The Awakening

by Gary Alan Wassner

  “I will hear no more of this!” she said, raising her broom menacingly at her son’s back. “Treason! You speak treason!” she yelled. “Look at me and tell me that you will shame me. Do not hide in the shadows and speak about defying the King. Say it to my face so that I can see your eyes and know if my son has gone from me forever,” she exclaimed frantic, but Ruffin kept his back turned to his mother. “Where is your honor? Where is your courage? Are you afraid even to look upon me?”

  The old woman jabbed Ruffin with the rounded end of the broom, yelling all the time, as her anger built and built with the frustration of so great a disappointment.

  “Turn to me, I say. Coward! Coward!” she screamed at him, thrusting the broom handle into his skin.

  Anger mounting, the elf, tortured by envy and tormented by love, whirled with loathing in his eyes. He needed to still her shrill voice, to quiet her feeble-minded prattle. Ruffin could bear the insults no longer. His mind was exploding. He lifted the heavy pan with his right arm and struck her hard upon the side of the head. The old woman crumbled from the impact like a charred piece of wood, and no sooner did Ruffin bend down to assess the damage, when the light of her life went out forever. Frenzied, he looked around for something to stop the pool of blood spreading rapidly across the wooden floor. Panic overcame him as he realized what his ire had done.

  “Oh no! Oh no!” he lamented, kneeling before her prone body and blotting the crimson stain with a dishtowel. “Mother? Mother? I did not mean it,” he wailed. “You made me do it. You always insult me. I didn’’t want to hit you, but you wouldn’’t stop yelling at me!” he screeched, dabbing at the smears.

  Tears streamed down his smooth face as he attempted to gather his wits about him.

  “Calm down now,” he admonished himself as he ran to the corner of the sparse room and sat with his head in his hands. “I must deal with this. What is done is done,” he spoke aloud. “She was so mean to me. What choice did I have,” he reasoned. “She did not care about my sufferings.”

  As the violence of his actions sunk in, he began to feel oddly better, not worse. A sense of empowerment overtook him, along with a morbid sense of freedom and he commenced to plan once more. An idea was forming in his head and he embraced it with a vengeance, even as his dead mother’s body lay no more than ten feet from where he was sitting.

  He pushed the small table off of the woven mat upon which it stood. Knocking the chairs to the side, he snatched the rug and brought it over to the battered body that lay upon the smeared floor. He dropped it on top of his mother’s corpse and tucked one side in under her, trying not to gaze upon her face. Using his foot, he pushed her so that she rolled along with the mat until he could only see the top of her grey head and the worn soles of her small boots.

  Ruffin lifted the dead weight and carried it into the even smaller adjacent chamber which served as her sleeping quarters and sewing room. Propping the bundle against the wall, he opened the trunk that stood next to the tiny bed and he threw its contents upon the floor. He then lifted his dead mother’s body and placed it roughly into the trunk as if it was a sack of dirty laundry. Haphazardly throwing the contents that he had strewn all over back on top of the rolled mat which lay now bent and twisted inside the trunk, he slammed the lid closed. Reaching into the dresser drawer, he grabbed a wooden box that held her few valuables among the other odds and ends that she had collected during her poor and simple life. Ruffin stuffed the coins into his pocket and felt around until he found what he sought. He withdrew a heavy lock and with it, he secured the latch upon the trunk. Turning his back quickly upon his crime, he then left the room.

  He grabbed a rucksack from a hook upon the wall and packed it rapidly with some articles of clothing. Ruffin also placed a loaf of bread and some hard cheese inside. He grabbed his cloak from the rack and threw it over his shoulders. Finally, he reached for the sharp knife his mother used to pare the flesh from the fruits and vegetables they ate each evening. He carefully fastened it inside his belt. Possessed, he blew out the candles, scanned the room for the last time and then cautiously opened the door.

  Peering outside and hoping that no one was in the dark alley, he looked up and down the narrow passage. When he was satisfied that he could escape unnoticed, he quickly stepped onto the wooden landing and shut the door behind him. Pulling his cloak over his head, he sped down the street.

  Keeping to the shadows, Ruffin navigated the cramped alleyway, hugging the darkness until he reached the broader avenue that marked the end of his small street. There were very few people out and about at this hour as it was suppertime and the elves of Seramour treated this hour almost like a ritual, a family time, rarely interrupted.

  He moved hastily along, wishing now only to leave as fast as possible. All thoughts of his terrible deed he banished from his mind and with selfishness and lust driving him, he made his way to the remote lift that he spent the daylight hours guarding. This particular passage to the ground was rarely used by anyone anymore. It was built to accommodate the solitary gatherers who sought out the moonberries, those luscious fruits that only revealed themselves when the moon was bright. They grew in pod-like pouches which opened for only a few days each month. But the elves had learned a tiel or so ago how to cultivate them in the Heights, rendering the evening sojourns to the ground below unnecessary.

  Devon sat heavily upon the soft soil by the lift. In one hand he held a parchment and in the other, a mug of cider. Ruffin approached him from behind, sneaking up silently, using the cover of darkness and the surrounding bushes to conceal his coming. He was ready to draw the small knife from his belt as soon as he drew close to his friend’s back. Devon must have heard some noise or sensed his arrival, as he turned suddenly to face Ruffin. A look of surprise, though not an unhappy one, crossed his face. The renegade elf, possessed by his evil course, grew nervous and agitated.

  “What brings you here at this hour? Your shift does not begin for quite some time?” Devon inquired wide-eyed.

  “I could not eat tonight. Too much ale last evening, I suspect. I needed to walk about a bit. I thought I might keep you company,” he responded, sitting down close to his friend.

  “Well, that was surely kind of you. It does get lonely here every night. Well, with no one even using this lift in ordinary times, you can imagine,” he answered, relieved to have someone to talk to for a change.

  Devon put down the paper he was reading and began to scrounge around in his backpack for something to offer Ruffin as they sat together.

  Ruffin seized the opportunity immediately. While Devon’s eyes were searching his bag, he placed his right arm around his shoulders affectionately. Devon looked upon him and was surprised by his friend’s behavior. As he opened his mouth to question it, Ruffin pulled his left hand from inside his cloak and thrust the sharp blade deep into Devon’s chest. He turned it swiftly, reaching for the heart. Red blood spurted from the wound in spasms, having hit its mark. Devon’s head slumped heavily on Ruffin’s shoulder, shock still upon his eyes.

  The young elf was surprised at how easy killing had become for him and he found that he actually enjoyed it. In the recesses of his soul, he felt a pang of regret or perhaps merely apprehension, but he refused to allow it to surface. The actions he committed empowered him and made him feel in control of his world for the first time in his memory. He believed that what he did was necessary and that it was forced upon him by others.

  Evil never bears responsibility when it rears its ugly head. It is an emotion riddled with blame and self-righteousness. Ruffin felt justified in escaping the prison of Seramour, and his mind had become so saturated with loathing he could not see clearly through the fog that this hatred enveloped him in. In only a short while, he had become a monster, a vile and detestable renegade. He had perpetrated matricide after all, and yet he sought only to flee and satisfy his other urges.

  Ruffin let Devon’s head fall to the ground as he slid out from under his weight. He cleaned his blade
on the cloth of his friend’s jacket and then casually put it back in his belt. The elf, by now possessed by the evil that coursed through his veins, stood and grabbed the feet of the corpse. He dragged it into the nearby bushes and rudely covered it with some loose branches and leaves.

  I will be long gone by the time anyone discovers him, he thought. No one comes here anymore anyway.

  “His soul will be halfway to Sedahar before anyone happens upon him,” he said aloud, laughing like a crazy man.

  As if possessed, he carefully undid the latches that secured the small lift closed. Flipping the trap door open, he stepped into the dark space and felt the platform securely beneath his feet. Ruffin slowly lowered himself just a few feet with the ropes and then he reached up to close the panel above him. As soon as it was shut tightly, he lowered himself to the ground.

  The air was heavy with moisture, and his lungs were heaving and blowing by the time he reached the damp soil below. The sky was dark and the clouds concealed what little light the half-moon shed upon the surface. He stepped off the platform and began to walk in the direction of Aramela’s home. Her father was a trapper and he lived upon the surface all year long, ascending to the Heights only when he needed to sell his skins at the market. Ruffin visited her surreptitiously often and he knew the way to her cottage by heart. He had to be careful of the old man though. There was nothing but enmity between them and he disapproved of the relationship Ruffin had with his daughter.

  The young elf had fallen so far so fast, that he was totally unaware of his blood-spattered tunic and his deranged look. He traipsed through the woods like a school child on an outing. All he could think about was his lover, and the thought of laying in her arms once more compelled him forward unhindered by regret or remorse. Seramour was no more than a distant memory, a childhood vision. He was free now. Aramela would understand his need. She would take him in and comfort him forever.

  He broke into a run and ignoring the twigs and branches that scratched his face and arms and ripped his clothing. He stumbled upon a small rock that obstructed his path unseen and he fell headfirst into a stagnant pool of muddy water. Frenziedly, he raised himself up and continued to run. His sleeve got caught on a protruding tree limb and he tore it loose, incognizant of the half he left behind. Like a wild animal, he entered the clearing that surrounded Aramela’s modest home. He saw the candle burning in her window and he dashed headlong for it.

  She awaits me, he thought, totally unhinged now. She must have known I would come.

  “Aramela? Aramela?” he whispered at the window. “Let me in. I am here, my love.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Who will be the one to do my bidding, my beauties?” Colton asked of the eight women lying prone, spread-eagle in a semi-circle around him. “It is a very special task I have for you and if you are successful, you will share my bed the evening you return,” he exclaimed.

  The women dared not raise their heads from the stone floor. Nor did they even move a muscle during this encounter with their Lord, but their hearts beat faster and their bodies responded passionately to the suggestion of lying with the Dark One. Each of the women was shrouded in a black sheath that covered her from head to toe. All that distinguished one from the next was the soles of their bare feet and the hair upon their heads.

  “Adrianna? Shall it be you, my lovely one?” he walked to one of the women whose blonde hair stood out sharply against the black of her garment. “Will you possess the girl for me? Will you bed the boy, seduce him and bring him back here?”

  Colton asked the question rhetorically. None of the eight would answer him. They knew he did not wish to hear their opinions. He would make the choice all by himself. He walked around each supplicant, but he spoke only to Adrianna.

  “You are lovely, my dear. And you are ruthless, a wonderful trait which you alone have turned into an art. Is it your jealously that drives you? Or is it bitterness? Perhaps envy?”

  Colton grew in stature as he spoke. His raven hair flew wildly about his shoulders and his crimson cape flapped relentlessly in the windless room. His large, almond shaped, black eyes were rimmed in a deep orange glow that radiated outward with each word. He floated a few inches off the burnished floor with his hands outstretched and his long fingers twitching and extending in expectation. Sparks crackled and flew from them each time his fingers uncurled.

  In the past days, he had recreated castle Sedahar in a far different image than before. The room he now occupied was his finest work to date. The floor was polished to the point of reflection, carved from the whitest of white marble. He liked the contrast of black against white. It reminded him of the forces he contended with. The entire palace was riddled with contradictions.

  He also wished to torment himself with the memory of his recent defeat, and what better way than to be constantly reminded of it visually, in the whiteness of the floors and the whiteness of the furniture, so stark against the black background. The agony of this recollection drove him forward with greater passion and the pain caused him pleasure for that reason. He relished each glimpse of the reflected sunlight as it caught his eye, and he imagined the brightness and sparkle of the Gem of Eternity. He pictured it shrouded in black, careening headlong into the void, its light extinguished for all eternity.

  This room he now occupied had eight sides to it. The walls were solid black granite that were highly polished and rose to seemingly endless heights. An octagonal pattern was inlaid into the floor as well, spiraling round and round in concentric squared circles. From the center, a chandelier of ebony wood hung upon an endless black chain, illuminated by spheres of pure white crystal. As he spoke, it turned slowly, sending waves of prismatic light spinning across the black walls.

  The eight women barely breathed while Colton hovered near them.

  “Rise, my pretty one,” he said again to the one he called Adrianna. “Rise and join me now. I will tell you of your journey. You are the one, most definitely,” he said to her, but still she remained prostrate. “Do not fear me, my child. You need do only what I bid and you will be rewarded. Come now, the hour grows late,” he said, motioning with his hand as her body rose upward from the head, until she was perpendicular to the floor and eye to eye with Colton.

  The look upon her face was one of reverence mixed with fear, but her master could also sense the arrogance and pride that made her so delectable. She knew that the other women envied her and would trade anything to have been chosen in her stead.

  He let her drop to her feet, cushioning the fall somewhat so that she could remain standing. He released her to her own power and she gratefully stretched her long fingers.

  “May I speak, my Lord?” she asked of him in the softest and most supplicant of voices.

  “Speak.”

  “I am honored, my Lord. I will do anything you ask. Anything. Please tell me my charge so that I may serve you as soon as possible.”

  “Good, good. You understand well, Adrianna. You are just the one for this errand. You will not fail me.”

  “Never, my Lord. I could not fail you,” she said, knowing the double meaning to that sentence. Failure meant death.

  “Come. We shall retire to my chambers and I will tell you what you must do.”

  He curled his index finger toward him and her body spurted forward, following behind him as he moved upon the air toward the opposite side of the chamber. Colton pointed to the wall and a small doorway opened allowing them to depart the room. The other women he would leave where they were, knowing that they would remain in the same positions that he left them in until he returned, in mortal fear of possibly displeasing him. He laughed to himself at the thought of that, considering briefly just how long he might allow them to remain there before relieving them of their duty.

  Pride welled up in the young maiden he had singled out; pride and a feeling of limitless power. He would let her taste the power momentarily, tease her with it and then take it away from her, causing her to desire it like nothin
g else. After all, he was the master, the great manipulator, the Lord of Darkness. Who better knew how to exploit a human for his own purposes?

  “My beauty? Are you happy now? Are you not filled with joy?” he asked, the words dripping from his tongue.

  “It is like nothing I have ever felt before, master,” she said, barely able to speak. She was so filled with ecstasy, she could imagine nothing greater.

  “I will allow you to covet this moment so that you will remember what you will receive when you return with the young man,” he soothed her. “You must go quickly. There is much to do before he arrives at her doorstep.”

  “Where is it I am going, my Lord?” she asked.

  “Close your eyes my beauty, and I will show you.”

  Adrianna closed her eyes tightly and Colton entered her mind. As if he had taken her by the hand and physically led her to the spots he wished her to see, he manipulated her inner vision as if it were his own. She saw the small cottage in the forests of Lormarion beneath Seramour. She heard the old man speak to his daughter as if she were present in the tiny chamber. Adrianna watched as the young maid scoffed behind her father’s back, knowing that she would not heed his admonitions. She felt the lust rise in the girl’s loins at the thought of her lover. She felt more than she expected she could through Colton, and the feelings caused her to close her eyes and sigh in sympathy.

  Suddenly she was no longer in the small house but rather in the forest itself, gazing at the ceiling of tree branches obscuring the sky. Her vision passed through the protection of the branches and entered the winding streets of Seramour. It seemed as if she was running down the passageways and alleys, following something, catching up with the back of a young elf’s cape. She felt the anger in the youthful elf before her and saw the crazed look in his eye. In an instant she was in front of the boy. He was yelling at an old woman who stood before him, his ire growing with each word. She watched as he took the woman’s life from her with an infuriated sweep of his arm. She felt his frenzy, his vulnerability, as he hurried to conceal his bloody deed.