Saturday, September 1, 2012

Paths Of The Chosen (continued . . .)

(Author's Note: Okay, I think that the old thread might be getting too long, because I keep having trouble adding any more to it. So, future additions will be made here [unless/until this gets too long as well]. Also, if you have any, and I mean ANY, comments, good or bad, please reply or PM me. Constructive criticism makes good writers become great. And if you haven't already read the previous chapters, you can find them in the thread "Paths Of The Chosen" here in this same sub-forum [Writing]. This all being said, I now return you to our regularly scheduled program)

Chapter Twenty
?Key?



Time & Date; Unknown

In the Northeastern-most part of the continent known as the Dragon, there rests the fair city of Cristyne. Ever has it been a pleasant and peaceful dwelling to it?s inhabitants, they who do what they can for their city, doing for themselves whenever able. But that is not to say that they shun the outside world; the citizenry quite readily welcome the trade of goods with the several outlying villages that surround it, augmenting the already-riant and jubilant atmosphere it shared with the world around its walls.

Those little villages, in turn, are partially reliant upon the same trade with Cristyne.

Just a bit more than a day?s travel south of Cristyne, one of the quiet villages existed in harmony with it?s neighboring settlements. Officially, this village did not have a name given to it. But the some two hundred residents called it home.

The village was not large. It possessed some seventy or eighty simple thatch houses and boasted it?s very own smithy, a shop with so much work to be done that there were two blacksmiths who tended it. There was even a small marketplace where goods were traded throughout most of the Long Calm. But the market was closed this late into Sun Fade.

There were also two inns; the Carpenter?s Thumb, which had two floors and could accommodate ten patrons if needed; and a smaller one, which did not even have a name, but was affectionately referred to as ?Lady Tamara?s?.

The proprietor of the smaller inn was not, by any legality, a true lady, but her mannerisms, her speech and her exceptional beauty caused travelers who passed by to question her seemingly-peasant origin.

Tamara was quite unique among the other villagers. She was taller than the other women, lacking a mere inch of being six feet. The almost-exotically tan skin of her face and hands was smooth and supple, unblemished from the long hard work she did maintaining the inn. Her striking blue eyes were contrasted sharply by the flowing, jet-black hair which cascaded around her shoulders and halfway down her back. She was, in this village, quite unique and well-loved.

Once, several years before, a traveler had seen her and made a lewd remark. The whole village had stood by watching grimly as Mykalis, Tamara?s husband, chased the vagrant out with the hammer he used at the smithy. Tamara had not been happy about her husband?s actions, but since then, the men of the village tended to greet him with a slap on the back and the phrase ?by Myk?s hammer? became a common swear-phrase.

Myk and Tamara were not rich, even by the standards of the peasant-folk, but they were a little well-off. Besides the inn, which they owned and ran with the help of a hired hand from the village, Myk spared whatever time he could to the smithy, making and repairing tools for the village when he was not repairing the inn, though he was always able to find time to spend with his family.

They both loved running the inn and helping their fellow neighbors, and they valued the inn very much for sentimental reasons. (Myk?s father had owned it until his death). But the inn was not their most prized possession. No, that position was reserved for something so much more precious.

Myk and Tamara were blessed with two children; a girl, the oldest by six years, and a boy. The girl, at age eleven, was a smart, energetic, and cheerful child. She was named Tykara, a name which, according to Tamara, meant ?precious treasure?. She looked so much like her mother, it was almost like an illusion from a traveling wizard?s show. Even at such a young age, Tykara was very beautiful.

The boy, Hal, was equally intelligent and playful as his elder sister, and he adored her every bit as much as she did him. Indeed, the two were nigh inseparable. Hal inherited his mother?s black hair and his father?s broad-shouldered physique. The boy was a headstrong lad who, more oft than not, got what he desired. But he was not a bully; he was very charming and sweet. The child had not a single malicious bone in his body.

Myk and Tamara were proud of their little ones. Though well-meaning, well-behaved and oft helpful, they still tended to get into the same trouble as most children do. On occasion, Hal would help his father at the smithy, fetching tools and the like for the elder Sol-Talon. Tykara usually aided her mother in the daily chores of the household, as well as the chores of the inn, when she was not playing with her younger brother and their friends.

And on this particular day, Tykara was lending a hand to Tamara as the dark-haired woman scrubbed the laundry against a washboard. Her mother?s motions were continuous and steady while she listened with rapt attention to her daughter.

?Oh?? She said, an eyebrow raised as she worked. ?And what happened then??

?Well,? the girl continued, ?Larnin tried to grab me from behind, but then I twisted,?and she demonstrated, ?like so.......and he went ?whoosh? right over my shoulder and splashed right into the mud.?

?Mm-hmm?, Tamara sounded. ?That would explain all the mud on your clothes yesterday. But that still leaves the question of why??

Kara shrugged her shoulders, ?It was fun.?

?I see.? Her tone gave no reprimand, but neither did it carry approval. ?I?m not certain that you should still be playing like that. You?re not a child much anymore, love.?

But Tykara did not fully understand what her mother meant. ?What difference does that make? Larnin won?t ever be able to out-wrestle me. He?s just not fast enough.?

?My dear,? her mother started to explain, ?in another year or two, you?re going to begin to change. And so will the boys. By that time, they won?t feel the same about a girl who can win against them in a wrestling match.?

?Why not??

Then Tamara smiled at the girl. ?When it happens, you will start to understand. And if you do not, then I will be near to help you.?

Tykara frowned, wondering what her mother might have meant, though she did not lend voice to her ponderings. For a several minuted, they worked together in silence, and all the while, the girl?s mind ventured in many directions, as varied as the wind. Eventually, however, she did find herself with a query.

?Mother??

?Hmm??

?Can I learn-?

?Ah-ah?, Tamara interrupted, but Kara was already correcting herself.

?May I learn to use a sword??

Tamara was silent for several minutes. ?Who will teach you?? she asked finally.

?Old ma- I mean, Mr. Mordig said he?d teach me.? the girl offered readily.

Tamara understood immediately. The aging Vel Mordig, grey of hair (where he still had it) and keen of eye, was a retired officer from the Cristyne city guard, and he was constantly going on about how he believed women should learn to protect themselves, should the event occur (Kami forbid!) that the men of the village were unable to do so. But, aging as the man may be, one could not deny that he was still as fit as a plow-horse and capable of teaching even the dullest simpleton. He also loved to spend time telling old ?war stories? to the child, though their parents all knew well that Vel had never once fought in any war.

?A fit teacher?, said Tamara, ?if any man be.? She continued to scrub the laundry in silence for several minutes. ?I suppose it would be a good thing to know how to take care of oneself. But the final decision will rest with your father, as it always has.? Inwardly, she felt certain that her daughter would grow bored with the lessons in short fashion, so she did not try to dissuade the girl.

Tykara nodded to her mother. ?May I ask him tonight??

Tamara glanced at the pile of laundry remaining and estimated it would be able to finish in a quarter of an hour. Looking at her daughter, her smile widened a bit.

?You know what? I think I?ll be able to manage the rest on my own if you want to ask him now. He should still be at the smithy.?

Tykara?s eyes lit up brilliantly, sparkling in the waning light of afternoon. ?Can - May I?? Her soap-covered hands came out of the wooden washtub and her arms wrapped tightly around her mother. ?Thank you!?

Tamara dried her hands on her apron and returned the hug. Then she patted the girl on the back.

?You had better hurry. The smithy will be settling down for the day before long.?

Tamara smiled contentedly as she watched her daughter run off down the town road.

.oO*Oo.

?Blessed Kami, we now give thanks for the blessings You have laid upon us. We place our lives in Your loving hands, that we may be guarded by Your will. We thank You for the food You have placed before us, that it may nourish us, and we pray that we will honor You in our actions.?

When Myk fell silent, all those around the table did the same, allowing for a moment of reverence before the commencement of their meal. After the appropriate length of time had passed, Myk motioned for young Hal to pass his plate and the boy complied with a grin. While he filled the plate, the elder Sol-Talon spoke to his daughter, who sat opposite the boy.

?Well, Kara, did you wear out another sword today?? It was, of course, a jest.

Little Hal?s grin grew wider as Tykara answered without skipping a beat, adding to the joke, ?Not today. But Mr. Mordig said he might have to send it to the smithy for repairs.?

Myk shook his head, handing the plate back to his son. ?Kara, you need to ease up a little, stop trying to catch up with the others. They are five years older than you.? The girl had quite surprised both of her parents with her training. Neither had felt she would stay with it for very long, but it seemed that old Vel had a way of capturing the attention of his pupils, regardless of their age. So, with it now a year later, she was even more enamored of her exercises than when she?d first begun.

Kara replied with, ?I know, Papa, but I really want to work my way up to a longsword and my arms aren?t strong enough yet.? She passed her plate to her father, who worked to fill it up.

?Kara,? her mother broke in, ?you?ll work yourself to death. You really need to slow down.?

Hal held a different opinion. ?She?s the best of all of ?em!? He pushed his vegetables around on the plate while he talked. ?We?re gonna go adventuring when we get bigger, just me and Kara! Just like in the stories!?

Myk laughed as he spoke. ?Now he?ll be training next, I think!?

His mirth was joined by his wife until a knock came at the door. He arose from the table, his chair squeaking against the floor as he scooted it backward.

?It never fails,? he remarked. ?If you want someone to come visit, sit down to eat.?

Tamara smiled at him while he walked toward the door. Lifting the catch, he pulled the door inward couple of feet. Standing on the doorstep was one of the older boys of the village, dressed in plain breeches and a woolen shirt, a sword tucked into a wide belt at his waist.

?Sir,? the boy said, ?I beg your pardon for the hour, but may I have a word with you? Er, out here?? He looked past Myk, toward the children, indicating that younger ears need not to hear the news he carried.

Myk nodded and stepped outside, pulling the door to behind him. Tamara and the children could hear their muffled voices through the door, but the words were too distorted to understand. Tamara looked over at her son and noticed that he was still nudging the vegetables around. She gently scolded him as she filled her own plate, then Myk?s.

?Hal, don?t play with your food, love.?

The boy sighed in resignation and proceeded to eat. The three of them dined in silence for a few moments, until Myk re-entered and beckoned his wife to follow him into the next room. The request alone lent a worried expression to Tamara?s eyes while she stood and made her way from the dining table. She eased the door closed, hiding them from the children?s sight, though the door did not shut completely.

Hal was paying no attention to them, but Tykara was listening close as she ate. She could only catch a few words.

? . . . caravan missing . . . possibly raiders . . . could be nothing . . . need several of the men . . .?

The was a sound of movement, and when the door opened again, Myk was walking toward the door with a hunting bow in hand, a quiver tied to his belt. As he reached for the latch, Tamara caught him by the arm, pulling him around long enough to place a lingering kiss on his lips.

?Ewww! Gross!? Now the two grown-ups had Hal?s full attention. The boy covered his eyes with his arms, as if warding them off.

Tamara broke the kiss with a laugh and caressed her husband?s cheek.

?Be careful, Myk. I?ll see you when you get back.?

?Aye,? he answered. Then he turned and went back outside.

?Mamma, where?s Papa going?? Hal?s question was the honest innocence of youth.

Tamara swallowed, trying to slow down her run-away heart, then answered.

?The men need his help with something, that?s all, love. Finish your dinner. Then we?ll get you two ready for bed.? While Hal took her words at face value, she could tell that her forced smile was not fooling her daughter in the least.

.oO*Oo.

The situation was far worse than the village elders had first thought, for their antagonists had not behaved at all like raiders, instead laying siege with a force that remained well distant. The brigands remained out of sight, for the most part, and their tactics left old Vel Mordig with the impression that they were great in number; two bandits to every man in the village was his best guess. He gave the rest of the elders a vehement warning that they seemed well-organized, possibly even military.

The villagers had posted watches around the palisade wall, though it did not aid with morale at all. This was, in no small part, due to the fact that some of the watchmen had said they?d seen a grey-skinned man with some of the ?raiders?. Of course, all of the adults knew enough of the world to recognize a Shur?ken by description, though no darkman had dared to so much as set foot on the shores of Tei?Vaek since the end of the Fourth Fell Wind War, nearly twenty years before. Nonetheless, the fear of their sorcerous kind was still close to heart, kept kindled by whispered stories among the children and hushed memories of the elders.

All that chaos sewn among the thoughts of the villagers and they had only been cut off from the outside for three days. Such a short time for so many people to creep ever-so-close to panic. If not for the brave souls who watched the walls, that same-said panic would have already seized hold of them.

And on the morning of the fourth day, the worried murmurs were justified.

Like a flood of people, the so-called raiders charged for the palisade gates, screaming their battlecries sounding akin to daemons rising from the Abyss. It was a single, massive wave that rushed at the village from all sides.

The archers among the watchmen were good, some might say excellent, but there were simply too many targets to take down, or to even thin out significantly. But to their credit, not one of the watchmen broke ranks, standing solid against their own fear. There they remained, steady, right up until they were cut down like wheat. The bandits simply swarmed over the fallen and began to lay claim to the empty streets.

.oO*Oo.

?It?ll be alright, Hal.?

Tykara held her brother close as they huddled together beneath her cot. She could feel the heat of his tears as he buried his face against her neck. She ran her fingers through his hair like she did when he was hurt, hoping it would soothe him as before.

They could hear the battle outside, the yelling and screaming, the clamor of the weapons. The sounds of people being dragged from their homes.

Somehow, above the cacophony, they were able to make out their mother?s efforts to move a large dresser in front of the door, trying to bar the way from the inside. And though she struggled with all her strength, the weight of it made her progress agonizingly slow. Or perhaps it was because she wept, knowing that her husband was out there amidst the fighting with the rest of the men.

In the end, the reasons did not matter, for the door of the little room burst open before the corner of the dresser could block it. A man, a human, in a chainmail shirt forced his way in and took hold of Tamara, dragging her by one arm and a fistful of her black hair. And yet, while she must have been filled with terror, the only sounds she made were of defiance.

Under the bed, little Tykara tried to force her body to respond. But it wasn?t until the man had taken her mother from the bedroom that she was able to establish command of herself.

?Hal?? she spoke quickly, but only in a whisper, afraid that the man might hear her and return.

The boy didn?t answer.

?Hal, I need you to do something for me.?

She felt his head move in a nod.

?I need you to be brave and stay here. Don?t make any noise. I have to go.?

?Mamma said to stay here?, she hear his small voice say.

?I know what Mamma said, Hal. But I have to go. Can you be brave for me??

He didn?t say anything else, just gave her another nod. She kissed him on the forehead then slipped away from him, tugging his arms from around herself.

?I?ll come back for you, Hal, I promise.?

The girl quickly scuttled from under the cot stood up halfway, thrusting her hands under the straw-stuffed mattress. The cool touch of steel greeted her fingers as she drew out the shortsword she?d hidden there. She knew she wasn?t supposed to take it from Vel?s makeshift training yard, but she wanted so much to practice and strengthen her strokes and posture that she?d begun sneaking out behind the inn for an hour each night. Now she was glad of it. The hilt felt at home in her hand.

Her shoes padded against the floor when she made her way from the little bedroom. It connected directly to the main room, which also served as their dining room. The table was askew and the chairs had been shoved aside, likely from Tamara struggling as she?d been dragged through.

The man must have taken her outside. It was time for Tykara to put her training to the test. Her heart was racing, thudding in a frantic rhythm. She couldn?t tell if it was from her fear or from adrenaline. Hurried steps carried her through the room and out the door.

Such a young age to have to see the terrible things that awaited outside.

People running, screaming, burning. Dying. People she knew. Some of the houses were engulfed in flames from torches thrown by the raiders. Those things alone were more than enough to frighten and scar a child?s soul. But Tykara recognized, too easily, the body of the woman who lay in the middle of the road. The modest work-dress, the simple-made shoes, the black hair that lay in a mess, obscuring her face from view. The sight of her mother in the dirt with a raider standing over her, his back to the house . . .

A child should never feel the kind of sudden rage that threatened to explode in her mind. She made no sound, and the edges of her vision blurred. Her entire being was focused on the back of the chainmail the raider wore. She never even felt her feet move. She was simply, and quite suddenly, there, having covered a distance of more than twenty feet. The lightness of the sword surprised her, as did the strength with which she struck. All of her weight went into the thrust. Perhaps the chainmail was poorly made, perhaps the sword was sharper than she?d anticipated. In the end, it mattered not, for it penetrated both the mail and the flesh with equality, piercing just deep enough and at just the right angle to bury an entire inch of the metal into his heart. Truly, anger can drive one to accomplish amazing and terrible feats.

The raider uttered only the smallest of sounds as he tried to turn, but the ruptured heart was failing him fast. He sank to his knees before falling forward and pulling the hilt from Tykara?s grasp.

A sickness hit her with the knowledge that she had just ended a life. A virgin kill. It twisted in her belly like a knot of serpents. She clutched at her middle as she leaned forward, ready to empty the contents of her stomach. She wasn?t sure which frightened her more; the fact that she?d killed a man . . . or the fact that it had felt good.

Her eyes locked onto her mother, silent and still. Blood matted the hair on the back of her head, not yet fully dried. And in that instant, the sickness fled, leaving her with only a hunger. A hunger to make the raiders pay. She swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat, that bitter taste stinging as it sank downward, and took hold of the sword hilt. It took her two tries, but she was able to wrench it from the mail shirt. And just in time.

Another man, blade raised and hair dancing wildly, was bearing down on her. Tykara knew she could never take him in a straight fight. She simply did not have the upper body strength or training for it. The only thing she could think to do was to seize a handful of dirt, which she flung at his face.

The dust hit him squarely, though he did try to turn his head to avoid it. But he was already committed to his attack, chopping the sword down at her with a single-handed grip. And she very nearly did not escape the stroke. As she leapt to the side, the blade passed by her face close enough that, had it been polished well, she would have been able to see the ugly anger that distorted her features.

The weapon hit the ground with a dulled ring, and the raider tried to rub the dust from his eyes with his free hand. While his effort took less than a second, it was a second that cost him his sword hand. The child retaliated fast and hard, bringing her borrowed short blade down on the man?s wrist and, though it did not pass through completely, it cleanly broke one of the bones and splintered the other.

He gave a yell and reached for his injured wrist, still effectively blinded by the dirt. Tykara?s second stroke took three fingers from the other hand before it cleaved through the wrist. The man?s yell became a howl that assaulted the child?s ears, and a third desperate stroke tore open his throat, changing his cry once again, this time to a horrible gurgling choke.

She stood there transfixed by the sight, slowly coming to know what she?d done, watching the raider?s mutilated hand struggle to stop the bleeding at his neck. With every beat of his heart, the crimson stain spread further down the front of his mail shirt. Tykara felt the sickness return. She did not want to watch, but she couldn?t make herself turn away.

The sword slipped from her grip. When she glanced down, she found that her hands were shaking. Her arms. Her entire body. Trembling. Her legs gave way and she fell in the street on hands and knees, retching violently. How long she knelt there, she did not know. A minute, maybe three. Maybe five. It was a miracle that she wasn?t seen and attack in that time. But she finally got her feet under herself again, using the back of her arm to wipe away the vomit that clung to her chin. She was forced to avert her gaze from her kill or risk becoming sick again.

Then she heard it. A faint cry from the house behind her.

She twisted around and saw the flames crawling, like vile serpents, up the walls and across the roof of her home. All thoughts of the dead raiders fled her mind. Only a singular purpose penetrated her brain.

?Hal!? she screamed, starting forward only to trip on the body of her first victim. She went down, trying to catch herself. She still ended up face-down in the dirt. As suddenly as she?d fallen, she was scrambling back to a stand, uncaring for the dust that had gone into her mouth. ?Hal!? She could only faintly hear her brother calling out her name. She nearly fell again, only just maintaining her balance as she propelled her body forward, all of her focus on that smoke-shrouded doorway.

She never even saw the darkman until she ran into him. Oh, he?d been there when she started running; she simply hadn?t noticed him, centered as she?d been on the house. The impact caused her to spin slightly to one side and land roughly on her back, knocking the wind from her. As she gasped for breath, the Shur?ken came close, leaned over her.

The grey-skinned man seized her by the front of her tunic and pulled her up so that she had to stand on the tips of her toes to touch the ground. His black eyes bore into her soul, his dark red hair waving slightly in the breeze created by the smoke and flames. A curious medallion swung loosely from his neck; a medallion bearing a strange engraving of a raven?s claw. And on the man?s collar, she saw a small emblem embroidered into the fabric. A black rose.

A call from one of the raiders drew the attention of the Shur?ken, and he looked away from the girl, breaking eye-contact. Then Tykara remembered her brother, heard his call from inside the burning house. She began to struggle, to scream, to try to escape.

She felt the back of the darkman?s hand strike her across the face with great force, snapping her head to the side. Blackness crept in at the edges of her vision. She heard the darkman speak, presumably to one of the raiders.

?Collect the survivors. I?ll question them, and then you may do with them as you like.?

The girl tried to call out to her brother, but her tongue refused to obey her, and her speech was unintelligible. And as the blackness inched further and further into her field of view, she heard little Hal?s voice scream one last time.

?Kara!?

She couldn?t keep her eyes open any longer.

.oO*Oo.

When she regained her senses, her mind was a dizzying mixture of two different people; the innocent child she?d once been, and the calloused bandit she?d become. At first, it confused her, these two contrasting sides of the same coin entwined together, so much so that it took her a moment to even recall her own name.

Tykara. Yes, that was it. Tykara Sol-Talon.

With the remembrance of her name, her vision began to clear like a breeze brushing away a dense fog. Slowly did the darkness recede, bit by bit, until a thin shaft of light cut through, shining in her eyes and nearly blinding her.

?I have found you,? a voice called from behind the light. A voice that, while familiar, was one she?d not heard in nearly twenty years. But she could not yet put a face to it, nor a name. So strange, to know something so well, yet not know it at all.

?Who?s there?? she asked, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the light. ?Who are you??

A cool and gentle wind touched her skin as it traveled by, taking with it the last remnants of the fog. She realized she was standing in the middle of a meadow, one she recognized from her youth, just outside the village gates on the northern side. The air was sweet with the scent of wildflowers, and the zephyrs of mid-Tear Fall made the tall grass and myriad blossoms roll in waves.

So very peaceful.

It seemed to her that she had somehow forgotten what was peace. But for now, she could remember.

?I have been looking for you, love.? That voice, so soft, came again. Now she could make out a silhouette of a woman with the evening sun slowly sinking toward the tops of the distant tress. The woman took a step forward, partially blocking some of the light, allowing Tykara to see who spoke.

She inhaled a short, sharp breath which immediately became a choked sob.

?Mamma.? The word simply felt perfect as it rolled from her tongue, despite the fact that her own voice was no longer that of a child. This part of the dream was new to her. Never before had she experienced seeing her mother through her adult eyes. It was both wonderful and heartbreaking, as she knew that it was merely a dream. As soon as she awoke, her mother would vanish.

The woman came forward and took Tykara into her arms, into an embrace that felt so very real.

?My dear child,? her mother whispered, holding her so tightly that it hurt. Tykara did not mind. She knew that it would hurt even more when she awoke. Better that she stay here in the dream forever. ?I have come to unlock your chains,? the older woman said to her. ?I have come to set you free.? Tykara didn?t understand what she meant, and she resisted for an instant when her mother withdrew from her grasp.

Strange. She didn?t remember ever seeing streaks of grey in her mother?s hair.

?I?ve brought you the key to your shackles, Kara.? Her mother lifted a hand to a thin cord about her neck, from which hung a plain iron key. ?And your friends have come to guide you back.? Her went to something past Tykara?s shoulder, and Tykara followed her gaze.

Several feet back from where she stood, there was a tall man in shining armor, the sun glinting off of the metal. Beside him, a red-haired woman in plain, brown clothes kept an easy stance, emerald eyes watching her intently.

What were they doing here? This was her dream. They didn?t belong in her memories.
She looked back to her mother, then at Kraey and Siltas. Realization struck her like a bolt of lightning.

?It?s not a dream,? she hissed. Then, louder, ?This isn?t a dream!? Looking again to Tamara, she felt her voice quake when she spoke. ?You?re here! You?re alive!?

?Not quite, love.? There was a smile on her mother?s face, though it didn?t seem to be as full as it could have been. ?I am here, and I am alive. But this is still only a dream. It was the only way for us to reach you. Your friends have come here to be your guide home. But you must first travel the dark path of your hidden thoughts, those that you cannot or will not remember.?

Tykara only had the faintest inkling of what she meant. ?This can?t be a dream. I felt you, warm and alive. I?m as awake as I ever want to be.?

Her mother?s smile was strained. ?Child, there is so much more beyond this place.? She held a hand out, indicating the beauteous meadow. ?True, the world beyond can be hard and cruel. But the path you take will show the truth of who you are.? She brought her hand back, lifted the key from around her neck, and held it out. ?This is the key to your past. Until you unlock it, it will hold you captive. You must accept the memory of what you have lived. You must open the book.?

It was then that Tykara noticed the weight in her hands. When she looked down, she found that a thick, heavy tome rested in them. The volume was bound in leather and an iron bracket was formed around it, only a small keyhole suggesting that it could be opened. She was almost certain that the book had not been there before.

Tamara brought the key over the book and set it into the hole, then drew back her hand.

Her daughter shook her head, not wanting to understand. ?No, I remember! I remember everything! I can see the entire attack in my head. I can see you on the ground, dead. I can see our house burning, with Hal inside. It?s all here!? She?d moved the weight of the book to one hand and was tapping a finger against her temple.

But her mother responded with patient explanation. ?You saw the attack, yes. You saw the house burning, and myself lying unconscious. What you do not remember is what came after, what made you into the woman you became. You can deny yourself and perish altogether. Or you can turn the key, child. Remember yourself. Accept the price and walk free.?

She felt a hand on either shoulder, and when she turned her head to either side, the Knight and the Valkyrie were there beside her, silent, solemn. Her eyes went back to the book, her free hand touching the head of the key. She could not deny that there was a part of her that wanted to know who she was. But there was another part that was very much afraid of what she might find. Her fingers tightened a little on the key. She paused.

?What will be the price?? she asked of her mother. The only answer she was given was Tamara?s smile, small and saddened, but hopeful all the same. Her heart beat a little faster, and she knew that she?d already made her decision. She turned the key.

With a click, the bracket snapped lose and the book opened of its own accord. And on the pages . . . Nothing. Not even so much as the yellowing of age. Tykara frowned and looked at her mother.

Tamara?s form began to fade away like a mirage and Tykara understood the smile. She?d turned the key, and the price to be paid . . .

?No!?

Tykara dropped the book and dove forward, trying to take hold of the fading image. She passed through her mother, and when she did, she had the strange sensation of her mother?s thoughts overlapping her own, almost as if they were trying to merge with hers.. Then the world exploded into billions of shining lights, like a shower of tiny little diamonds.

_-^-_

Xal Yah alu xuil dos.
(May God go with you)
Revelation 21:4
And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.

Source: http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RolePlayGateway/~3/Mm05etTGcRI/viewtopic.php

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