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Remembering

Chapter 2: Hope, Comfort and Safe Passage

REFORMATTED

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It annoyed her profusely, the way he was always happy. He always hummed, or grinned. He was never visibly angry or upset, despite her best efforts to irritate him. For now, she decided, she would concentrate on making the man as angry as possible.

She didn't know about anything that was going on outside the tiny room, but she knew that it must be serious. Her friends couldn't help her, but they would fight the emperor to their last breath. He must be angry about that, surely? Maybe if she made him angry enough he would let slip some news she couldn't get any other way…

Today he strode into the cage, and you could almost see the waves of triumph rolling from him. Daine didn't bother to look up. She liked the bare plaster wall more than she liked him. Ozorne checked himself when he found he was being ignored (again) and nodded to one of the slaves guarding the door. Almost instantly the wildmage found herself being dragged upright to face him.

She struggled against the death grip, mentally willing the slave to help her. If they worked together, they could escape and be free! The slave noticed the pleading expression in her eyes, and his own dark orbs narrowed threateningly into a silent threat. Defeated, Daine sighed and stood up straight, ignoring the painful grip on her arms, and examined the emperor.

He already looked annoyed. Oh, good!

What else would madden him..? Daine spat on his impractical gilded boot and glared into his eyes. He glared back.

"You'd best settle down, miss, and cooperate with me. You're a slave now, like all the others. Don't think yourself better than them."

"No," She retorted, "They're as good as me, which is far better than you could ever be."

Ozorne smiled, as if he'd expected her to say that. Still holding the righteous expression, he nodded again at the slave. The collared man silently and efficiently twisted her arm around her back, sending bolts of pain across her spine.

"S-see." She gasped through beads of sweat, "You don't even do your own dirty work."

The emperor leaned closer to her, almost nose to nose. "Trust me, Veralidaine. When the time comes I do all my own dirty work." He whispered. "And there's no point you defying me. Your teacher is…" He tailed off. "I thought I'd tell you earlier, but now…" He shrugged and turned away, heading for the door. Daine stopped struggling and stared at him, her face turning so white it looked like bone.

"Wait!" She cried to the retreating back. "What is it, about Numair? Please tell me! Please!"

Ozorne grinned at the door exultantly and smoothed his features into a frown before he turned to the girl. Please, formed her lips silently.

"Well, it's nothing exciting. He was heading for Galla and he died horribly on route. Or was it just that he disappeared?" Ozorne fanned himself absently. "I never could remember those insignificant details. Let her go." He said to the slave. The girl fell to the floor, almost as pale as the plaster covering it. Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at him in shock.

"Dead?" She whispered. She shook her head slowly. "No… no, he can't be dead… please tell me…he's not dead…"

"I wouldn't lie to you, my dear." The cloying sweetness in the man's voice made her feel sick. She kept shaking her head, almost unaware she was doing it.

Ozorne knelt, eye to eye with her, by now totally devoid of humor. "You see? If you cooperate you'll be treated well. I'll even tell you what's happening to your friends." He stood up and dusted his hands and knees meticulously. "Of course- if you continue to resist…" He gestured to the slave. The sleeping potion was forced down her throat before she even realized what was happening.

The world went hazy once again, red angry streaks of mist. She could almost hear Ozorne's cruel, cold laughter, almost see the room spinning. Someone picked her up; the swaying as they started to walk made her feel dizzy…

Hold on, Daine! I'm coming!

Was that a real voice? She shook her head groggily and listened. Nothing. The red streaks darkened to a pool of inky murk. With a sigh she sank into its depths.

Fight them! Don't give up!

She struggled from the mire, tried to open her eyes, fought against the one that carried her. Her body refused to obey her, moving slowly and sluggishly. Her eyes wouldn't open at all. The only thing that worked were her ears, carrying the tale of Ozorne's laughter and the slave's muttered curses. The black depths beckoned, and this time she drowned, surrounded by empty oblivion.

It's a form of madness, obviously.

One moment you're well, and sane, on the road to peaceful lands, the next you're betraying your friends and risking your neck.

It must be strange kind of disease, hard to catch. The symptoms are hard to recognise, except by someone who has suffered from it and won. It is caused by one of two things.

The first: Hate. It attacks with deep shafts of poison, infecting the heart and the mind. A pain that burns, a fire that quenches reason in it's burning fury. The disease affects soldiers, dying for their beliefs in battlefields, and women who turn against their abusive husbands. The disease for hate is catching, affecting all it touches with it's germs of sorrow and fear. The only cure to be prescribed is the axe, the noose or the flame.

The second cause- it's the one that all try to ignore. Most of the diseased victims deny being infected until their hearts burst open, until food turns to ash in their mouths and a warm fire only melts at the outer shell of their heart. Many of the victims try to cope with the disease, never seeking a cure and suffering with its pangs. The only cure is the only pain. The infected suffers more when those around them are well, and clear of its traces.

Hate and Love.

And a combination is the deadliest disease of all.

"Ahm be sorrie, maister, but ahm not doin' no sailin' to th'mainland." The scrawny little man didn't even look up from the continuous whittling. "Thair at war, ye'see. Too dain-jarus."

"It is essential I reach Carthak as soon as possible." The second man towered over the seated sailor, his pockmarked skin drawing shadows from the bright sunlight. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his silver beard. If the man had looked up from his carving, he might have seen the glint of magic as the man's appearance flickered slightly in the bright light, then became stronger. Although he looked like a swarthy Tortallan sailor, his accent and speech seemed more suited to the courts. "Naturally, I'll pay you well."

Something chinked invitingly. The whittling knife stopped for a moment, resting against the prow of the tiny wooden ship. The scrawny man swallowed uneasily, but then commenced carving. "Ahm Bint Smithsson. What be ya'ur name, then, ser?"

The tall man was silent for a time. Bint wondered uneasily if he'd offended the stranger, calling him sir. It seemed that whoever he was, he didn't want to be recognized. Normally he'd report such a person to the town guard, but… something stopped him. Something that chinked invitingly.

He was just about to apologize when the man found his tongue. "I'm Aaron…" He cleared his throat, "I'm Aaron Sarralim. When's the nearest time you'll be ready to set sail?"

Chink. "Uh… an hour's time?"

A silver coin magically appeared in Aaron's hand. "That would be great." He grinned, looking a good ten years younger, and gave the coin to the sailor as a down payment. Bint dropped the carving, sheaved the knife, and ran to ready his small two man boat.

Aaron's grin faded. In an attempt to kill time he walked around the tiny bay, staring out to sea. Grey waves splashed against the half-submerged rocks, pulling coracles free of their moorings and crushing them to splinters. Silver spray, borne by the breeze, caressed the traveler's face. It stung burnt skin and scratches but was still a welcome relief from the sun.

The last few days had seemed unreal. One minute he was on the road to Galla, with Jon's blessing and Myles' suspicious look. They had traveled until nightfall, the small troop of soldiers he rode with on their way to border patrols laughing and joking. He hadn't joined in- there didn't seem to be anything to smile about.

When night fell, the guards efficiently set up a camp and sentries. No-one could move in or out of the clearing without being seen. Numair smiled wryly when he realized that was probably just what Miles intended. The man probably knew he couldn't stop Tortall's most powerful mage from doing what he wanted, but if he deserted, they would know exactly when and where he was headed.

That night, a thick mist settled over the clearing. The sentries peered at it in confusion, dismissing the black sparks in it as a trick of their eyes and the moonlight. As they stared at it, the sparks became brighter and brighter, a beautiful lights display that lulled them to slumber. They fell asleep where they stood, leaning on spears and halberds. Numair slipped out of the camp unseen, shaking his head over the stupidity of soldiers. As far as Tortall was concerned, he simply disappeared.

He had walked quickly to the nearest port, constructing his disguise as he went. He hid the auro of his gift as best he could, and became "Aaron". He'd singled out the most mercenary looking sailor he could find- one who wouldn't talk of strange passengers if paid enough.

And now, he had to wait.

Far out to sea a ship sailed, its flags easily visible in the reflected light. Dark skinned sailors swarmed over the deck, among the many flashes of sun reflecting on armour and weapons. They laughed happily as they pointed out the rich green shore, so different from the burning deserts they knew. They laughed, as they waited to kill…

Aaron ground his teeth and spat in the sand, rage and anguish filling his heart with stony resolve.

"Hold on, Daine." He whispered raggedly. "I'm coming! Fight them! Don't give up!"

The wind blew his words away, curling around the mage and flying out to sea. Dark clouds gathered ominously over the village, small spits of rain turning the dust into mud. The words echoed around the small bay, trapped in the breeze, the wind pulling them about curiously.

When you've lost everything, there's no turning back. The rain whispered, running down the rocks and kissing the sea in greeting. The sea whirled around the huge stones and did not reply.

Sister, some things lost can easily be found again. The wind cut in, blowing the delicate drops asunder. The rain sulked for a second, and then condensed on the rock, into the form of a tiny elemental, which sat down and ran a hand in the sea. Petite salt crystals ran up her arm, forming a glittering armlet, before they dissolved. She sighed and waved an insubstantial hand vaguely.

I don't think so. You can be breezy about it, but I can't. I'm naturally wet. Soppy.

The wind howled its laughter, spinning into a cone, and a form of its own, next to Rain. Both the tiny sprites sat for a second, watching the tall man walk towards the harbor. Rain's expression pitied as she watched him, the tears of morning dew in her eyes.

Perhaps we should help? She said uncertainly.

Wind sighed and shooed some errant breezes away from Rain. There's nothing we can do.

There's nothing you should do! The sea roared, its face appearing in the frothing foam around the rock. You've been duty bound, sisters! Do not interfere!

I don't care. Rain looked unusually mulish for a being you could see through. I think we should help. We didn't help them when the barrier collapsed, did we?

We didn't have to! We weren't allowed to! A huge wave crashed over the rock, the words thundering in its aftermath. Wind sighed breezily and sent a strong current of air against the wave, turning it to froth before it hit them. The sea span in eddies and currents, frustrated. You may be as sweet as mountain springs, Rain, but you should at least have more sense! Don't let your element rule you!

I'm only as sweet as you are bitter! The elemental retorted. The sea roared and crashed a second wave against the tiny being. Abruptly losing interest in the conversation, she laughed and danced in the spray, and then sent a mist of rainwater back at him. The sea grumbled sulkily to itself and settled down.

I will help. Interrupted Wind suddenly, standing up and swinging on to a breeze. The most important gift you can give to anyone is hope. I caught his words; I can carry them safely to the girl's ears. It stretched up its arms, its form being gradually eroded by the winds, which built in strength as it flew away.

How do you even know who she is?! The sea roared, chasing after her retreating form. Rumbling to itself when it received no answer, it raced back to the rock where Rain was standing, crashing against the rocks in its haste and creating another deafening spray.

I guess we're involved, now. It murmured, it's foamy face uneasy in the current. Whatever we do, we're in trouble…

Then I will give the man the gift of comfort. Rain hissed, jumping into the air and exploding into a thousand dazzling drops. The sea watched its sisters disappear in their different directions. Its vast mind was troubled.

I will give a safe passage, then. It stayed unnaturally still for a moment, and then resumed its never ending pattern. And keep the Gods distracted.

A large fleet of ships floated over the sea's great back. It rumbled its laughter, becoming the malicious demon of the seas that all sailors feared. Perfect.