* * * * *
The General made his way down the hill to set foot upon the soft, white gravel of the tiny road. Beneath his feet it all felt so real. The slope, the wheat beating in the wind against his leg, the sun blaring down on his face. His body registered it as existing, his mind still cast it as an illusion and with every step he had to re-convince himself of that. He knew not where he was going, but the farm seemed to be his best starting point, so he headed towards it.
As he drew closer, a soft humming could be heard, and Gerin stalled and studied the surroundings, wondering if he would see what he had his first time here, wondering if he would see himself. But the mirage was not here on the outside. A cold hard gaze locked on the cottage, a small wisp of smoke pulling out of the chimney. That was where the enticement was. He was inexplicably drawn to it. In order to pass, he knew he had to face it—to resist it. With each step he again burned into his mind that this was fabricated, that whatever it promised him or tempted him with, he had to deny. His hand slipped behind his back, first unlatching one scimitar then gripping the handle so it didn't slide out of its sheath. His whole ride here had been spent preparing, but it did him little good. He still knew not what he was going to face, didn't truly know if he would need a weapon or his wits, so he left both to be unleashed at a moments notice. The instant his fingers locked around the hard brass door knob, he took one last breath, and yanked it open. The sharp snap of wood straining against the frame startled him, and his blade fell out an inch, but he held, and felt oddly comfortable. The humming now very powerful, no longer buried behind the thick oak, leaked out of the cracked door and into his head, sinking deep into his ears, calming him and yet at the same time blistering every one of his senses.
This song was familiar to him.
He knew it very well. Or did he? Another long breath drew its way into his lungs as he shook his head, part of him knowing he had never heard such a thing. His life had been spent in training circles and battle grounds. He held company with tyrant kings and snarling Minotaur’s. He had never known anyone or anything to sing in such a manner, but how he was able to know the next note before it was audible?
"I've been here..." He whispered in his own mind, yet he did not think of his first journey. A strange part of him, now growing stronger, believed he had been here all his life. "NO!" He tried to jar himself, pushing a strong grip on his blade to reaffirm who he was. He was a General, not a farmer. That was real, this was the illusion. Above all else, he needed to hold onto that.
Once the fictitious memories had been completely dissolved from his thoughts, he pushed the door all the way open, took one step in, then another when it stung him again. Like shattered pieces of a mirror flaking to the ground, broken memories tumbled into his head, ones that were not his own. Truth and lies danced in his thoughts, traipsing through his once clear line of reality. He was overwhelmed with a sense of dizziness, so powerful it forced him to lean against the door frame and bring his hand to his temple.
"Love, are you well?"
He didn't look up, didn't open his eyes. He feared if he did, he would completely give in to the deception. Despite how confused he was, despite memories of walking through that door a hundred times prior, regardless that he knew the interior without ever looking at it, some part held on to his past life, held onto this burning desire for revenge and his sudden, maddening hatred for Idimus. "Remember....Gerin." He told himself, and when a soft hand pressed against his shoulder, his first instinct was to draw his blade and lash out at it, to either kill or scare it. But his grip now only held onto itself, his swords handle no longer in it. He searched and grasped at his back frantically, but it was gone. Both of them were.
"Darling?" Again came the whisper, drawing him away, making him forget entirely what he had just been searching for, dismissing that he refused to look upon her. And so he did. A young woman with bright blue eyes and curly dark blonde hair stood before him, one of her thin, chiseled arms stretching out to place on his shoulder. Her features small and defined. A tiny, thin nose that sharpened at the tip, freckles dashing across both it and her silky cheekbones.
When she first touched him, Gerin had screamed at her in his mind to get away, over and over, speaking to her as he did to everyone but she did not hear him. The woman pressed harder, squeezed his shoulder. In that comfort, his mind became silent, then from it faded completely why he first began yelling at her.
Thoughts continued to fragment and spiral. As though his old self was descending down a pitfall, tumbling into darkness, it slipped further and further away from him, despite how hard he was trying to save it. It gave way to this illusion, every new memory that entered shoved out one of his old. He recalled growing up with a different life and parents that loved him, not being stolen by a heartless king and raised to fulfill a destiny. He remembered working this farm that he now stood, day in and day out, leading a simple yet incredibly happy life. Most of all, he remembered her. The woman that stood in front of him. Falling in love with her, marrying her. Emotions he never had overwhelmed him. Clear and precise, though he had never felt anything like it in his life, his real life. He even knew her name. "Shayanne...I..." He spoke. With a voice. His mind still diluted, his reality shattered, but somewhere deep inside he was overwhelmed with shock. His hand raised, and his fingers reached out to drag across his lips. They felt so familiar on the surface, yet he found even himself wondering why this strange sense of completeness existed from something so simple, but it was there all the same. "I don't know if I feel well." Even though the true Gerin had never spoken a word in his long life, he did so as well as anyone else.
"Come..." Shayanne wrapped her arm around his shoulder, leading him to a chair at the dinning table. "Sit. Tell me what's wrong."
Gering bowed and sat slowly, laying his hands on the table. "I am not sure. Physically I feel fine, but my mind is...detached."
She stood behind him, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and across his chest. "What do you mean?"
"I can't tell. It's as though I was dreaming something powerful and I just woke up from it, or perhaps it was my reality, and it is this place that's all in my mind. I just do not know which."
"Hmm." She whispered, reaching up and running her hand through his hair. "Perhaps you were. Dreaming, that is." Shayanne pulled back, looking at his shoulders. "Did you faint outside?" She asked, checking his clothing for scrapes or dust.
"I don't..." Gerin turned his head slowly, casting his glance around the room as his mind toiled to recall the events, but they were no where within his grasp. "I don't remember."
She sighed worriedly, wrapping her hand under his arm and pulling him up gently. "Consider laying down, my love." Shayanne began leading him to the other room.
"Aye, perhaps that is best." He said, helpless to do anything but follow. The mists had control over him now, and his old life had all but faded from his mind. He thought it only a bad dream or a simple fantasy. And this woman was so gentle, this life so inviting, he had no choice but to succumb to it.
In A Time Of Darkness Page 100