Look. Look about you. What do you sec?" commanded the voice.
Vilmos did as bid.
"I see the valley and nothing else."
"Yes that is correct, now look beyond the valley. Extend your thoughts and open your mind. Now what do you see?" The voice flowed with warmth and again Vilmos sensed a familiarity in it.
"I see only the valley," Vilmos replied.
"No," said the other with vehemence, "Look, look again. Search beyond the valley. What do you see?"
Vilmos didn't like this game and clenched his fists in anger. "I see nothing."
"Open the window to your soul. You will see. Look." said the presence.
Compelled to do as told Vilmos looked inside himself. He saw the door to his soul and he opened it. Beyond, in the shadows, he saw himself, lying in his bed, in his father's house.
"What do you see?" the other asked.
"N-nothing!"
"What do you see?" commanded the voice.
"I see myself, I see myself!" Vilmos paused. His voice filled with surprise as he continued, "but how, I don't understand?"
"That is what the experience is. Your body remains on the physical plane and your spirit searches beyond. You were truly flying. You really were the lone eagle flying over a valley of your own creation." The ominous voice seemed to close in on Vilmos. "You are a master of non-corporeal stasis, yet do not forget that all things have mirrors on the physical plane."
"How is this possible?" the skeptic in Vilmos inquired.
"Think, before you speak, Look within, you know it is possible." The tone of the voice became sinister. "As is everything."
"I am afraid. I want to go home—I want to go home now."
"But Vilmos you are home. This is your home. This is the sanctuary you alone created," the voice rang with heavy truths.
"No, I want to go home," insisted Vilmos, "I am afraid."
"Well you should be Vilmos, you should be very afraid." Vilmos pictured black eyes drawing up before him. "This experience leaves your physical self completely without defense. It is open to attack from any force or forces that wish to enter it. Any spirit can enter your body while your own spirit travels. And there it can grow and thrive!"
Vilmos jumped back, his face drawn and pale with shock. Bewildered eyes looked out. His body shivered beyond control.
Everything within him told him to run away, to hide, though he could not. It was then that he recognized the voice, though vaguely. It was then his panic grew to despair and he feared for his very soul. "It is you! This is what I was trying to remember."
"Yes it is," said the voice with mocking overtones.
***
Gripped with fear, Vilmos stood unable to move. He looked out over the valley that had once seemed peaceful, only now regaining the point as he fought to focus his mind. He felt alone, very alone, though he knew he wasn't. He cocked his head, left and right, forward and hack, searching. But his search was in vain because he truly was alone. There was no one else with him.
Waiting to hear the voice again and ensure he wasn't just daydreaming, Vilmos remained absolutely still. Only his own gasping breaths broke the silence, nothing more.
"Where are you? Show yourself," Vilmos called out. The only answer Vilmos received was the sound of wind rushing over the point and the returning echoes of his voice as it faded away and blended into the wind.
The vale was empty; the ridge, empty.
"Looking for me?" came a voice from behind him.
Startled, Vilmos jumped. His heart pumped faster and faster. Breathing became taxing. It seemed he could not grasp any air. He spun around, faltering and falling to the hard, rocky surface of the vantage point. He pulled himself to his feet, and shook defiant fists in the air.
"I will not hurt you," said the now charismatic voice from behind him.
Vilmos spun around again. "Where are you? Show yourself."
"I am here."
"But how? A moment ago, I was alone," said Vilmos as he turned to look in the direction of the voice.
"A moment ago, I was not here," said the venerable man who now stood in plain view in front of Vilmos. He was by far the oldest man Vilmos had ever seen. His appearance was one of such frailty and weakness that Vilmos imagined a heavy wind lifting him from his feet and casting him about in the air like a feather.
The aged man leaned his weight against his long, misshaped, walking stick, edging poised lips closer to Vilmos' ear. "Do not let the body fool you boy," he whispered, "I will not blow away in the wind."
Just then a cold, harsh wind started to rip across the point. With each passing second, it increased in force until it was a gale of great strength. Very soon, Vilmos found he could no longer stand in its face. He crouched to his knees and then to his belly. The old man did not so much as twitch.
"Please stop it!" screamed Vilmos.
"I cannot. Only you may stop it."
Not wanting to fall from the ledge to his death, Vilmos huddled close to the ground trying to maintain his grip with desperate fingers. "I don't know how to stop it. Let me go. I want to go."
"Then surely you shall perish." The man spoke sternly, his voice lacking any hint of remorse.
Vilmos trembled. "Do you mean die?"
"As surely as you were born."
Truth in the other's words stung Vilmos, similar to the dirt in his eyes. He knew without a doubt that he would indeed perish if he failed to stop the wind.
Wind whipped at him. Dust stung his face and blew into his eyes. And while Vilmos could barely see through this dust and dirt, he felt he had to see the old one again. Gazing through stinging dirt proved a difficult task accomplished only with shielding hands. To Vilmos' dismay, the man stood straight and tall, tall as the twisted staff he carried. He faced the wind and his stance still did not vary.
Suddenly the man did not appear so aged to Vilmos. In fact, somehow he seemed different, as if Vilmos saw another standing there in the old man's place. "I do not deny that you have powers beyond my grasp," began Vilmos, "but I don't understand the point of the test. I don't know what to do."
"Vilmos, use that which you already know. Use the skills you possess. Use them now!" The man spoke powerfully.
Compelled by the enchantment of the voice, Vilmos made a vigorous attempt. He concentrated, trying to make the wind stop. He clasped his eyes tightly together, held his breath, clenched his fists so firmly that his fingernails dug into his palms. The wind did not desist; it continued to lash at him with increased vigor.
Fearing for his very life, Vilmos tried again. He thought about the wind and wanting to stop it. In rebuke, the blast of the wind started to push him toward the edge of the cliff. Vilmos dug his fingers into the dirt trying desperately to hold on, grasping and clawing until his hands were bloody, but to no avail.
His fingers pulsated with pain. Vilmos screamed and pleaded desperately for assistance. He turned his head wildly back and forth, wary of the approaching drop. "I don't want to die… please help me… how can you just stand there, help me! Please, I beg you."
"Reach inside yourself for the power. It is there. The power lives within you. You have used it many times before, though you didn't know why or exactly how. You are the power Vilmos. It yearns to be released from within you. Release it."
"Please help me." Vilmos sounded pathetic. "P-please."
"Release the power Vilmos," repeated the other, "let it go. I am giving you a reason to use your power. I give you your life! Do it now, quickly, or you will DIE!"
The voice was commanding again, Vilmos felt compelled to do as invoked. He had to prove he could stop the wind. Somewhere within was the key, a key that must be found. It had been so much easier before. He had never really tried to use the power. Previously it had just come in him when he needed it. He needed it now, and it wouldn't come.
"Hurry, Vilmos. You must hurry!" spoke the man with a hint of anxiety in his voice.
In time, Vilmos found the object of his inward search. The strength was there.
Still unsure exactly how he was supposed to make the wind stop, Vilmos decided to let his mind drift. His thoughts wandered until he found a helpful clue. As he anticipated, the solution to his dilemma seemed to seep into his mind.
It had always been there.
"Quickly, Vilmos!" The man spoke frantically. "You must release the power now."
A test of the power within forced the wind to flicker. Strength flowed to Vilmos unbidden. He bathed in its caress; it felt so wonderful.
Magic isn't evil; it is beautiful.
Vilmos knew what he had to do to make the wind cease. Now he would do it.
The man screamed, "Vil-mos, release the power, release it now before it is too late." His anxiety increased with each passing second. "Hurry Vilmos. You must release the power now. Let it go, feel it flow."
Vilmos perceived a peculiar scratching at the back of his mind, something loomed closer. Magic isn't evil, he reminded himself, the words flowing to him again.
"Go on try it," whispered the voice, "set it free."
Vilmos shook his head to rid himself of the irritating scratching.
"I will, I will," Vilmos said.
For an instant, Vilmos toyed with the wind. The gale stopped full, then started again with sudden vigor. Vilmos shook his head again to rid himself of the irritating scratching at the back of his mind.
Was it a whisper?
Seemingly as it simply acknowledging the whisper existed was enough, the voice came again. "No Vilmos," it whispered.
Vilmos shook his head again, his concentration faltering. Irritated, the old man grabbed Vilmos about the shoulders and lifted him from the ground, shaking him violently.
"Do as you were told boy!" he screamed, his razor sharp finger nails pushing into Vilmos' arms.
With untold power captivated in a crisp, clear voice, the newcomer spoke again. "It is a trick Vilmos. Look closely, see his true form. Evil comes in many shadings, but you can always see through it if your vision is clear and your mind is centered. Search its form. LOOK?'
The wind stopped dead; the old man released his grip Vilmos fell to his knees.
"No Vilmos, it is not true. Release the power. Do not listen to foul lies. Release it now."
Heeding the will of the voice, the power of magic within Vilmos soared, torn between the two choices, unsure which to follow, who spoke the truth, or what to do, Vilmos clasped his hands to his head. His mind reeled with pain. He wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear.
Unchecked the power within grew to a crescendo, reaching beyond Vilmos' control. His wild eves stared in disbelief as crazed thoughts continued to spin through his mind. He was the power, the master of all he surveyed; he would release the force within.
"Vilmos, in the name of Great-Father, I command you "AWAKEN!" spoke a third voice with overwhelming sincerity and vast fear. In the haze of Vilmos' consciousness, the voice was a distant untouchable shadow. The power within was so inviting and warm, he did not want to let it go.
The old one grew greedy and smiled an evil grimace. "YES, Vilmos, can you feel it? Yes. That's a good boy. Now, USE it."
Vilmos discerned and separated the perceived voices. The newest, the faint, distant one overridden with fear and heart wrenching pain, was feminine. The crisp, clear voice of the newcomer was calm and compelling. The voice of the old one demanded action.
"Are you the evil one?" Vilmos asked.
The instant disbelief entered his mind, the enchantment was lost. The energy within him dissipated. Vilmos looked dead into the old man's eyes and understood the guise.
"You truly are the evil one," said an amazed Vilmos. As he spoke, both strangers disappeared. The words reverberated in his thoughts.
With the releasing of the deadlocked gaze on the wall opposite his bed, the vision ended. Complete and utter confusion played across Vilmos' face. The sepulchral dream had ended, though its images were still held in his mind's eye. It had seemed so real, but how could it have been? He had never left his room; he would not have perished. It was only another daydream, a dreadful one.
He reflected upon what he had seen there and was deathly afraid, for normally when the dream ended the evil of the Dark One disappeared. This time the dream was different, Vilmos could recall shapes and images, even the form the evil one had taken.
It no longer seemed that the evil one was just part of a dream. He remembered the raging winds and the fear. It was then that an alarm of distress sounded within. Again there was a small part that he just couldn't remember—he had seen something, but what was it?
The images became steadily less clear as he strained to focus on them. Pain in his hands caused all thoughts to drift away and when he looked down at them, opening and closing them with evident agony, he knew the pain had been real.
Physically and mentally drained of all its energy, his body was an empty shell with all its stamina gone. Vilmos wanted to sleep, yet he dared not close his eyes. The dream had been real, not imagined, he reminded himself.
Aghast, he curled up in the corner, lining his small form into a tightly curled ball. The pain had been real, the dream been real, his mind repeated relentlessly.
Chapter Six: Permission
A strong wind out of the northwest blew long strands of dark hair into Adrina's eyes. Every now and again as she looked down into High King's Square, she tucked the errant strands behind her ear. Sunset was near, and the square was bustling with activity. Merchants packing their wares onto pack animals, townsfolk haggling for last minute deals and the inevitable array of jugglers, musicians, fire-eaters and the like trying to earn a pittance for their supper.
