The Shattered Shards

by Stephen J Wolf

  Though he was essentially mindless with panic, Dariak did note that the ogre seemed to be completely blind. It kept reaching up and wiping its eyes, then leaping out toward the loudest villagers. It made Dariak want to curl into a ball and stop shrieking, but he was too scared not to cry out loud. He forced his eyes open as he drew in another breath and he saw, to his dismay, a massive foot plummeting down on his face and snuffing him out.

  But the weight of the foot did not kill him. Instead, it pushed him through the ground where he popped into another setting altogether. No longer was the ramshackle town surrounding him. No longer did the cries of fear pierce the air. Instead, he was curled on the ground in a forest clearing, with a tall ring of trees blotting out the surroundings, rather than the obscuring fog.

  In the center of the ring, he could see a blazing campfire, sparkling myriad colors and casting strange shadows on the ground and surrounding trees. A few people were also there with him.

  Dariak pushed himself upright and surveyed the solemn group. His eyes were immediately drawn to the oversized ogre sitting hunched over in front of the flames. Its eyes were milky white with giant tears streaming forth and rolling down its mottled chin. Dariak filled with such remorse at the beast’s pain that he immediately walked over to console the poor thing.

  But as Dariak approached, the sounds of conversation came into being. Or perhaps he was now close enough to hear them; he wasn’t sure. Everyone was talking at once to the ogre; it was an unintelligible cacophony. The ogre rocked back and forth, clutching itself into a tighter ball on the ground, as if the motion would protect it from the onslaught.

  Stepping closer to the beast, Dariak noticed a shift in the conversation. Some of the people were yelling, others were consoling, and others still were seeking help. As the moments passed, though, their mouths released more than words. Light and mist flowed from within, showering the forest area with an ominously dense feeling with shifting light that was more impressive than that given off by the firelight.

  The ogre growled low, trying to decipher it all, but Dariak could see it was terribly weakened. There were no obvious wounds, but by the way it rocked itself on the ground, Dariak assumed that the pain was internal, and most likely mental.

  There weren’t any magical spells that worked on the minds of sentient beings, because the mind itself would deny the effects. It was a primary reason that Kitalla’s dance skill was so interesting. Dariak frowned as memories of his own started coming back to him and he remembered that not only had he stopped trying to understand Kitalla’s dance skill, but she had left the group entirely and he would no longer be able to learn from her.

  With a forceful shrug, Dariak wrenched his thoughts back to the ogre. He wasn’t here to dwell on Kitalla, but the oddness of her skill lured him to consider it further. He wondered when it had first developed within her and when she had truly come to master its effects. He remembered the spell he had conjured in Warringer during her exhibition so that he could trace the way she drew in the energies. Perhaps if he tried replicating the process—

  Dariak stopped himself again and focused his thoughts on the whimpering ogre and the growing noise of the other campers. Still, though, Kitalla’s face wafted into view unbidden, tinged with a faint crimson glow, and then it was that Dariak understood. Kerrish, empowering the spell now, had overheard the shadow of Dariak’s thoughts and was trying to learn about the dance skill for his own purposes.

  With a nod to himself, Dariak sent a thought back to his body, where he reached into a pocket and withdrew a small twig. He snapped it between his fingers, and released an odd fragrance in the diamond room. Briefly intoning an incantation, he cast the scent toward Kerrish’s body to confuse him. Not expecting it, the elder mage was indeed distracted and Dariak was able to continue his search.

  The interruption was a beneficial one, though, for he had forgotten his purpose for being there, and the reminder that this was not his own Trial helped him refocus himself properly on the surroundings.

  His eyes went back to the sad ogre, who sat there under the barrage of words that visibly floated through the air toward it. Because the giant was the focus of the attacks, Dariak realized that the ogre was an inner manifestation of Gabrion himself. But why had his inner psyche turned him into a misshapen, ugly beast?

  The mage joined the ogre, encircling the creature’s shoulder with his arm, or as much as he was able to reach, at any rate. At once, the contact brought them together in a strange way and Dariak was drawn into the ogre’s experience directly.

  Sitting there in a huddled heap, the ogre’s misty eyes wavered as it looked toward the firelight. It could hear distinct voices calling to it from across the way, each one a memory or a construct that may not have specifically happened, but the same essence was there.

  On the left was Mira. Dariak could only see a mental image of the woman, as the ogre’s eyes could not see and he was linked to the ogre now. Mira laughed and her voice tinkled with delight at jokes and stories she heard from Gabrion’s past. Dariak sensed she was pretty with a sweet, gently flowing voice that carried the words softly to the ogre’s ears.

  “Oh, Gabe, you’re such a riot sometimes. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.” She laughed.

  “You’ll never need to know,” the ogre replied. “I’ll always be with you, Mira.”

  “Always so sweet, ever the gentleman. But, Gabe, you never know where life will take us. If the Hathrens come—”

  “Mira, that’s why I joined up. It’s why I’m training to fight. I’ll protect you. I’ll protect the village. The Hathrens won’t lay a finger on you. Don’t you ever worry.”

  She giggled. “You always sound so noble when you talk like that. But the... dreams, Gabe. They warn me—”

  “They’re only dreams, Mira,” the ogre comforted. “Everything will be fine.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” she said, but to Dariak, she didn’t sound very convincing. He wondered about the comment of her dreams. Perhaps she knew more than she had let on, or perhaps Gabrion had simply refused to listen. He also wondered if Mira had had any such dreams at all, or if Gabrion had constructed the idea of dreams to give credence to something he didn’t understand.

  The conversation changed to menial aspects of the day and the ogre stopped focusing in on it altogether, shifting over and participating in another chat. Dariak noticed that once the focus was off Mira, he could no longer picture her through the ogre’s inner eye. And also, he heard Mira’s voice echoing softly in the background, starting that fragment of conversation all over again, endlessly repeating itself.

  “Yes, your majesty,” rumbled the ogre. Dariak brought his focus back to the beast and listened intently, sensing an odd familiarity. The ogre viewed itself as in a pose of fealty, on bended knee, offering up its service and life to the defense of the kingdom, but the king himself was doubtful of the ogre’s intent.

  “Ogres do not protect this land,” scowled the king. “How can I possibly trust what you say?” The domineering king leered over the ogre, and then his face lit up. “Ah! A test!” One regal hand gestured to a slave that had been brought in with the ogre. “Use your might to squash the life from this insignificant insect and show me that you will obey my every command!”

  The ogre turned its milky gaze and sensed the scrawny form held out for it to kill. Dariak couldn’t see the slave clearly and didn’t know if it was a man or a woman, adult or child. It was gaunt and wrapped in a thick cloth that offered it no real protection from harm. Something about the slave irked Dariak as he witnessed the muddled event in the ogre’s mind. Something about it was entirely too familiar.

  The ogre flexed its massive hands and then turned to face the slave, but the creature stood stoically, ready for its execution. It wasn’t defeat as much as a challenge of its own. The slave knew the ogre would have to obey or face dire consequences. But all the ogre sensed was a pathetic, harmless creature, standing there, ready to be killed by the will o
f a tyrant.

  Dariak could feel some of the emotions wafting through the ogre at that moment. The king was the upholder of peace in their land. He saw to the safety of the villages and towns. He sent soldiers to ward off Hathren attacks. But this was complete injustice. Killing an innocent person just for the ogre to prove its loyalty? No, the ogre couldn’t do it.

  The giant lowered its hands. “Ask anything else, but not a mindless murder.”

  With rage, the king shrieked, “Traitor! Guards! Kill him now!”

  A strong, searing pain pierced Dariak’s neck and chest, but when he looked down, there were no actual wounds. They were snapped back to the campfire and the cacophonous voices around them.

  The change was so quick and sudden, the mage was disoriented for a time, but the ogre had been enduring this nightmare for long enough, and it just turned its attention to another voice calling out to it. Dariak tried to breathe and process the events he was witnessing, but the next moment dragged him speedily away.

  In it, the voices were unfamiliar. They were all terrible cries of death and despair. Dariak still could not see clearly through the ogre’s eyes, but he had the sense of running, weapons in hand, his arms swinging wildly and killing everything in his path. It was different than the first vision of being in Savvron. This was a more advanced town with cobblestone streets and well-trained fighters coming to the town’s defense against the terrible ogre that was rampaging through.

  The recesses of the ogre’s mind echoed the words, “Ask anything else, but not a mindless murder.” It was followed with a scream that was cut short as the ogre’s mace crushed the fighter. The words echoed again, and slowly the tone shifted to that of the king’s, and rather than a plea, it was loaded with mockery. “Mindless murder. Mindless murder.” Each swing of the ogre’s weapon; each life erased from the world. “Mindless murder.” The king’s voice raised in pitch and it echoed horribly like a shrieking eaglon. Dariak cringed under the sound and willed the ogre to focus on something else.

  The killing continued unabated for some time before the ogre pulled itself back to the campfire and turned its focus elsewhere. Dariak recognized Kitalla right away but he struggled to place when the memory occurred. They were talking, in a forest, not unlike where the ogre was currently seated. Randler’s name was whispered, so Dariak determined that it was some time after the fall of the Prisoner’s Tower, for that was when the bard had joined their party.

  As Dariak listened, he found that the words themselves were unintelligible. He wondered if they were speaking a different language for some reason or if the ogre’s hearing was now malfunctioning. Yet the tone of the words came through, and he sensed a stern tenderness in them. They were consoling each other somehow, but without being too emotional. Each was being strong for the other and a strange sense of warmth came from the exchange.

  Then Dariak realized why he couldn’t understand the words; they were irrelevant. It was the way in which they spoke to each other that mattered. He then remembered when the group had reached Randler’s hideout and Kitalla opted to venture off on her own to find Heria and the shard she had stolen, but Gabrion had erupted with an angry passion, demanding that Kitalla was part of their group. Now it struck Dariak differently. As he thought about it, the scene replayed itself in the ogre’s mind, and though the words alone were mumbled gibberish, Dariak could feel a strange heat burning through his veins.

  He felt the ogre moan and bury the imagery, summoning Mira back to the forefront. “Oh, Gabe, you’re such a riot sometimes…” she repeated, and Dariak tuned her out, focusing instead on the ogre.

  As the memory replayed itself, Dariak could feel an intensity in the ogre’s reactions to Mira, but it was an altogether different kind than the one that emerged with Kitalla. They were both passionate in their own right, but the essence within them was different. Mira flowed with loving energy of the world and people around her, and the ogre basked in its desire to be included in that. Yet it also cherished the seriousness that was Kitalla, whose focus was always in the moment, sharp and ready. Where Mira could be swept away by the sheer beauty of a rainbow, Kitalla was an arrow, ever on target.

  The scene switched again, and Dariak went along for the ride, curious what would be next. It was Kitalla’s turn, and apparently she and Gabrion had spoken during their quest for Heria. Then Mira surfaced again, a semblance of her beauty washing over Dariak and making him smile for the sheer grace of it. They were having a picnic, he surmised, and the ogre was calm and happy.

  Dariak expected Kitalla to be the next focus, but she wasn’t. Instead, it was a black-haired man with vibrantly beautiful blue eyes. Dariak could sense a strange annoyance from the ogre, but the mage was delighted in the visage that was conjured up before them, and then he laughed once he realized that it was himself.

  The ogre seemed affronted at this intrusion, as the memory of Dariak ogled him from across the room. “Stop watching me,” the ogre groaned.

  “But you’re fun to watch. I can’t help myself. It’s like putting gold in front of a thief and asking him not to take it.” His grin widened. “Keep going, just a few more layers.”

  Listening, Dariak chuckled. Their conversation hadn’t quite played out that way back in Warringer, but Gabrion’s skewed recollection wasn’t far from the mark. Yet at the same time, he wondered why it was surfacing now during the duel between Mira and Kitalla. He didn’t need to wait long to learn why...

  “Is that the only reason you let me travel with you, mage? Because you like the way I look and move? It’s disgusting.”

  Both Dariaks frowned at the remark. “Not at all, you idiot,” said the memory, hurt and sad. That Dariak turned away, burying his head and sulking. The real Dariak, however, sensed that the scene would soon end, as it had in Warringer. And though it would be a calm ending with a resolution to the dilemma, Dariak decided that something was here that needed to be addressed.

  He wasn’t entirely sure how he did it, but he focused his thoughts on his blurred image within the ogre’s mind and he strained to become that memory. An odd icy coldness shook him, but he took that as success. Before the moment passed, he spoke to the ogre sitting on the tavern bed. “I travel with you for a great many reasons, Gabrion.”

  “Gabrion?” the ogre wondered.

  Dariak ignored it. “You’re a strong and powerful fighter, and you’ve saved my life many times.” As he said it, he remembered the recent recollection of the ogre and the slave and he realized that Gabrion had been reliving their audience with the King of Kallisor. “You saved my life at the very beginning, before we really knew each other.”

  “So if I stop saving your life, you’ll stop staring at me?”

  “I’d be dead, so I suppose I would,” he retorted. “But that’s beside the point. You’re extremely gifted and you grow with such astounding skill, I’d wager you will become the greatest warrior in the land, second to none.”

  The ogre grunted and pounded its fists. “Now you’re making fun of me.”

  “You know me well enough at this point. You know if I’m poking fun or if I’m serious.”

  The ogre considered for a moment and realized the truth of it. Rather than feeling bolstered by the compliment, the ogre’s back hunched over further. “So I’m a great killing machine. Wonderful.”

  Dariak mentally slapped his forehead. This was harder than he thought it would be. He wasn’t speaking directly to Gabrion but to this manifestation of the warrior that wanted to hold a grudge and to be miserable. He needed somehow to reflect back Gabrion’s true self and dispel this hideous mask the warrior was wearing.

  “You’ve killed,” Dariak admitted. “Not always by your choice. You were never one to just walk into a place and start hacking off heads. No, always it was in defense of others, including us, your friends.”

  The ogre shouted in response, “That gives me no more right to slaying another man than if I was in a blind rampage!”

  “I don’t agree. You are fig
hting to protect the things that matter to you, and that does make them important. We all try to protect what matters, but sometimes that means we have to fight for it. And when others don’t see to reason, it might mean our weapons come to hand and they are defeated.”

  The ogre’s back hunched lower still. “Who am I to judge what’s right?”

  “You aren’t,” Dariak decided, remembering something Gabrion had said to him after the struggle against Sharice. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why you aren’t alone. We all agree in what we believe in and we agree that you are right in your actions.”

  A fleeting image of Mira flashed, followed by one of Kitalla. The ogre shook its head and grumbled low. “We’re no different than the people who set our countries at war.”

  “We are different. We seek to unify the land by showing the people how we can all come together in harmony. Our respective kings hoard their lands and refuse to open their doors. We seek a wider, more peaceful world.”

  “Peaceful,” the ogre scoffed. “But all this killing.” In the background an echoing chant of “mindless murder!” started up.

  Dariak struggled to remain within his ghost and he knew this conversation wasn’t going where he had intended it to go, but either way, time was running out. “Gabrion, listen. You are a kind and noble man. Yes, you have killed, but that’s the world in which we live and there is no escaping it. No, listen!” he interrupted as the ogre opened its mouth. “At every turn in our journey, you have shown your true character at all the right times. Think of that battle against the lupinoes after Warringer, when you spared Hernior’s life. Think of all the work you did restoring the healer’s abode in Gerrish. What of the people in Pindington? You risked your own freedom and faced the threat of further imprisonment to help bail out the stricken citizens. They were people you didn’t even know, but you helped them because they needed helping. You’re a strong and noble man, Gabrion. It’s those parts of you that I’ve come to love.” He blurted out the words, not expecting to say them, but as he did, he understood why this memory had appeared when it did.