Darkness. Silence. Nothingness.
Then there is something. Warmth? Light? Fire? It glows red and burns at you, around you, everywhere. The fire burns brighter, and then becomes white. The heat grows hotter still until it cold again. There is sound, color, touch, smell, and even taste. The sensations overwhelm you and then it is gone.
There is a speck of light. You widen your eyes and see an open window, light streaming in. A soft breeze flows towards you, along white marble walls, inlaid with golden trim. Paintings of people you can't quite see line the walls. You strain to look at them, but they won't come into focus. The light from the window at the end of the hall seems to fill the entire hallway, despite what physics would imply. In the distance you hear a baby crying. You move to stand, and your hands slide along the marble floor, leaving red smears that almost seem to glow on the white marble. The redness is blood - still warm.
His eyes do no stray from the color on the floor, its richness draw his eyes to its redness. Cries of infant... or is it of the blood that now stains his hand? Questions, a river of questions come crashing from his thoughts to his lips, a torrent of questions. A torrent that finds no release, as the scarlet that drips from his fingers onto the floor draws both his eyes and thougths once again. A unsteady hand rising to quivering lips, as a timid tongue stretches for a taste.
A hunger rises in you as the blood reaches your tongue. It is warm... sticky... even sweet. It is a strange cocktail. It is both your blood, and yet, at the same time, not your blood. You can taste the power in it, and the power is strong... intoxicating. The light in the hallway seems to be fading, the orange red of a sunset streams in now.
Pain. Loss. Anger. Regret. Emotions that you cannot explain begin to fill your heart. Somebody has done this to you. Somebody has hurt you. They have escaped you, but you know you will find them. The cries of the infant grow louder and louder, distracting you momentarily from the flood of raw emotions. The walls of the hallway seem closer now, perhaps just a trick of the light.
The warmth of the blood seems stronger now, and you can feel your heart pumping, louder and louder. Something warm flows down your face and neck. Even your chest is covered in it. Blood, it flows freely, but you do not feel tired by it. The sickly sweet smell of it instead seems to bring back the flood of emotions.
Your eyes drift to the hand that you brought to your mouth. There is a burn there, upon your palm, shaped almost like a star. As you look upon it, your hand throbs, paining coming into it with every beating of your heart.
Look onto the star, focusing on the pain, anything to calm the storm within his head and heart. As with the blood, find both comfort and joy with those sensation, those emotions but also troubled by them. Maybe its the cries of the child or something else, of a task yet uncompleted. Greeding tongue licks the last from his lips, yet the hand refuses to bring it anymore. Ears here the cries, alarmed by their change. Eyes dart about, as legs begin to move, hands helping as they steady themselves on floor and walll. And heart, with the pain that comes with each beat. Merely becomes the wall that corrals those emotions, so they do not interfere with his attempt to rise. For whatever questions he does has, their answers will not be found on the floor. Or at least, so he thinks...
The star shaped burn continues to throb. You raise yourself to your feet, the walls seem to be less an arm width apart now, and you feel as though you could reach out and touch the ceiling. Your legs propel you forward, your emotions fueling your speed.
Faster you run. You hear the cries and screams ahead, drawing you forth from the hallway. The end of the passage with its glowing window seems ever distant though. You grow ever closer the window and the turn of the hallway there, but you cannot reach it. Faster, and faster. The walls seem to blur as you run, and closer and closer they come to you, so that your arms brush along them as you run. Part of you wants to stop, knowing this is futile, but something else deep inside you screams out, in harmony with the screams in your ears, driving you forward.
With one gigantic leap through the air you cross the last bit of the infinite corridor, and stand underneath the window. The hallway turns to the left and right. The window is now at eye level, and you see the ocean in the distance, the sun setting into. Your face reflects in the glass, but it neither familiar or alien. It is difficult to even capture all of your features in your mind, they seem to shift around as you focus on them.
Your eyes are distracted by something over your left shoulder, in the hallway you just escaped. A face, a figure, a woman. She seems to glow, almost as if wrapped in fire. You see her face and you know fear. The light shifts and she is gone, perhaps she was only a combination of the light from the setting sun, and the distortions in this ancient glass. A trick perhaps played by the fears of your heart.
Can one hope, for his mind to shut down? Overwhelmed by all seen and heard, from pain and emotions. But whatever comfort such a blessing could bestow, seems not to visit him. His eyes going from the scary woman, back to the window and the face within and the lands beyond. New, his eyes bring but the demands on his ears are the same, as they hear still the crying child. Choices are to be made, as his palm burns with pain. Left or Right, as changing eyes watch the changing features of his face with little regard, The mass of tissue behind the eyes and between the ears having already made its choice.. if the woman was to the left, then right is where he must go.
Doors pass by, all closed, and the hallways continues on. The cries continue ahead. Left, then right, your path twists. Up a set of stairs, past windows now dark with a cloudless night. Tapestries, busts, armor, coats of arms and more decorate your path, but no people. The only sign of life in this barren place is the crying of the child.
At last you come to a door, just like all the others, except this one lies ajar. A small gap, enough for you to peer in. You reach your hand forward, to push the door open, but the crying ceases. You can see the large blue crib inside the room. A figure is bending over the crib, and lifts the baby up in the air and then cradles it in his arms. He coos gently and the baby makes a noise that can only be translated as happiness. Calm and peace come over you, but they last for only a short moment. The figure turns around, and you see his face, and it is too familiar. A face you have seen, reflecting in the window... your face.
Stunned, shocked, or is it confusion that register on his face first? Or could it be, all three in a macabre dance. His eyes, swivel ever so slowly from man to child. Words are the farthest from his mind, as he gazes back upon himself. Fear telling him to bolt from this room, to get as far away as possible... but something keeps him here, keeps him looking from man to child. His feet, could be easily part of the floor now as he just stands there.
Your feet grow heavier and you wonder if you could even run from this spot now. In your left hand, you feel a different weight though. A smooth handled dagger. Unconsciously you shift its grip in your hand. You're not sure how long you been holding it, but it feels natural and right in your grip. While you know you can handle it well in your left hand, you feel as if there is empty weight from your right.
The man in the room cradles the baby, humming softly - still oblivious to your presence. You don't know the song, and the fact that the other you does seems to be causing you some irritation. Hate... blood... The dagger weighs more in your hand now. The other you's back is turned. One quick movement, a stab in the back, or a slicing of the neck. It would be so easy.... a sacrifice is needed.
While natural, the dagger is unexpected. Its weight, just remains him of the emptiness of this right. Knowing its edge is razor sharp, knowing its point is that of hell's damnation. Understanding all of this, yet not understanding any of this. Urges there, to kill this one in front of him... but what of the child? What Hell waits for one to take the life of one cradling a baby, what tortures await? Blood calls to blood, yet it merely provides life, its doesn't rule it.
Fate. Pain. Revenge. Love. Sacrifice. Suffering.
Your mind reels with thoughts as you weigh both the blade in your hand, and the actions you might take. You mind comes back to the present - if this dream like state can be called reality. You know, that once the world made sense... things were not always like this.
The other You, the one cradling the child, sees you. Your eyes lock. You know him, as you know yourself. He is you.
Your eyes break away. The tide of love, hate, and all the other emotions one feels towards oneself is too much.
There is a man, sitting at the doorway, a man who looks just like you. His face is covered in blood, and his eyes are the color of a moonless night. In his left hand is a knife. He has the look of a terrified animal, who might either run or attack.
The song on your lips fades away, and the infant in your arms stirs, anxious to be calmed. An overwhelming sense of love fills you as you feel the weight of the child in your arms. Protect... guard... you have to keep her safe...
You remember pieces of the other, but the boundary between the two of you is fragile.
The you in the doorway looks to move. He is quick. If he reaches you, you will not stop him. Something inside you is screaming for you to run. The room around you seems to be growing bigger and bigger. You must run. You must protect her.
Within a single heartbeat, a universe awaits. In sharpen steel, a life can end. In a child's cry, both the summit of heaven and the darkest abyss of hell can be heard. Choices to be made, to flee from oneself or protect the same. Whatever to be the rabbit jumping into the bunny hole, or chance the shadow floating overhead that may be a hawk. Left in his, left in mine.. Glitter of steel, life taker. Baby cooing, life giver. Choices, fireflies dancing on a moonlight night. To fight and save, and flee and save yet again. Choices, like fireflies dancing on a moonlight night. In wonder, or in dread filled fear, a foot moves yet he does not fear, to flee now is a mistake to be sure. But to stay, lets come the fear. A child's call, a dagger mirrored, one before him and one behind him.. to which, he only sneers. Let himself, come at himself, let himself hold her in loving arms. Come white-eyed one, come with matching left...Those thoughts like shouts in his head. Come with Steel, he calls to himself! Come with Love, he calls to himself! Come with Madness, he calls to the Universe! Come with... What, he asks, Himselves?
The girl in your arms cries as the other you reaches you. You step forward, not retreating, despite the cries you hear within your mind. The other you's knife glints in the light, and you feel cold metal press against you. There is a slight resistance as the blade presses against the skin. Silently, the resistance fails and the knife slides deep within you.
Blood... red... hot flows forth. You fall forward, arms still wrapped about the infant. The other You falls forward as well. His blood flows as well, though you struck no blow. There is power in this blood... words flow from your lips, intertwining with words uttered by your other self. Words of power... words you can no longer remember.
Space.... time... none are truly real... there is something more... past... present.... future.... shadows of truth....
A man beneath you... a knife... blood.... pain.... he lies beneath you.... loss... pain... rebirth....
A dark emptiness.... your blood opens the way.... sacrifice... power....
A child newly born in the morning's light, blood still upon her skin... born of pain... born of loss... in your arms.... a child of love....
Betrayal... theft... loss... pain....
There is a sharp kick in your side. "Answer him!" Another kick. Your eyes open. A tall thin man with blond hair, dressed in a black military uniform, stands above you. Your hands and feet are shackled. You find the air hard to breathe.
"I want him to answer, not just lie there panting from your abuse," another voice responds. This voice is familiar... you know it.... There are heavy steps as the man whose voice it was steps forward.
You are in a large domed room, with bright light coming in from all about. Statues and paintings line the perimeter of the room. The place is familiar, but you've never been here before. The floor is marble, well polished. You see your own reflection, battered and bruised, but nothing serious. Your face is only half familiar though...
The blond guard takes a half step back. "Yes, your majesty."
The man approaching you is dressed in black, white and silver. His hair is raven black, and the lines of his face are well known to you. There is a tiredness to him, but still a harsh determinism.... he is strong, but he is also simple in his way... you are smarter than him... he is both friend and foe, as reliable as the wind. The words come to your lips without any intent, "Corwin."
He laughs. "No, that's my name. I asked who you were."
Hush, little baby, don't say a word.
Daddy's gonna buy you a mockingbird
And if that mockingbird won't sing,
Daddy's gonna buy you a enchanted ring
And if that enchanted ring turns brass,
Daddy's gonna buy you a looking glass
And if that looking glass gets broke,
Daddy's gonna buy you a billy goat
And if that billy goat won't pull,
Daddy's gonna buy you a cart and bull
And if that cart and bull turn over,
Daddy's going to buy you a dog named Rover.
And if that dog named Rover won't bark,
Daddy's going to buy you a horse and cart.
And if that horse and cart fall down,
You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town.
_______________________________________
"Corwin.." He says, as if a curse. Taking the blow that is expected, rolling with it to lessen its effect. Not taking his eyes off the man in front of him. With blood dripping from his lips, a tooth loosen or two."When has the mighty Prince Corwin ever taken a interest in the fate of a lowly prisoner?"
Your words seem to anger the guard, but a quick glance to Corwin causes him to hold his tongue. Corwin bends over you, smiling. His right hand rests casually on his sword hilt, but you are certain that with little effort it could be drawn forth and be upon you.
Corwin smiles, "I do not think you are quite so lowly. Consider yourself honored if you like. This is your opportunity to appeal my good nature." His grin causes almost instant hatred. "For such an honored guest, I feel I know so little about you. What name are you called? Is this what you seek?" He gestures with his left hand to the crown upon his head.
'Thief!' a voice calls out in your head, but you aren't sure if the reaction was sparked by the crown or not. Something in the room is odd. It is too large, and too empty. Beyond Corwin, on a raised platform is a large throne. There is a shadow of movement there... a figure, but it is gone before your eyes can focus.
"Your head?" The Prisoner asks in some jest."No, can't say I do... mine being quite good enough for me right now. Its not that much of a fair trade either, with all those people who would love to see you under a dirt blanket." His lips form a smile."And I, having only you to threaten my life so far." With a chuckle, he adds."Indeed not a fair deal if you ask me."
"Little in life is fair. It doesn't matter how many wish you dead - it only takes one to do the job. Something you clearly know much about. What was the fairness in the slaying of those servants, I wonder..." He pauses. "Talk, or not, its up to you. I'll see you get the royal treatment." Corwin turns back to the throne. Again you see a shadow of movement there, but nothing you can catch fully with your eyes.
"I'll see that he receives our finest accommodations, love. Perhaps a visit to our spa downstairs, mm?" The voice is female, coming from behind you. It isn't familiar, but you can hear a sadistic quality to her voice. She walks around you, dressed in an exquisite, relatively low-cut, dark purple gown. A crown is upon her head as well. Her face is young, but you sense many years behind her eyes. You have trouble making out her features, and it almost as though the features on her face shift before your eyes. She is beautiful though, and her movements are smooth. She reminds you of a cat dancing about it prey before it strikes.
There is a second guard on your other side, now. You didn't notice him before - surprising since you thought you had made a full accounting of the room's occupants.
Most in the room, can see that the Prisoner wants to say more to the Corwin but holds his tongue for some reason. But the hold, like a rusty lock is broken when the Lady enters his vision, uttering her so kind words."Nice kitty.." He says, with a smile that would fit better on a demon then a man."Best watch those claws, before someone clip them off." The Prisoner warns, eyes swing back to Corwin."Thank you... I could do well with a bit of rest and such, but I'm not really the spa type of guy. Still I appreciate the offer or should I say, the Lady's offer."
And as She or Corwin answers his taunts, the Prisoner adds in a low tone to the guard who just materialize. "You must be real fun at parties." With a bit of dry wit, as he listens to the two with the crowns.
The newly arrived guard seems a little angered and confused at your words - apparently he doesn't know that he just materialized.
There is a gleam of anger in the woman's eyes. For the briefest of seconds her face reels in anger, and becomes something else, something bestial. There is power there... she is something to be feared... she seems more familiar for an instant. With a blink of an eye, her monstrous demeanor is gone, and she is returned to a creature of beauty.
She walks to the thrones - of which there was only one a moment ago, but now there are two. She turns about and takes her seat in throne next to Corwin. Her face is different now... as is her entire body - even her movements have changed. A pale skinned, dark haired woman sits in the throne. You know her... and something about the scene makes your insides twist in revulsion. The anger rises up, thick and black within your mind. It cannot be her, IT CAN NOT BE.... it is not Deirdre who sits besides Corwin, it cannot be.
Nobody else in the room seems to have noticed the change at all. Corwin places his hand upon hers, and you feel the taste of blood fill your mouth. "Take him away." The voice is hers, perfect in all respects, but you know it is not. There is something cold and uncaring in the voice, but it still rings true.
The two guards reach down to raise you from the floor, and lead you from the room.
Dragged for the room, denial on his lips... if his hands had been free, he would have ripped the very truth from his eyes. Denial, he calls out.. Denial, his mouth shouts! Denial, till the last when dankness claims him. Denial...
Sadistic joy - you can see it in her eyes as you are dragged from the room. The room slides away from you as though you were on a moving walkway - the guards an irresistible force. The doors to the throne room close leaving you in darkness. As the false King and Queen are about to fade from sight, you see it again - a form behind them - a woman. She moves towards you - unseen by the others - and the darkness comes with the closing of the doors.
Stone bangs against your head as you are dragged down the hallway and then down a narrow stairway. Your eyes adjust again to the new light.
The ringing of bells. Once, twice, thrice.... twelve times the bells sound. You pass in front of a large clock. It seems to reach up for a hundred feet, though you know the face cannot be above the ceiling. You pass by it, and you see her next to it. Watching from the shadows. The same face from the hallway. Her eyes bore into you. She has done this to you. She knows you... the thoughts of the tortures awaiting you fear you less than the thoughts of what she might do to you. The guards drag you onward, and the woman in shadows takes a step after you - shadows following her every movement.
Down you are taken - deep beneath the castle, leaving the Shadow Woman behind. You know this path. Hope rises within you - you are near to It... near to power... near to freedom. Then they turn - the wrong way - and you know your escape lies in the other direction - you can feel it. Only the cells lie in this direction.
As his world narrows to that of a cell, one that would, come only be filled up with shadows of Her. Those fears, click... as a key would in a lock. Denial now push aside, as other parts of his brain go about their calculations of distance and vectors. His body going limp, as he mumbles and moans. Nearing, as the numbers add up to his best possible escape... its avenue. Limp muscles, go tight as he attempts to rise and beat-off those that hold him. Escape the body calls, and the mind agreeing.
Like a rag doll you collapse your body, letting all tension vanish from the surface - pulled inward, tightening like a spring. The guards sense something, but they are too slow, and like a snake you launch yourself, twisting your body away from your captors. The chains bind your arms behind your back - if only you had your hands, this would be so much easier. Adrenaline rushes into your body, strengthening you. You charge at the guard, ramming your body into him - slamming him into the wall. Reflexes kick in, and you slam your shoulder his jaw - barely registering the sound of breaking bone.
Movement behind you - the other guard reaching you, perhaps with weapon in hand. You start to move when he hits you with his fist in your shoulder - he was probably aiming for your head but missed. With your hands and feet so encumbered, and with your recent injuries from the guards, you lose your balance and tumble to the ground.
Anger... fear.... you start to rise to your feet - hardly even noticing the first guard slumped unconscious against the wall - blood flowing from his jaw. You are about to leap towards the other guard when you hear it... a voice... 'No.'
And then there is a clap of thunder... no, your mind remembers... the firing of a gun... fiery pain in your left leg as the bullet slices through you... another shot and pain in your right leg... causing you to fall again. You can feel the hot warmth of blood soaking through your pants.
'You cannot.' You realize the voice is not in your ears, which are still ringing from the sound of the gunshots. The voice is in your mind, and as you look up, you can see her - standing in the shadows - a pistol in her hand - still smoking. 'Abomination. We will destroy you.' The guard that still stands rushes you, apparently oblivious to the shadow woman's presence and to the gunshots. 'We will destroy all that you love. You will never be free. You will never escape.' The words carry a sense of finality, that you refuse to let crush your spirit, even as the guard smashes the butt of his rifle into your head, driving you into darkness.
The cold stone of your cell wakes you. Your confines are tiny with barely enough room to walk. A sliver of light is visible under the doorway. A small pile of straw in the corner serves as a bed - a tiny hole as a toilet. The wounds in your legs still ache - though they have been bandaged and your chains removed. You are alone... you are trapped... forgotten... buried in the bowels of the castle.
"Trapped and forgotten..."
Those are just words... Words that have no meaning to the one, alone... No, not alone! He has his hatred, if such a word could encompass what he feels towards the Woman in the Shadows, and those above, beyond the stone walls of his cell. Hatred doesn't burn, that way, what he feels in his heart. No, not madness either. Something else, which surely strike fear in anyone's heart if they where just able to see his face, his eyes sunken low. If anything, he.. the man in the cell draws strength from the stone, from the hay, from the smells, the tiny bit of light. Yet more then the light trapped in his soul, the child's touch and cries forgotten for now. A man... No, tis a Beast that waits in this cell. One, who knows that one day the door before him will be open. Open to free a broken man they may think, but it will be a Door to the Blackest Abyss. 'Wait'' the Beast calls, advises, consults. 'Your Day will come,' It promises. 'And Hell, your Herald!' And with these words, and many more, cause a long scarce smile to come to his lips, this man, alone but yet not forgotten. 'They fear you!' The Beast says.'She fears you!' Forgotten, he calls in a muttering. No, not yet as long as they still fear. Let this fear, form the key to this cell. He says, and the Beast can only agree.
Time melts away.
It melts like a scene you saw once in a painting - Salvador Dali, your mind recalls. Weeks, months, years, it is always the same. How long were you there? Perhaps a portion of you will always be there.
Sometimes your hands find a small impression, like a drawing, in the wall, impossible to see in the darkness of confinement. An impression, like a drawing. You imagine towers and skyscrapers, mountains and trees. Sometimes, in the midst of dream, you imagine the shape to be the shaft of an endless well. The waking reality is seldom a relief from the sleeping world.
In your mind you are visited by phantoms of hate and malice. Futility. Food arrives, you eat, but there is never escape - not from the boredom and not from the cell. There is never even a word - kind or otherwise. Lost... forgotten.... your beard grows, your muscles weaken. Madness comes. Madness departs. Some days you wake to find you have bloody knuckles from smashing against the door. Other days you wake cold, wet and hungry. Somedays you even think you have died, but life always returns.
You think often of the child. Perhaps it is the only thought allows you hold on to what fragments of sanity remain. 'There is always time,' the Beast whispers, "time will bring the key.' Another voice, one of Hope replies, 'The universe is but an illusion. It is what our thoughts make of it.'
Perhaps the months do stretch into years. Perhaps the years into decades. The decades even into centuries.
Time melts away.
The worst moment was towards the end. Screams... agony.... pain... suffering.... the child's cries. The only voice you can hear... the only voice that you could hear for time untold... the screaming of the child... the suffering of love.... the lose of hope. It is not the screams of your mind, but those of the physical world. 'All is but illusion.' The beast comforts.
Rage swells, anger rises.... something is let loose, but the cell remains - invincible as it has been for all eternity.
Then a ringing. The sound of bells. 'The hour is now.' cries the Beast. 'The key is ours.' cries Hope. The bell sounds again, and the walls shake. Again they sound and the walls scream. 'Now!' cry all the voices of your mind. You reach your hand out and touch the door.
It gently slides open as though it had never been locked.
Door forgot, as it can only be."Free..." He screams in joy, or is it merely a croak? Beast licks a palm and purrs, as wild eyes search about in disarray. Ready to kill if he must, even flee if that is the only way to guard this new thing he can only enjoy. But the cry? Hope calls out, to the Beast's dismay. With eyes still taking all in, mental gears long slowed, turning in rusty grooves, as he thinks.'Cries=Child= Protect.' Then at last, words come as if once locked in stone." I must protect the child!"He declares.
'The child is gone...' one of the voices whispers. ['i]'We must find her. We must go to her. There is a path, a path of fire' Your mind blazes with the image, and your feet begin moving almost of their own accord. Another voice, perhaps your own, whispers in your mind. "She will hear. She will know. She will remember. We must flee!' The beast howls within. Heal... rest... revenge! it growls.
A guard standing in the corridor, watching the cells. He seems to blend with the shadow, or is it your eyes, unaccustomed to such light. His hands are on his rifle... he raises it... the beast howls.
The guard is gone, and you are elsewhere... strength returns to your limbs. Power... hunger.... There is warmth on your hands and lips now. You can feel it in you... with every pounding beat of your heart. You can feel the child... you can feel the way.
The door is in front of you. It is locked... the queen of shadows has sealed it... but she does not know your power... your hunger. She does not know what burns within your heart. You reach out your hand, and touch the door. It will open for you. It must open.
The walls seem to moan and then with a slam, the door falls from its hinges on the ground before you. The fiery path lies in front of you. The soul of the castle... of the world... of everything. The Pattern. You know it. You feel it. Everything else is illusion... this is real. 'No... even it is an illusion...' a voice whispers. 'Truth lies only within.'
The Pattern is not itself. Sparks shoot high from it, as though it were on fire. What should be but a glowing line is a fiery path. So bright and violent is the light that you cannot see far into it. Straining your eyes you see a dark shape in the center. A figure perhaps? A rock? Its impossible to tell at this distance, but your heart knows... The child.
Listen, Judge, Decide... that is the rule of life for now. The door laying broken, the way wide open but the Beast clamps down his teeth, stopping Conall in a instant. At the door, now open, before the child within the middle, of the pattern which seems to be... not what it once was. Its on fire, awed voice advises. Beast would like to growl, but the flesh he has in his jaws, seems to prevent that. Danger, run, hide.. revenge! He would love to say, if the Beast could love anything. There is danger here, death! he claims. The Beast says yet again, his fangs deeply in, to stop the first step onto the Flames. So Conall, if that is really is his name... stands before the Great Pattern, one side of him wishing to go forward, one half wishing to turn away.
Listen, Judge, Decide... What a stupid rule!
Fear begins to rise up. Danger looms from both sides. To flee one is to face the other. The lady of shadows will come soon... she will be drawn here... drawn to you. The Pattern is not itself and it may consume. But if it can be mastered it will lead to certain escape and to the girl. To flee along the dangerous path of the fiery line or to retreat through the castle, evade guards and the queen of shadows... but then what?
Another voice rises up in your mind. 'This is the path of power. It will strengthen, it will cleanse... this is the path of order.' There is a confidence. You have done this before. You have walked paths more perilous than this, though you cannot remember when.
Your meditations are broken by a sound. At first you think it the howling of the beast, or the rumbling of the walls, but then you recognize it. A moaning. Pain and anguish. The sound comes from before you, from the shadowy shape in the center. It is the moaning of a girl, no longer an infant. You know the voice for whose it is. Still a child – still needing you. It is a cry for help... it conjures to mind images of dying animals caught in a hunter's traps. It is a cry for a release from the pain.
A single step, into flames.. that is his only choice. Heavens be damned, but its his own choice. Such a simple thing, the raising of a foot, above the flames and back down again.
Energy... pain..... life.... death....
Visions of days not lived fill your mind. The truth.... you sees what you were... what you are.... and perhaps what you are meant to be... The thoughts are gone now as you seek to remember the events of that fateful walk.
Step after step you push forward. You know what needs to be done. The walk has the feel of familiarity... no something more than that... it is part of you. The flames rise higher and higher licking your waist.
Shaking... crumbling.... Do the stones fall from the walls? You feel another presence with you.... or perhaps it is just yourself – a multitude of possibilities.
Something is wrong now... you don't know when you sensed it, but something is not as it should be. The Pattern is in you. In your mind... in your soul. Fear. Fear builds. The flames raise higher. It will consume you. Your body is not your own – it belongs to the fire. To the blood. To the sound of the Pattern. It is singing to you. Discordant notes of pain and hope. Hatred... love... loss... life... You can no longer tell your own mind what from the storm that is the Pattern.
Your body pulls you forward. Reality fades and rebuilds around you... or perhaps you are the one fading. 'Focus!' The demons of your mind fight for survival. A child in your arms... a reason.... blood on your hands and face.... a dagger... the darkness... revenge... love.... hope....
The flames rise higher. The Pattern burns... wrapping around your shoulders. Still you move forward. Pulled or pushed...
A body suspended in the center. Hung in the air, suspended on a sword - embedded in the Pattern. A thousand spears pin her down. Her eyes open wide in horror... pain... despair... but not death. She is a marionette that does not move. Her mouth is open but no sound comes forth. You see her face... and what remains of your heart cries out in anger and pain.
A step forward... a final push... the flames flare up... you can no longer see. You are the fire. You are the rage.
The center cannot hold. There is no end. Darkness and light... birth and death and rebirth.... No more Pattern... no more flames.... escape... it tears at the mind... memories fade. You knew all that happened. All was clear. All is lost... Only fragments...