Altered Intentions

by G David Walker

  Jason looked over his shoulder. A trail of burgundy sand marked their progress. Whatever they were going to do, they needed to do it quickly.

  “I just need to find—”

  “It will not...not work,” the man insisted. “Let me go. I do not need your help.” He began to pull feebly against Jason's grip. “I must go.”

  “You mean I can’t create a portal to get us out of here?”

  The man shook his head.

  “Then I need to heal you here so we can move faster.” He laid the man on the ground and focused on using his power to stem the flow of blood and seal the wounds. Although the dimsai danced across his body, the man's life continued seeping into the sand.

  “Your power will not work.” His voice was paper thin.

  There was no time left to argue. “Great. How far is your village?”

  The man waved a feeble hand. “To the Fist…turn to the right. A trail.” He coughed bright red droplets onto the front of his jerkin. “Leave me be.”

  The Fist? Jason looked where the man had gestured. In the distance, he saw a rock formation that vaguely resembled a clenched fist. I hope that’s what he means. He gave the man some water from his flask, then hauled him up and started moving toward the landmark.

  By the time they collapsed at the base of the Fist, rivulets of sweat covered Jason's face, and the arm supporting the man was sticky with drying blood. He looked at the dust-covered body lying on the ground beside him. If the man hadn't groaned when they fell, Jason would have thought he was already dead. As it was, he wasn't sure how he was going to get him to his village, especially not knowing how far away it was.

  “Ho!” a voice called.

  Jason looked up to see another man riding a horse toward them. He held the lead of a second horse trotting alongside. When he reached them, the man reigned in and jumped down.

  “What happened to Elam? What did you do?” he demanded. His hand rested on a sword hanging at his side.

  “I didn't do anything. One of those things under the sand was attacking him. I helped him get away, but not before it dropped him on a rock.”

  “Elam, you fool,” the rider said as he knelt by the unconscious man. “I warned you about coming out here alone.”

  He carefully rolled Elam onto his side, hissing as he saw the torn flesh of his back. Dark red sand and dirt caked large gashes in Elam's flesh. The man went to his horse and came back with a flask that he used to rinse the worst of the grit out of the wounds. Then he pulled Elam up until he could pour the rest of the water between the slack lips. Elam coughed and then swallowed without opening his eyes.

  The man looked at Jason. “My name is Bartel. Can you ride?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Help me get him over to the horses, and then you get on and we will lay him across in front of you. We must get him back to our village as quickly as possible.”

  Jason looked out across the Riftlands in the direction the glow had gone. It would have to wait. Elam wouldn't survive if they didn't get him help, and fast. They lifted the injured man and moved to the horses.

  Once they were both mounted, with Elam lying slack across Jason's lap, Bartel turned to him.

  “Bring him as quickly as you can without dropping him. I will ride ahead and have our healers prepare. The trail will lead you close to our village. One of our people will meet you and guide you the rest of the way.”

  Without waiting for Jason's answer, he turned and kicked the horse into a gallop, racing back down the trail. With one last glance at the Riftlands, Jason urged his horse to follow.

  *****

  “High One.”

  The voice was familiar, but Tal could not place it.

  “High One,” the voice repeated.

  Leave me alone, he thought. All he wanted to do was go back to sleep so that the throbbing in his skull would go away.

  “High One!” The voice was insistent. “You must awaken.”

  Delani. The name wavered up to the surface of his thoughts. The voice belonged to Delani. Why was she in his quarters? Wait, that was not right. They had been somewhere. He struggled to free himself from the darkness entombing him. Something had happened. Regor! His eyes flew open, then immediately snapped shut as he groaned at the stabbing pain the light sent shooting through his head.

  “High One.”

  “The light,” he mumbled. “Too much light.”

  He heard movement, the soft rustle of robes. Then, “We have diminished the light, High One. Can you open your eyes?”

  He squinted one eye open. When there was no answering spike in the pain in his head, he cautiously opened the other.

  He tried to sit up, and then stopped, propped on his elbows, as a wave of dizziness washed over him, almost causing him to lose consciousness again. He squeezed his eyes shut and fought to stay awake until his lightheadedness subsided. Hands on his back supported him. When the wave passed, he opened his eyes and saw Delani kneeling beside him. With her help, he managed to make it into a sitting position, and, as much as the throbbing would allow, look around.

  They were in a small cell, perhaps ten paces square, with no windows or doors that he could see. The rough stone walls were gray with black streaks running through them. The faint light came from a small orb of dimsai created by Loremaster Kalen. Borin, the newest member of the Circle was there as well. Other than the four of them, there was no one else in the cell.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Regor wanted to know where Jason Bennett was,” Delani answered. “He questioned Borin and Kalen, and then me. After that, I do not know.”

  The memory of the three of them on the ground came back to him. Then Regor had turned his attention to him.

  “Yes, now I remember. Are the three of you well?”

  "Bumps and bruises, High One. You appear to be injured the worst.”

  He raised his hand to his head and felt stickiness. When he looked at his fingers, dark, half-dried blood stained the tips.

  “Apparently so,” he said. The throbbing was beginning to subside, if only slightly. He struggled to his feet, swaying as another bout of vertigo threatened to send him back to the floor. Delani's firm grip steadied him until he nodded that he was able to stand on his own.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “We do not know,” Delani answered. “The stone does not appear to be that of Lore's Haven, but we cannot be certain.”

  “We need to get out of here,” he said.

  “We have tried, High One, while we waited for you to awaken. We have been unable to create a portal. We do not know why.”

  “What about blasting a hole in one of the walls?”

  “We considered it, but wished to wait until we could consult with you. There is a possibility that such a breach could cause a collapse, or that it may attract Regor's attention. Additionally, we do not know what may be on the other side.”

  “We will have to risk it.” He faced the farthest wall. “Shields might be wise,” he said. Once he saw that they had shielded themselves, he prepared to throw a bolt of power at the wall. Just as the power blossomed around his hand, a blinding spear of pain flashed through his skull. He fell to his knees clutching his head.

  “High One!” The three Loremasters surrounded him.

  As quickly as it had appeared, the pain was gone, subsiding back to the throbbing with which he had awakened. He blinked the spots from his vision and held out his hand, intending to create a small sphere of dimsai. He gasped as the stabbing pain pierced his brain again, and once again vanished as soon as he stopped trying to use his power.

  He stood slowly, fighting off nausea. “It would appear that my injury has rendered me incapable of using dimsai, at least for now. Someone else will need to make the attempt.”

  Delani looked at Kalen. “If you wish to attempt the wall, I will shield the High One.”

  Once Borin created a pale orb of light, Kalen extinguished his and turned to the wall. After checking
to see that everyone was shielded, he threw a burst of power at the stones. The dimsai splashed against the wall with no more effect than a bucket of water. Kalen glanced back at them, and then turned to the adjacent wall. As before, the power struck the wall with no effect.

  “The walls are apparently proof against dimsai, High One,” he said.

  “So it would seem,” Tal answered. “Do we have any idea how long we have been here?”

  Borin stepped forward. “High One, I was the first to awaken. I do not know how long we slept, but I believe it has been no more than a half watch since I awoke.”

  Tal surveyed the room in the subdued light from Borin's dimsai orb. “Ordinarily, I would say that is well,” he said, “but there is no telling what havoc an Altered can wreak in that amount of time, particularly one such as the Shadow Lord.”

  There was something floating around the back of his mind. Something he had read long ago in the ancient texts concerning the Altered ,or dimsai, or something along those lines. The dull ache in his head made it difficult to concentrate. He walked to the wall and ran a hand over the rough stone. His examination left his fingers with an odd tingling sensation. “No matter what the cost, we must find a way to escape this cell and contact the rest of the Circle.”

  Movement at the corner of his vision caught his attention. A small rat scurried along one wall. The other Loremasters followed his gaze just as the rat disappeared into a crack in the corner.

  “High One,” Delani said slowly, “I may have an idea.”

  “Ideas can be dangerous things, my dear.”

  They spun around to see a dark shape forming in the corner. A snake of darkness reached out and wrapped around Delani as two spots of flame appeared near the top of the shadow.

  “Now, what was this idea you had? You will find that I take a great interest in my subjects.” The dark streamer pulled her closer as the fiery eyes seemed to appraise her. “Hmm, I could take a particular interest in you.”

  Tal thought flames might shoot from Delani's eyes as well, as she said, “I have no desire for your interest, and the only idea I would share with y—” Her head snapped back as the shadowy tendril darkened.

  “Careful, my dear,” Regor said. “You will find that I can be a benevolent master,” the darkness enfolding her intensified again, forcing a groan from her, “or a harsh one. The choice is yours.” She fell to her hands and knees as the power surrounding her vanished.

  Regor turned to them. “Now that you are all awake, I would encourage you to dispose of any ideas of resisting my rule.” He appeared to consider the thought. “On the other hand, it might be more entertaining for me if you did resist.” With a low chuckle, he was gone.

  The three men hurried to Delani, who was gasping and coughing as she stood up.

  “Are you injured?” Tal asked.

  “No, High One. I am not injured, merely trying to get my breath.”

  “You must exercise more restraint when addressing Regor,” he said. “You do us no good if he kills you for your defiance.”

  “I apologize, High One. The thought of his 'interest' took me by surprise. It will not happen again.”

  "Very well. Now, you said you had an idea?”

  *****

  The village sat just inside some woods at the edge of the Riftlands. Jason waited as villagers carefully lifted Elam down from the horse, and then he dismounted and watched as they carried the man into a nearby building. Bartel approached him once Elam was inside.

  “I never did thank you for saving Elam,” he said. “It is fortunate that you came along when you did. He is one of our most accomplished blacksmiths and I would hate to lose him.”

  “I'm just glad I was able to help. That was one serious monster. For a while there, I wasn't sure if we were gonna get away or not.”

  Bartel studied him. “Your speech is unusual. Far Planer?”

  “Yeah. My name's Jason.”

  “Ah, yes. Jason Bennett.” It wasn't a question. “You are the Far Planer that uses power.”

  “I guess that's me.”

  Bartel nodded. “Would you come with me, please?”

  Jason shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Ooh, a visitor!” Jason turned to see a man walking toward them, although 'walking' didn't seem to be the correct word for the new arrival's motion. It was more of a prance, with an occasional hop or skip thrown in. Occasionally, the man would stop and look around, as if surprised, before resuming his progress. His hair was straggly and his clothes hung haphazardly from his wiry frame.

  “A visitor,” the man repeated, “or is he a prisoner? A guest? A ghost? A goose!” The man giggled to himself. “Visitor, prisoner, visitor, prisoner, guest, ghost, goose!” he chanted in a sing-song voice.

  Bartel rolled his eyes as he stopped. “Move on, Kenrik,” he said. “There is nothing for you here.”

  “But I want to meet him,” Kenrik protested. “Please? Let me meet him.”

  “You can meet him another time. Now be on your way,” Bartel said, reaching toward Kenrik. The thin man skipped out of the way before Bartel could touch him.

  “Oh, do you promise?” Kenrik asked. “Good, good, good.” He looked at Jason. “I will come by to see you soon, young man. We will have a wonderful conversation!” Then, tittering to himself, he pranced away.

  “Who was that?” Jason watched the man until he disappeared around one of the buildings.

  “His name is Kenrik. Just a crazy, old man,” Bartel said. “He is odd, but harmless. He comes and goes. Sometimes we do not see him for a few days, and then he shows up again.” He looked in the direction the man had gone. “He refuses to allow anyone to touch him. An odd one, to be sure.” He turned and started walking. Jason fell in alongside.

  “So,” Bartel said, “did you use your power to aid Elam?”

  “Well, yeah. I kinda had to. That thing was pretty big.”

  “And did Elam ask you to use your power to aid him?”

  “No, he was too busy fighting. I don’t think he even saw me until it was all over.”

  Bartel stopped in front of a small building. “Good. I would not wish to see him punished.” He gestured to two men nearby who moved to either side of Jason.

  “Punished? Why would he be punished?” The men grabbed his arms. “Hey, what are you doing?”

  “You are a saiken,” Bartel said. “We do not suffer power to be used here, nor the users of such power to walk freely among us.”

  “I’m not a saiken! I’m a…a Far Planer. I’m not even from your world,” Jason protested, struggling against the men’s grip.

  “A Far Planer who uses power,” Bartel said. “That makes you a saiken, whether you are Telerian or not.”

  “What’s wrong with being a saiken anyway? Don’t you have any here?”

  Bartel gave him a long look. “We are nasaiken,” he said.

  Jason didn’t remember ever having heard the word. “Nasaiken? What’s that?”

  “Yes,” Bartel said, “it is doubtful the Circle would have spoken to you of us. Come.”

  The men forced him to follow as Bartel turned and walked toward a building set apart from the others.

  “We are nasaiken,” Bartel repeated without turning. “We are the shunned, the unwanted, and for the most part, the unmourned. We are those not spoken of, those not considered fully whole. We are the outcast.”

  “What do you mean outcast?”

  They stopped in front of the small building. Bartel took a coil of rope hanging on the outside of the building and tied it around Jason’s neck, leaving lengthy portions of loose rope on either end. He tried to resist, but the men were too strong.

  “We are those born with no power,” he said. “We do not use dimsai, for we cannot.” The men forced Jason into the building. There was a thick post in the center of the building with metal rings set into either side. Bartel picked up one end of the rope, threaded it through one of the rings, and then carried it over to a small opening in the side wall
where he pushed the end through.

  “So what’s that got to do with me?” Jason asked, as Bartel ran the other end of the rope through the second ring and then moved toward the opposite wall. Jason noticed that the first end was no longer slack. He could just make out movement through the small opening. Someone was holding the end of the rope.

  “We cannot use dimsai, and we do not allow others to use it when they come among us,” Bartel said, as he came back to stand in front of Jason.

  “If that’s true, how did you even know who I was, living way out here?”

  “We have a few friends in Lore’s Haven who keep us apprised of what is happening and what the Circle is planning. We knew of your arrival before most of the people in Lore’s Haven.”

  “Oh, so you can’t use power, and you won’t let anyone use it here, but you’re not against using saiken when it suits you?”

  “We do what we must,” Bartel said. “Whatever achieves our ends.” The other end of the rope went taut, jerking Jason back against the post. The two men released him and stepped back. Jason tugged at the rope, trying to lessen the pressure against his throat.

  “Wait a second! I helped your guy, Elam. I didn’t have to do that, but I did.”

  “And if I had realized you were saiken while we were still out there, I would have thrown you to the pit demon and brought Elam back myself. Now we must decide what to do with you,” Bartel answered. “Although, I suppose I should consider it good fortune that I learned your identity before disposing of you. You may be useful to us.”

  Okay, I’m done, Jason thought, calling on his power. He frowned as nothing answered his call. He tried again. Still nothing. Bartel watched him with a mild look of amusement.

  “So, power doesn’t work here, huh? Figures,” Jason said.

  “Power works here, Jason Bennett. Our village sits just outside the edge of the Riftlands. But even if your power responded, which it will not so long as you are bound with rope held by our people, you could do nothing against us.”

  “Huh? But you said you didn’t have any power.”

  “That is correct. But not only do we not have any power of our own, the dimsai of others does not affect us or anything we create. And as you have just learned, the ability to use dimsai is nullified in anyone that we touch, either directly, or through anything we have created.” He ran his hand along the rope binding Jason. “Like this rope, for instance.” He looked at Jason with eyes full of accusations, but Jason wasn’t sure they were directed at him. “You cannot use your power against us, or against anything we have made. You are our prisoner, young man, until we decide how best to use you.” He started to walk away, and then hesitated. “Or to dispose of you,” he said over his shoulder. Then he walked out the door.