“Nothing will get through,” Vilmos whispered to himself. He was nearly exhausted.
Xith did not let up and neither would Vilmos yield though he was past exhaustion and moving toward delirium.
“You waste too much energy, learn to conserve it. Shape your power, use it to your advantage.”
“I can’t do all that at once!” shouted Vilmos, breaking his concentration for an instant.
Xith answered with an increased volley. “Concentrate! Do as you did before. Use part of your consciousness toward the task of building the wall and another to shape it. Try to release the spent energy. From this lesson stems the basis for your magical shield, the shield that will protect and keep you in dangerous times. Now, concentrate!”
A part of Vilmos digested the words Xith had just spoken while the rest of him set to the task of building the repelling wall. It was so much easier to do before when he had not fully realized what the shaman was trying to teach him through the seemingly simplistic lesson of repelling rocks—A magical shield, wow!
Again Vilmos let the wall slip, only for an instant, and was smartly answered with a rock hitting him. The shock cleared his thoughts and jolted his mind into action; again he strove to perform the feat and this time succeeded. He could feel the energy flow within him.
“Control, always stay in control. You must control the energy, don’t let it control you.”
Vilmos had forgotten to exercise control in his momentary lapse. The energy was flowing through him like a tidal wave, flooding his mind. Concentrate, Vilmos thought to himself, I must hold it steady. Gradually, he gripped the energy and regulated it. The power flowed, but did not flood over him.
“Better. Keep it up. Don’t lose sight of your center,” said Xith.
The assault continued minute after exhausting minute for almost an hour. Xith pushed and pushed until he felt Vilmos had reached his limit, then he purposefully pushed him beyond it.
Vilmos learned fast to control the energy flow and maintain the wall. Soon it became facile, requiring less energy, less thought to maintain. He found his center. He knew exactly how much energy he could build and how to shape it. He was in control. He even thought Xith looked pleased.
An idea came to Vilmos, a plan that seemed easy. Devious thoughts spilled over into this plan. He gathered a small reserve in his energy flow, a slight store inside him. The energy caressed him and Vilmos bathed in it. He split his thinking into three parts, one for the wall, one to keep the flow, and one to begin to conserve the energy for his little scheme.
Vilmos’ shield totally fell as he first attempted this feat. Vilmos thought Xith was clearly displeased, but Xith took it as a sign to end the lesson, Vilmos was progressing well.
“No, I want more,” Vilmos demanded.
“I think you’ve had enough for today. You should rest. You have already discovered that from the simple stems the difficult, this is true with all things.”
“Just a little more.”
Xith waved his hand and began the assault.
A reorganization of his thoughts enabled Vilmos to build a reserve slowly. The wall didn’t flicker and he attempted his ploy. Instead of just letting the rocks bounce off his shield, he hurled them away. It took great concentration to keep up all three, the flow, the wall, the casting away, but he managed and now maintained the energy flow, the shield and was successfully repelling the stones.
Xith didn’t appear to notice the subtle change and Vilmos was pleased. At first, he could repel only one rock at a time in a given direction, but later with practice he achieved two and then three. He settled there, while he adapted to the strain and soon this too became easy.
Vilmos stared at Xith with a wide grin that Xith didn’t even pay attention to. He was certain Xith didn’t know what he was up to. He continued until he could deflect an entire barrage at one time and then he went back to throwing them in a few select directions. Although difficult at first, Vilmos succeeded and abruptly he was passing the rocks Xith’s way.
Xith was taken completely by surprise. He hadn’t even expected such a twist. He was pleased as he allowed the first rock to hit him, very pleased.
“There is hope for you yet. That is a very difficult feat to attempt when just starting,” Xith said. He lashed out with his magic and lay to rest all movement around him. “Enough for today. You need to rest. The lesson is ended.”
Vilmos was beaming—he had done it. He had surprised the shaman, if only once. Xith fixed Vilmos with a long hard stare, and, without a word, began to harness the horses.
Vilmos climbed onto the wagon’s running board, then moved to the seat. He watched as Xith finished harnessing the horses.
“Can I take the reins?” Vilmos asked as Xith climbed into the seat beside him. Xith handed him the leathers. The animals lurched forward under unskilled hands.
“I’m sorry, shaman!” said Vilmos turning to Xith.
“No apology is necessary. You performed excellently.”
“Not well, not good, but excellently?” Vilmos’ voice crackled in the middle of the last word.
“Yes, you really have! You have learned a great deal more today than I had expected. I had hoped… but then you did. You have learned one of the hardest lessons there is to teach—”
“I did?”
Wordlessly, Xith took the reins from Vilmos’ hands. “Yes, you have. You have learned to control your energy while your mind is occupied with other tasks, but most importantly you have learned to assimilate your thinking. By grouping the way you think into sections. That is a very great deed in itself.
“It may sound easy, but under duress it is often the hardest thing ever imagined to try. The more you can do at one time the better you will be. If eventually you can do many things without even thinking about them, you will truly be one to be respected.
“You will find the talent very useful. Now maybe you are ready to learn how to control and channel your energy while you sleep. But we will save that lesson for another time.”
Xith drove the horses on. For a time the grasslands seemed to spread endlessly before them, then rolling hills returned. As they reached the summit of the last in a long string of green-covered hills, Xith reined in the horses.
“There,” Xith said. He reached out with his hand and pointed. “The great sea, West Deep…”
For a few long minutes they sat quietly and stared down at deep blue waters, then Xith coaxed the horses into slow gait. He steered them to a course parallel to the great sea, before whipping at the reins with heavy hands. As he did this, he nervously glanced skyward. The sun was hours past midday.
Chapter Five:
Refusal
Her arms were shaking, weak. Still, she reached out for him and touched him.
A second time you pulled me from the sea, Galan said. She strained to move again, to give Seth back his robe that now covered her. “What have you done? You must also survive, Seth.
Seth stretched the tattered robe back over Galan, and covered her face and hands. I’m no longer sure I want to survive, Galan. Why was I so blind?
You did not betray your brethren. You could not have known.
But I should have—
—Faith, said Galan. She gripped Seth’s hand. I want to dream, may I see the forest again?
Never let it dwindle, a voice in Seth’s mind repeated, never let it dwindle, faith will shelter you. Had Queen Mother known? Seth wondered. And if she had known, why hadn’t she tried to stop it?
Seth, said Galan. Do not dwell on things that cannot be changed. Maybe Queen Mother did know and her words were her only way of warning you. It is not wise to try to change fate but there are perhaps ways to alter it slightly.
I did not mean to trouble you with open thought. Seth projected the image—the green of a forest against the backdrop of a white-capped mountain, the sky so blue it was almost purple—into her mind’s eye. The idea of such a place’s existence truly did seem a wondrous dream to him now.
Confused emotions swept over Seth. Even now he felt the urge to hold Galan as he’d done when he pulled her from the sea.
You may hold me, said Galan, I feel suddenly cold and empty.
Waves that had been rolling moderately grew gradually choppier and the open sea became a disquieting place to be. Wind whistled in Seth’s ears and the tiny raft began to creak and moan. In the shallow of a trough, where the water on all sides of him filled his field of vision, it seemed as if the sea was opening up to swallow him.
Galan, said Seth. We must lash ourselves to the raft.
High seas washed over the raft. Seth strained his mind, and tried to discern a response amongst the tumult. He probed Galan’s mind. Galan? Galan?
He found only emptiness. Galan was dying.
Their raft was chasing the edge of black clouds now. The scent of rain permeated the air. Soon they would be within the folds of a raging downpour and violent seas. On his hands and knees Seth scrambled toward Galan. He slipped and fell with each movement, and though it was only a short distance, his weakened and weary body was put to the test. Only his near-broken will kept him when endurance and stamina had failed.
Finally at Galan’s side, Seth cradled her in his arms. He held her tenderly and firmly, as one might hold a newborn babe if they were afraid it would slip between their fingers. Tears came to his eyes. The moisture burned like fire across his dry eyes. And then, as if in response, bitterly cold rains hit him. Rain, the essence of life—life that abounded with irony while Galan lay dying in his arms.
No my Galan… Do not leave me. I need you— Seth could not finish the sentence. He could not accept the thought of more loss.
No more loss, he promised himself, no more loss.
Seth worked to secure Galan to the raft while the storm bludgeoned him with wave after wave that washed the raft’s face. Seth vowed that if he and the raft survived the storm so would Galan and only through the sheer force of his will did he maintain his grip.
When he finally got a knot in place, he gasped, and collapsed onto his back. Hungrily, he drank the rain that splashed his face. It seemed a lifetime since he had tasted anything so sweet. Afterward, he worked to lash himself to the raft. This was much easier, though still the work was strenuous. He had to fight the storm and guard against waves that sought to pull him into the sea.
Again, he was left panting. Again he drank as much of the rain as he could force down his burning and swollen throat.
It was then he felt Galan’s spirit yearning to be gathered by Great-Father, to be taken home, but he would not let it go, could not let it go. He projected his will into the place her spirit sought to flee, and barred her passage from life. The place between life and death was a cold and empty place just as Galan had warned him it would be.
Right then he vowed he would give his own life before he would allow the last unraveling thread of her life to slip away. In the chaos of his mind, Seth truly believed he could deny death. Any other would not have been able to do what Seth was doing now. Such was the strength of his will and his conviction in his desperation.
He became oblivious to the bludgeoning of the storm. He knew only that he had to hold onto the raft, his precious cargo, and maintain the projection of his will. His thoughts became lost to the internal struggle of his consciousness, his sense of justice over his sense of better judgment. He would not lose the focusing of his will. Barring all else, blocking out sound and sight, Seth escaped reality and slipped further and further into his thoughts, further from what was real and just, while voices filled his mind and his dreams, taking on the role of the just and the unjust.
What is the first law of life, Brother Seth?
Of course the answer is to preserve what Mother-Earth has created so all may enjoy it.
Ahh, yes, but what is the second law of life?
Not to interfere with the natural order of nature and most of all to heed the will of the Father.
Great-Father’s word in such matters is final, is it not?
Yes Brother Samyuehl, it is, but the law also says that one is permitted to guide that order or to correct injustices.
To guide or correct yes, but not to interfere with the natural order and that means not to hinder the will of the Father.
When Seth opened his eyes, the world he found was surprisingly different from the one he had left. The sea was miraculously calm. Night had miraculously arrived and a soft soothing breeze blew upon his skin.
There was picturesque beauty in the face that he looked down upon, even though the eyes were closed and it was gathered in a deathly pale. Vast sadness grew within him, encircling him, and Seth averted his eyes. He peered out into the night sky and time became nonexistent. His only thought amidst mounds of confusion was to maintain his will and keep his vigil. He would not let lose the thread, that last simple thread of life and will.
In and out of consciousness his mind moved, always reaching, always searching, searching for a way to cheat the inevitable, to cheat life and death itself.
Remember, when all seems lost and you cannot find the center of your being, return to that which separates you, distinguishes you, from all else. Return to your thoughts, for they are truly your own. They are you…
Chapter Six:
Crossing
“A curse upon them, Father,” Jacob said. He began the long march back to the broken wagon, mud and rain only increased his disillusion, disgust and utter disappointment. His arms and legs were on fire with fatigue, Adrina was a lead weight in his arms that he would not drop.
Jacob staggered and stumbled. He sank to his knees several times, only to return to an uneasy stagger moments afterward. Mud covered his cloak, his arms and even his face.
He began to chuckle to himself as an increased downpour ironically washed the muck away. A few more steps, he promised himself, not realizing he didn’t know what he would do when he did reach the wagon. Faith, whispered a tiny voice in his mind, faith everlasting…
“F-a-ther!” crackled a distant voice, softly intermixed with the sound of the storm.
At first Jacob thought it was the voice of his conscience speaking to him again, but then the call repeated. He stumbled and turned back toward the huts. As he did this he fell to his knees and, still clutching the princess tightly, he looked up to see an ancient man with a long, white beard standing in an open doorway.
“Quickly, now!” the man hissed.
Finding renewed vigor, Jacob did as the old man bade. Rain beating down upon him washed away the mud from his most recent fall by the time he reached the doorway.
“I won’t forget this, Father! I will never forget this,” Jacob called out to the sullen sky. He revoked his ill-spoken curse.
Quickly, Father Jacob slipped off the princess’ soaked jacket and the wet clothes beneath which were drenched both from rain and perspiration from a renewed fever. After throwing the wet things unceremoniously into a pile on the floor, he laid Adrina onto the bed that the kindly man indicated. Immediately, he pulled its thick blankets tightly around her pale, limp body.
“Get me some moist towels,” Jacob demanded of the old man.
Directly the man returned with clean cloths and a bowl of cool water. He joined Father Jacob at the bedside. “Here, let me do that for you. You are tired, you must rest. I am Master T’aver and I gather that you are Father Jacob. I am sorry about before, but you must know of the superstitions of my people. I take great risk allowing you into my home on a night such as this. Can you not feel the malice of the storm?”
Jacob heard little of what the other told him. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful, but his attentions were on Adrina and he cared for nothing else. He wet a cloth in the bowl, rung it out and placed it on Adrina’s forehead. The increasing fever magnified his worries and he bent his head in solemn prayer. He needed guidance. He prayed for strength and continued faith.
To Jacob it seemed hours later that he raised his head and whispered, “I am ready,” to the fading echoes
of voices in his mind.
He cleared his mind and set to the task ahead. Somehow, wisdom came easily to his thoughts. Power flowed through his mind and center. His will became centralized, focused, and this time there was no block between the power of his mind and his heart. He began the litany of healing and life, yet this time the song-prayer was different from the one that he had tapped into before. It was animate and latent with power.
His words departed from those of the Kingdom spilling slowly over into those of another time, becoming for a time a blend of present and past, and then finally focusing on the old tongue.
It was an odd sensation to feel within himself the will of Mother-Earth so potent—few males had ever been granted such a gift from the Mother. Perspiration flowed down his brow and dripped from the tip of his nose to touch the floor below with a splash in the small pool forming beneath the spot where he stood, engrossed in a litany of words so ancient they glistened with subtle hints of power. But it was not so much the words Jacob spoke that created the power, rather the delicate focusing they created in his mind to gather his will and direct it precisely.
Over the course of the hours that ensued, Father Jacob maintained the chanting rhythm and the healing began. Minutes became hours and hours unfolded one by one. The power of life flowed from Jacob’s words and took new form inside the young princess, whose face was still wrapped in a pale, deathlike mask, and as that strength flowed between them, Jacob could feel hours of his life slip accordingly away.
Utter exhaustion played out on his features and when he was finally forced to quit due to his fatigue, Jacob slumped over at the side of the bed. He rested his head on soft covers, arms raised and crossed over his knees. He was trembling and there were tears in his eyes. He knew he had succeeded. Already he could sense the fever lifting from Adrina.
But what had it cost him, he asked himself. They were miles away from Castle Fraddylwicke, miles away from the sea, and so very far away from Alderan. Soon exhaustion forced sleep upon him and Jacob fell fast asleep.
Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle Page 23