***AN-My story begins after the death of Tarrant and before the Patriarch's
sacrifice. Thus, fae still can be used for self-sacrifice but human fear
still influences it. It is the beginning of a long tale which will tell of
Tarrant's youth and his adventures after the series ends. Enjoy! And as
always, please review.***
The spirit skimmed over the trees, desperately searching for that thing that it's Need had demanded. Below it, the fae faintly shone through the canopy of sickly tree. The place that had been the spirit's home was now dying, as surely doomed as it's own abandoned body. The edge of the forest came on the horizon and the spirit hesitated. It looked again to the fae lines under it, uncertain of the answer it's Working had received. "Close," the spell promised. The spirit wavered, becoming more anxious. Close was a relative thing.
The spirit checked the fae once more, greatly disturbed by the changes the last three days had wrecked upon it. Only recently had mankind had the blood-force of Erna ripped from its collective greedy hands and the panic that the sudden lose of power caused made the fae all the more chaotic.
The normally chaotic whirlpool below the spirit had became a fickle maelstrom, full of eddies and sub-lines that had once been tapped and drained upstream and now flooded to the end of its flow. As if every dam in a watershed had been shattered, the overflow, in short, made the ordinary fae paths almost completely unreadable.
The spirit took all this information in and with a bodiless shiver, plunged towards the horizon.
As the last of the trees fell away before it, the pull of the Need spell surged. The spirit could have cried out in elation as it coursed faster towards its goal. Soon, soon!
A small copse of nu-cherry appeared ahead. A crystalline brook flowed through it and a saddled unhorse and a foal contently lay nearby. The mare raised her head and twitched her ear in acknowledgement that something was there.
The spirit barely noticed the unhorses, demanding, "Where, where?" The Working replied, "here," and dissipated. The spirit started in fear. If what it was seeking for was not here, it had nothing left to sacrifice. With much trepidation, the spirit looked about. The copse was only a few dozen yards square and the land was uneven in typical Ernan fashion, so it had to literally look high and low, madly hunting that which would give it true life and freedom. It saw nothing.
So the spirit looked up in trees and under boulders. It even looked under the water, just to be sure. The mare looked on as if she could actually see it, apparently amused. The spirit was far from happy, unable to find anything.
The spirit whimpered soundlessly, searching the whole of the area once again, like a person who is very late and is trying to find their keys. Twice again, it looked. Thrice. Nothing!
Finally, the spirit gave a great incorporate howl of frustration and despair. If only it could weep, it would have for the first time in time forgotten. The mare had both ears perked and whickered, calling attention to her self.
The spirit turned to her, she and her sleeping colt being the only living things it could see bigger than a chitterpunk. The unhorse was a black and brown paint. Her broad forehead alluded to the intelligence that clearly reflected in her eyes. The spirit paused, staring at her at length. It had asked for a suitable unoccupied body with a brain capable of holding it's vast knowledge. "Surely not," it thought.
The mare snorted as if replying in the negative. She lowered her head to nudge the long mane and long legged ball next to her. The spirit, defeated in it's own search, approached. And then laughed mockingly at itself.
The foal was no foal at all, but a young man curled up on himself. Waist length black hair tangled across brown skin and black leathers, deceiving the spirit with the illusion of a colt patterned after it's mother.
The mare, indeed, had been protecting the youth like her own. The spirit suspected the man had fell suddenly ill, since he was in a ball and the unhorse was still saddled. The man must have been there at least two days, the spirit estimated, noting how the plants partially under the boy had already turned themselves to face the sun.
The young man's face was utterly blank. While the eyes were closed, the lashes didn't involuntarily quiver when the mare sniffed his face. The spirit came up next to the man, accessing the situation. A coma, perhaps, but if the cause was something incurable, then the body was no better for it than for the boy.
Delicately, the spirit entered the body. Systematically, it checked out all the functions: dermal, muscular, and skeletal. Auxiliaries worked despite the abuse for exposure. Cardiopulmonary, digestive, renal, all right; reproductive, hormonal, and sensory, those were good things to have working properly. And the nervous system. The spirit steeled itself. The two most important criteria for the spirit were that the body had a healthy brain and that it was unoccupied. Morality wouldn't allow for the pushing out of another soul.
The spirit slid smoothly into the brain, checking each area for injury. Frontal lobe, temporal, occipital, parietal lobe, cerebellum. nothing damaged and no intelligence seemed to be present! Electric thrills went down the spirit's imaginary spine. So soon it would have one! As for where the soul went, God only knew, and don't question a gift from God!
Like a hand into a glove, it moved into the body, possessing it truly. Slowly, perception of self returned. Limbs, hands, feet! Working lungs, aching joints, all wonderful feelings. The spirit tested it's (his!) muscles, flexing bi's, tri's and quad's, beautiful series of collaborating flesh!
Could he see the fae, he wondered. Was that inborn talent connected to the flesh or the soul? He could see the fae while seeking this body, but would that change once he looked out of someone else's eyes? He needed to know, and there was only one way to find out.
He opened his eyes. Bright light assaulted the delicate retinas that hadn't been exposed in days. A soft, slim hand suddenly covered eyes. It took him a long moment to realize that it was his own. He rolled onto his belly, oddly unable to feel the ground. It will pass, he thought. He uncovered his eyes, certain that the grass would be easier to look at. A color filled his vision. He blinked several times. The color remained and no definite lines appeared. Confused, he raised his head and peered out to where he knew trees in spring bloom were. More color came into sight and some shapes, but he couldn't tell what they were!
"Blind! I'm blind!" he gasped. Although he said the words aloud, the sounds were foreign to his ears. Something was wrong.
His new heart raced. He had already settled into the body and was unable to leave it. The vestiges of the Working that allowed him to analyze a potential body would soon flee and in this altered Erna, he wouldn't be able to do anything.
He forced calm upon himself. Nothing can win in the face of discipline and determination. Taking a shaky breath, he pulled on his knowledge of biology and physiology. Eyes, ears, and sensation of the ground are not processing and the organs are functional. must be chemical or cerebral then. What influences the interpretation of sensory information? The thalamus.
He slipped inwards again, concentrating on the forebrain and it's parts. The thalamus, a tiny part that obviously made a world of difference. The spirit studied it carefully, looking for disease or clots that he may have missed the first time. Nothing unusual except. except. a fae thread? While fae flowed around and through everything, this was odd in that it was thin and tense, like a rubber band about to snap.
Cautiously, the spirit touched the strand, questioning where it led. His answer came in the form of emotion.
"!"
"!" The spirit replied, astonished. The emotion was without doubt human.
The spirit skimmed over the trees, desperately searching for that thing that it's Need had demanded. Below it, the fae faintly shone through the canopy of sickly tree. The place that had been the spirit's home was now dying, as surely doomed as it's own abandoned body. The edge of the forest came on the horizon and the spirit hesitated. It looked again to the fae lines under it, uncertain of the answer it's Working had received. "Close," the spell promised. The spirit wavered, becoming more anxious. Close was a relative thing.
The spirit checked the fae once more, greatly disturbed by the changes the last three days had wrecked upon it. Only recently had mankind had the blood-force of Erna ripped from its collective greedy hands and the panic that the sudden lose of power caused made the fae all the more chaotic.
The normally chaotic whirlpool below the spirit had became a fickle maelstrom, full of eddies and sub-lines that had once been tapped and drained upstream and now flooded to the end of its flow. As if every dam in a watershed had been shattered, the overflow, in short, made the ordinary fae paths almost completely unreadable.
The spirit took all this information in and with a bodiless shiver, plunged towards the horizon.
As the last of the trees fell away before it, the pull of the Need spell surged. The spirit could have cried out in elation as it coursed faster towards its goal. Soon, soon!
A small copse of nu-cherry appeared ahead. A crystalline brook flowed through it and a saddled unhorse and a foal contently lay nearby. The mare raised her head and twitched her ear in acknowledgement that something was there.
The spirit barely noticed the unhorses, demanding, "Where, where?" The Working replied, "here," and dissipated. The spirit started in fear. If what it was seeking for was not here, it had nothing left to sacrifice. With much trepidation, the spirit looked about. The copse was only a few dozen yards square and the land was uneven in typical Ernan fashion, so it had to literally look high and low, madly hunting that which would give it true life and freedom. It saw nothing.
So the spirit looked up in trees and under boulders. It even looked under the water, just to be sure. The mare looked on as if she could actually see it, apparently amused. The spirit was far from happy, unable to find anything.
The spirit whimpered soundlessly, searching the whole of the area once again, like a person who is very late and is trying to find their keys. Twice again, it looked. Thrice. Nothing!
Finally, the spirit gave a great incorporate howl of frustration and despair. If only it could weep, it would have for the first time in time forgotten. The mare had both ears perked and whickered, calling attention to her self.
The spirit turned to her, she and her sleeping colt being the only living things it could see bigger than a chitterpunk. The unhorse was a black and brown paint. Her broad forehead alluded to the intelligence that clearly reflected in her eyes. The spirit paused, staring at her at length. It had asked for a suitable unoccupied body with a brain capable of holding it's vast knowledge. "Surely not," it thought.
The mare snorted as if replying in the negative. She lowered her head to nudge the long mane and long legged ball next to her. The spirit, defeated in it's own search, approached. And then laughed mockingly at itself.
The foal was no foal at all, but a young man curled up on himself. Waist length black hair tangled across brown skin and black leathers, deceiving the spirit with the illusion of a colt patterned after it's mother.
The mare, indeed, had been protecting the youth like her own. The spirit suspected the man had fell suddenly ill, since he was in a ball and the unhorse was still saddled. The man must have been there at least two days, the spirit estimated, noting how the plants partially under the boy had already turned themselves to face the sun.
The young man's face was utterly blank. While the eyes were closed, the lashes didn't involuntarily quiver when the mare sniffed his face. The spirit came up next to the man, accessing the situation. A coma, perhaps, but if the cause was something incurable, then the body was no better for it than for the boy.
Delicately, the spirit entered the body. Systematically, it checked out all the functions: dermal, muscular, and skeletal. Auxiliaries worked despite the abuse for exposure. Cardiopulmonary, digestive, renal, all right; reproductive, hormonal, and sensory, those were good things to have working properly. And the nervous system. The spirit steeled itself. The two most important criteria for the spirit were that the body had a healthy brain and that it was unoccupied. Morality wouldn't allow for the pushing out of another soul.
The spirit slid smoothly into the brain, checking each area for injury. Frontal lobe, temporal, occipital, parietal lobe, cerebellum. nothing damaged and no intelligence seemed to be present! Electric thrills went down the spirit's imaginary spine. So soon it would have one! As for where the soul went, God only knew, and don't question a gift from God!
Like a hand into a glove, it moved into the body, possessing it truly. Slowly, perception of self returned. Limbs, hands, feet! Working lungs, aching joints, all wonderful feelings. The spirit tested it's (his!) muscles, flexing bi's, tri's and quad's, beautiful series of collaborating flesh!
Could he see the fae, he wondered. Was that inborn talent connected to the flesh or the soul? He could see the fae while seeking this body, but would that change once he looked out of someone else's eyes? He needed to know, and there was only one way to find out.
He opened his eyes. Bright light assaulted the delicate retinas that hadn't been exposed in days. A soft, slim hand suddenly covered eyes. It took him a long moment to realize that it was his own. He rolled onto his belly, oddly unable to feel the ground. It will pass, he thought. He uncovered his eyes, certain that the grass would be easier to look at. A color filled his vision. He blinked several times. The color remained and no definite lines appeared. Confused, he raised his head and peered out to where he knew trees in spring bloom were. More color came into sight and some shapes, but he couldn't tell what they were!
"Blind! I'm blind!" he gasped. Although he said the words aloud, the sounds were foreign to his ears. Something was wrong.
His new heart raced. He had already settled into the body and was unable to leave it. The vestiges of the Working that allowed him to analyze a potential body would soon flee and in this altered Erna, he wouldn't be able to do anything.
He forced calm upon himself. Nothing can win in the face of discipline and determination. Taking a shaky breath, he pulled on his knowledge of biology and physiology. Eyes, ears, and sensation of the ground are not processing and the organs are functional. must be chemical or cerebral then. What influences the interpretation of sensory information? The thalamus.
He slipped inwards again, concentrating on the forebrain and it's parts. The thalamus, a tiny part that obviously made a world of difference. The spirit studied it carefully, looking for disease or clots that he may have missed the first time. Nothing unusual except. except. a fae thread? While fae flowed around and through everything, this was odd in that it was thin and tense, like a rubber band about to snap.
Cautiously, the spirit touched the strand, questioning where it led. His answer came in the form of emotion.
"!"
"!" The spirit replied, astonished. The emotion was without doubt human.