Morning Light [NA]

[Loiosh]

The riders were coming now. 

The snorting of the horses and the drumbeats of thunder turned into splashing and shouts of recognition, of challenge and of bloodthirsty anticipation.  The girl did not dare look back as she ran down the bed of the stream.  Nothing she saw was going to make her run any faster.  Her death was chasing her.

In other times she may have felt the chill of the glacial waters numbing the cuts and scrapes on her bare feet.  She might have felt that breathlessness of the icy river enveloping her as she plunged in, taking breath and warmth away in a snap.  People from the village had died before trying to swim the river in early spring.   Her terror, however, allowed little time or room for weighing such things.  She was running.  All she could remember now was running and her running was coming to an end.

By some miracle, carried by rushing adrenaline and the momentum of primal fear, she managed to cross the main channel.  The riders were still behind her, plunging into the icy waters with curses and shrieking whinnies of the horses.   Her body was numb and throbbing, barely obeying her as she fought for every inch of distance and space.  The girl only realized she had touched bottom once more more from the sudden upward thrusting of her torso from the water as her legs windmilled wildly.

Unbidden and unwanted a desperate flash of hope stabbed at the ice-encrusted panic driving her.    The shore was so close and the beckoning dark safety of the woods beyond.  She could evade the horsemen there.  She could hide.  She would live.  The girl risked a look back over her shoulder.

It was a mistake.

The world froze as if winter had suddenly returned.  The distorted roiling panic receded and she could finally see everything in crystal clarity.   The drifts of snow that had not yet melted.  The dappled fingers of light peeking through the tall dark pines.  The blue-grey sky with the last hints of the night stars slowing snuffing out one by one, tinged red with the flames of the village burning across the river.  It was all so clear.

The details of the raider’s armor, sigils of the Lord of the realm.  There were six of them, three fighting with their mounts midway across the river with swords drawn and the fury of battle of heir face, two standing back on the opposite shore with bows being limbered and razor sharp arrows being nocked.  It was the last that most caught her attention, however.  The raider’s eyes, blazing blue fire in the morning light, pierced down through the girl from a few mere yards away. 

The girl looked slowly downward.  There was no hurry anymore.  The polished haft of wood protruding from her chest told her everything she needed to know.   The rider’s arm was still extended from the throw of the spear.  The blue fire of that gaze shining out from the eye slits of the helmet was unblinking and unwavering even as the darkness started to seep in all around.   The rider’s lips moved, forming a word perhaps but such mundane things no longer concerned the girl.  The fear was gone as if it had never been.

She offered the rider a smile of gratitude.  A parting gift in exchange for that instant of peace.  The rider’s startled reaction barely registered and the unfamiliar shout of anguish and pain carried her across the threshold into the abyss.

The girl was free.

-   -   -   -   -   -

Kanata awoke in a cold sweat, her pulse racing and her eyes wide and unseeing.  He clutched at her chest as if that simple act could keep the pounding fear from spilling out onto the rumpled bed covers like blood from a deep wound.  He sat like this for an eternity as the miasma of the dream receded and left him shaking in the small dark bed chamber. 

The details of the dream were already fading as they always did, leaving only the sharp stabbing pain in her chest and the trembling aftershocks of terror and panic too terrible to be borne.  A sighing murmur at his side nearly drew a scream from him before Kanata remembered he had not come home alone last night.  The shape of a figure moved beneath the sheets with lazy sinuous curves and another murmur arose from the tangled mop of scarlet hair buried beneath one of the pillows.  An arm curled around Kanata’s waist and he fought off the urge to slap it away.

“Kan..?” came the bleary voice.  Kanata tried to connect a name to the voice but his mind was still far too muddled.  He needed some air.  He needed another drink.

“Nothing.  Back to sleep.  It’s fine,” he grumbled hoarsely.  As delicately as he could he patted his companions arm and pushed it off as he slid out of the bed, not bothering with throwing on his shift as he stumbled towards the balcony.  With every step he prayed to every deity that would listen that there would be no further questions.  Fortunately the rustling the bed ceased as the woman drifted back into slumber.

Kanata snagged the half-empty bottle from amongst its depleted brethren as he stepped through the curtain into the early morning vista of the city below him.   Forbe was never truly quiet.  Amongst its tens of thousands of residents there were those night walkers making their unsteady way home to whatever hole they slept in, the alternately groggy and chipper calls of the merchants and bakers rising to set up for the coming day, the calls of the patrolling guards and the distant bell of the Church announcing the coming dawn.

He drained the bottle, welcoming the burn on his tongue and throat that purified his racing and disorganized mind.  It was a dream.  A bad one, certainly, but just a dream.   A humorless smirk crossed his face as he leaned against the dingy stucco wall by the door and peered aimlessly down the street towards the distant gates of the palace grounds.   If he strained himself he could just hear the calls and responses of the guards’ shift change.

Perhaps Gaile had been right after all.   Idleness was bad for him.   He needed purpose in his life.  He needed work.  However much they told him he had earned his retirement, however much he despised the snot-nosed upstarts who had somehow come to hold high rank these days and however much he tried to tell himself otherwise; he was a warrior at heart and not much else.  If he had no one else to fight he just ended up battling himself one way or the other.

“Alright, then,” he said to no one in particular as he tossed the empty bottle out onto the street.  He was answered with a satisfying crashing tinkle of glass that seemed to validate his decision.  At the very least it would shock the hells out of Gaile.  That alone would be worth it.

“Alright.”