What else could such a dramatic change mean unless…
He stopped short between buildings. The clouds parted, allowing moonlight to drift earthward and caress stone, soil, and grass.
Had he missed the symptoms? For almost an entire year?
In the past, Kheled had known individuals with more than one person stuck inside their head. Those separate personalities were almost always completely different in temperament and behavior. Such a condition might explain his kind and compassionate friend turning so inexplicably cruel. Plus, he’d heard two distinctive names.
But…
The patients he’d treated in the past had never been aware of the other people housed in their mind, and Raimie seemed very conscious of this ‘Nyl’ character. Likewise, Nyl of Raimie. What else but a change of personality could have occurred in that room? The unknowns of the situation made Kheled’s stomach clench. What would he do if Raimie truly was…?
Kheled violently shook his head. Focus on something more productive such as what this ‘Nyl’ had done to Nessaira. When he’d fled the tower, the woman had looked… human. No Corruption had danced under her skin. Was the answer to the Kiraak problem so straightforward? Did it simply require a Daevetch primeancer removing the taint? And how had this ‘Nyl’ so quickly arrived to the conclusion of a problem which had plagued Kheled for millennia?
So many conundrums to work through. He didn’t know what to make of them, but at least, his unnecessarily overwhelming panic had subsided. He’d return to the tower before Raimie or ‘Nyl’ noticed his-
Kheled gasped dirt. He coughed, the motion adding to the clamorous ringing in his head, and warmth trickled down the back of his neck. When he attempted to push from the fine filament of granules which impeded his breathing, a blunt object slammed into his side. Rolling from the impact, he flopped to his back.
He blinked away the saline stream pouring from his eyes, detachedly noting clouds coated the sky once more. Howling, his mind scrambled to contain pain. Three blurry, figures stepped into his field of view, and Kheled tried to greet them. Nothing but a wheeze emerged.
The healer in him sprang into action. Cracked skull, broken ribs, probably concussion. How had that happened? And how had he fallen to the ground? Had these men seen him trip? Were they here to help?
“Fucking primeancer,” one of the blurs grumbled. He jerked, and another impact jolted Kheled’s hips.
Oh. No, they weren’t here to help him. This scene was heartbreakingly familiar, although it’s like hadn’t occurred in countless cycles. These men knew he was a primeancer, and as punishment for the crime of existing, they’d decided to beat him to death.
Problem was, such a plan would never work on Kheled.
Feet slammed his legs, his sides, his groin, his head. When pain allowed it, he applied illusions to impact sites, desperately attempting to stay ahead of the swelling force which insisted on keeping him alive and well.
Inch by inch, he curled into a ball, hoping to both hide the healing taking place and protect his body from more damage. Their kicks continually interrupted his attempts until his assailants stopped, panting.
“This is taking too long. Someone will turn the corner sooner or later.”
“So we hurry it up.”
One of the men momentarily retreated.
“Can’t be a sword, Tryvirin! It has to look like he fell from the wall.”
“I know that, stupid. I’ve got something better than a sword in mind.
The swell of healing had completed, and Kheled tensed, ready to run as soon as his hold on his illusions stabilized. He drew Ele to push away. He wasn’t sure which direction he’d go but didn’t care as long as it was not here.
That was when the hammer caved in his cheek, bone shattering into tiny shards which lacerated his skin. One speared into his mouth and through his tongue, and he gurgled a cry. Someone sharply kicked him in the kidneys, and his body spasmed, opening from the curl he’d achieved scant moments before. And then the hammer fell. Bones fragmented, one after the other. His ribs, his shins, the many bones of his feet, his hip.
The illusions grew too many. The energy debt… the debt…
He must have passed out for a time. When he woke, the beating had briefly paused. A scream rang in the night, and a splash of blood spattered his face. One of his attackers dropped to the ground, his sightless eyes staring into Kheled’s.
The sounds of a deadly fight carried above his head. He heard another body drop. The third man hesitantly trod backward, hands extended in a plea for mercy. “Don’t hurt me!”
“Should not have touched Raimie’s friend if you did not want to get hurt.”
A Daevetch bolt punched through the middle of the man’s chest, blood and gore spraying after. His still beating heart hit the ground before the rest of him.
Kheled focused on breathing, on cataloging damages and maintaining illusions. When several seconds passed without Ele flashing, alarm raised a bright, red, fluttering flag in his head, but as soon as he truly began to worry, pain abruptly eased.
But it only lessened minutely. Closing his eyes, Kheled mentally listened to his hurts. The worst breaks felt marginally improved, singing a slow dirge of ache, but the remaining injuries hissed and spat pain like an angry cat. Another problem, however, loomed more menacingly than Ele’s failure to heal him. He pushed all anxiety aside under the threat of his slipping grip on the illusions.
“Still alive, or will you force me to wait until Ele brings you back?” Raimie-or was it Nyl?-asked.
Rolling onto his belly with a groan, Kheled carefully stood. He spat a blood and possibly a tooth or two into dirt.
“Not dead.” He hissed at the stabbing pain in his chest. “Not yet at least.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means get me to safety quickly, Nyl.”
His friend stilled for the briefest moment, hand twitching toward Silverblade, before he smiled. The grin looked unnatural, as if it had been practiced multiple times but didn’t quite fit. Kheled hardly noticed it.
“Who is Nyl?” his friend asked.
“Don’t have time for this,” Kheled gasped.
He limped toward the tower. Clinging to his magic, he could almost ignore the open sore that was his body. His entire focus, his entire being, was centered not on the agony of every footfall but on maintaining hundreds of illusions. So, when the world lurched and spun with every step, Kheled didn’t see it, just determinedly marched forward. Only a few yards to safety. Only a bit more until he could release illusions without consequence.
Even still, he got five feet before his knees buckled. The tower, his desperate goal, blurred and merged with Da’kul’s walls. He could feel strands slipping, felt one illusion break free to be followed by another. Frantically, he clamped harder on the spells, but the flood neared. He couldn’t stop it. Despairing, he waited for the deluge.
“I suppose I will help-” Nyl began.
“Is everything all right here?” A soldier purposefully strode toward them, torch in hand.
Kheled lost his grip on his magic. The illusions fled him, his broken body revealed, and he experienced one brief moment of peace while he awaited the energy drain.
“Raimie, I am not dealing with this for you,” Nyl said.
The drain hit. Kheled’s body convulsed as every possible drop of energy it contained was sucked away as payment for the illusions. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed face first in grass. A last, shuddering exhalation slipped from his lungs, and he entered the black.
He waits for the explosion and the drag which will return him to his body.
And waits. And waits. What’s taking so long this time? This place made from dreams holds no power over him, but here he stays. Is he stuck? Is this where the Champion of Ele meets his end?
He lazily floats, considering, but no. This cannot be the end. And so, he waits...
A bland world of blue and green snapped in
to focus, and Kheled froze. This was… different. Following death, he always slammed straight into his body. No in between. No endless landscape of grass and blue sky continuing until they met on the horizon. Even the weird space where he’d floated formless, aimless, connected to everyone and everything, was his for the briefest split second, much like his occasional glimpses of-
“Could you please move, Khel? You’re blocking the view.”
He sprang back, nearly falling from surprise. A nondescript, middle-aged man lay near where Kheled had stood. He’d folded his arms behind his head, intently gazing skyward.
“Alouin? What’s going on? Why haven’t I returned-?”
“The balance is failing,” Alouin murmured. “Some long-established rules are sure to break as a result.”
Unnecessary panic flooded Kheled before he brushed it aside. He’d already known the balance was slipping. Alouin confirming it shouldn’t come as a surprise.
“Does that mean I’m truly dead this time?” Kheled asked, almost eager for an affirmative.
He’d much prefer to stay alive, but if it meant he escaped the cycle, he’d willingly accept death.
“Doubt it,” was all Alouin would say.
Somewhat piqued by the brusqueness, Kheled examined what had so thoroughly captured the one they called a god’s attention. At the apex of the horizon’s bowl, a portrait depicting the eternal war hung. In its center, a tiny man floated, assaulted on all sides by Ele and Daevetch.
“What an eerie portrayal,” Kheled commented.
“It serves as a reminder.”
“Of what?!”
Who wanted to remember the basis for reality was war? Alouin, however, failed to answer the question, only fixedly stared.
“Well, fine!” Kheled snapped. “I’ll leave you to your contemplation. Maybe if I explore this place, I can discover a way back to my body.”
He stomped off, fuming. Over the centuries, his irrational loathing for the one they called a god had lessened, but on occasion, it returned full force, shoving aside all rationalities he’d fed the feeling to keep it docile. Kheled knew Alouin focused his attention on more than his reality, knew in his busyness Alouin might forget certain life events’ significance, but the one they called a god should know someone’s death, even if only temporary, warranted more than detached disinterest.
“It’s almost my turn,” Alouin whispered behind him. “I won’t survive this time.”
Pausing, Kheled turned to him, surprised by how pale the one they called a god’s face had become. “What?”
Alouin climbed to his feet. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter,” he sighed. “Let me speed your return.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Kheled eagerly accepted the offer.
Anything to more quickly return to his body. Preferably before too many people could gather to watch his miraculous recovery. The watchman who’d stumbled upon the scene as he’d died had most certainly gone for help, and from there, rumor of blood and death would spread like wildfire.
He advanced on Alouin while the one they called a god’s fingers danced in the air. Alouin placed a single pointer on Kheled’s forehead. He opened his mouth as if to say something more, but then, it locked tight.
“Goodbye, Khel,” he instead murmured with a sad smile.
An explosion of white light drove Kheled into flesh and bones, and he gasped. After the initial burst of noise, he stilled his breathing to the bare minimum. To what had he returned?
With eyes closed, he carefully listened for any noises which might indicate another person’s presence. Nothing. The only sounds to break the stillness were his own.
Next came a visual inspection. Scanning the small room which enclosed him, he sighed with relief to find it empty.
Raimie must have hauled him inside. Kheled would have to thank his friend once again. He knew the task wouldn’t have been easy, not with his gangly legs. Had Raimie managed to pull a bubble of invisibility over the two of them before any gawkers appeared? The skill was especially difficult to master since a primeancer’s source stretched with reluctance, but if anyone could do it on such short notice, it would be Raimie. Or perhaps, his friend had hidden him before a commotion started. Also a possibility: neither of those had occurred and people had seen him dead. All good inquiries for Raimie when his friend eventually showed his face. In the meantime, he had several pressing questions better asked when alone.
Swinging his legs over the bed’s side, Kheled clutched the mattress as if it were the only stable item in the world.
“Why did it take so long, Creation?” he asked the empty air.
“Oh, you’ve noticed, have you?”
The broken guise covering the splinter’s lips cracked further at his grimace, and Kheled forced himself to examine Creation’s shattered features. As he’d expected, the splinter’s eyes slid from his when they met. The nuisance was definitely keeping something from him.
“Answer the question, please.”
“We’re losing the war. Resources are scarce,” Creation retorted.
“So scarce you can’t revive your Champion in a timely manner?”
“So scarce we’re abandoning the front on the physical plane,” Creation snapped before laughing at his Eselan’s expression. “After millennia, I finally shock the great Champion of Ele speechless. I can die happy now.”
Ele wouldn’t desert the physical world, would it? It had expended too much effort here, or so Kheled had thought. Had things truly gotten so serious?
The tiny room’s door swung open, and Creation stepped to the side, casting a thankful glance heavenward for the interruption. Oswin stepped inside, shining an apple on his tunic. His eyes met Kheled’s, and the apple slipped his grasp, rolling across the floor to Kheled’s feet. Oh, that frozen face was not a reaction he wanted from the first person encountered upon his return.
Everything connected to Ele, everything important was falling apart. The cycle was breaking, Ele was failing, and now, someone had discovered his biggest secret once more. How was he to juggle these world-altering responsibilities when he’d only himself on whom to rely?
Kheled weakly smiled at Oswin. Memories of past cycles assaulted him, replete with pain and misery, experimentation and torture simply for the fun of it.
“Please don’t hurt me,” he whispered in a small voice.
“What’s wrong, Oswin? Get out of the way!”
Kheled’s tight kernel of anxiety loosened upon hearing his friend’s voice. Raimie wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt him, and the kid had promised to assist. Finally, someone could share the burden.
Raimie pushed past his bodyguard. He lit up at the sight of Kheled alive and breathing.
“See?” He extended a hand. “I told you he’d snap out of it. Grief addled, my ass!”
Anxiety reared its head from where it had gone to die scant moments before.
“You told him?” Kheled asked, silently begging for a denial.
“I had to.” Raimie grimaced. “I needed help dragging you to the tower…”
The explanation faded to fuzz, and a red haze veiled the room.
Ele assisted Kheled’s near instantaneous flight to the opposite wall. It ended with Raimie pinned to stone, Kheled’s forearm jamming into the human’s chest.
“YOU TOLD HIM?!” he roared around the fist in his throat.
Oswin drew his sword, and Kheled sprayed Ele at the man’s eyes. Once it wormed beneath skin, he compelled the energy to send the man into sleep, and Oswin promptly crumpled.
“What will you do when consequences come for him?” Kheled nearly screamed the question. “His death will be on your hands, not mine!”
“Oswin can handle himself,” Raimie asserted.
He laid a hand on the elbow crushing his chest, and Kheled flinched. He released his hold.
“You shouldn’t have said anything,” he mumbled, blinking as the red veil receded. “It’s my secret to share as I will. How would you feel if I shared what I k
now of your friend, the one who killed the men attacking me?”
Genuine confusion flashed in Raimie’s eyes. “What are you talking about?”
Did Raimie not know? Maybe Kheled had been mistaken concerning Nyl and Raimie’s awareness of one another. He frowned, meaning to explain what he’d seen.
“I made Raimie tell me,” Oswin mumbled, interrupting Kheled before he’d begun. “He asked for my help, and I refused unless he shared.”
Ice dashed down Kheled’s spine. He must have failed to infuse the bodyguard with sufficient Ele to affect sleep for long. That or the man was incredibly strong willed. Either way, Kheled had sent someone who’d never done him any wrong into unwilling unconsciousness. It was inexcusable. He teased the Ele circling Oswin’s body from him.
“My apologies,” he murmured once the energy was his again.
“It’s quite all right,” Oswin replied as he climbed to his feet, “but I’d make a request if I may.”
“Name it.”
Oswin’s hand shot out, and he pinched Kheled’s elbow, his thumb beside the joint and his fingers in the crease. Kheled’s arm went numb.
“Don’t ever do that to me again. So long as you follow this request, we should get along famously.”
He released his grip, and Kheled massaged his arm. “There was no need for that.”
But there was, wasn’t there? He’d badly slipped, let anger take control, but Oswin didn't comment on Kheled’s assertion. Retreating to a corner, he crossed his arms.
“He helped you get me inside?” Kheled asked Raimie, content to ignore Oswin now that the man had backed down.
“That’s what I said,” Raimie confirmed.
“So, no one else has learned my secret. He’s the only new person to know.”
“Yes but Khel.” Raimie nervously plucked at his sleeve. “Someone saw you die, and I couldn’t stop the subsequent crowd which gathered to gape at your corpse.”
Kheled blankly stared at the ceiling, hands on hips. He’d feared that would be the case. Complication after complication after complication. This cycle steadily joined the ranks of the most chaotic.
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