Just a short chapter today, sorry! I'm applying for a scholarship this week: wish me luck! :P
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Tariro
Chapter 5: Losing Your Mind
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Elan wasn't hard to find. He'd been on guard duty that morning, which had degenerated into its usual drinking and chatting with the other men. Nowadays it was always the same men- burly or lithe, but all bursting with loyalty and with the scars of practiced fighters. Their raucous laughter echoed down the tunnels wherever they were, and the mage simply followed it. He didn't have a plan. But when he stepped into the room, Elan looked up with no surprise at all.
"You're out of the caves early, mage mole." One of the men said, looking smug at his wit. His eyes traced over the man's shape, noticing the dark blood that stained his tunic. "Something wrong?"
"I need to talk to Elan." Numair said, his voice measured. "Privately. It's about his wife."
Elan raised an eyebrow, but there was absolutely no curiosity on his face. He already knew. Of course he did. What was it? A few seeds in a water skin? A powder dusted onto bread? He stood up in one smooth movement and walked towards the doorway. The men stood up to follow him at a discrete distance.
Numair sent out one burst of power with barely a thought, pushing the air towards them like the force from an explosion. The silent concussion knocked them off their feet and to the floor where they stayed, stunned and breathless. Elan blinked and reached for his knife. Numair spun around so rapidly the man barely had time to gasp before he was pressed against the wall, a hand pressed painfully against his throat. Elan's eyes flickered with fear briefly when he felt the cold glint of a dagger against his neck, and then spread his palms in a gesture of surrender, dropping the knife.
"You can't kill me." He croaked, "The whole island would fight you."
"Don't you dare speak." Numair's voice was dangerous. "Right now... do I look like I care about that?" The knife pressed closer, drawing drops which brightened the air like copper. Elan lowered his own hands, careful to keep them away from his other knife. That move would be his last.
"What. Did. You. Do?" Every word fell heavily into place. The black eyes burned with rage. Elan gulped and half choked until the pressure on his throat was let up enough to let him speak. He slid to the floor, the knife following him down like burning ice.
"You poisoned her. What was it?" The knife shook against his throat, as if the hand holding it was struggling with itself. Elan felt genuine fear then, realising that the only reason he was still alive was because he knew something. This man was prepared to sacrifice all the months he'd spent on the island making peace just for that one answer.
And Elan... hadn't Elan risked as much? A mind consumed with anger is a mind without shields, and he could see into this man's thoughts as clearly as his own. He'd expected a diversion- the man too worried to concentrate, or torn away for an hour or so. But this- this was amazing!
Unbelievably, Elan started to laugh. He heard the hysterical sound as if it was someone else. He painted out the transparent thoughts in vibrant daylight.
"You really do love her, don't you? Sneaking out at night and talking to fish, but she was talking to you, wasn't she?" He rolled his eyes in self-mockery. "Gods, how did I not see it? You're the black mage, aren't you? When did you start trailing after the wild mage like one of her dogs?" He laughed again, choking on his sore throat and the sick humour of it. When he could breathe again, all the humour had drowned. He looked up, his own eyes sparking with furious bravado.
"She deserves to die. That bitch. And you. You both should burn in the black god's fires, and her puling brat spawn with you." He gathered enough moisture in his aching throat to spit on the floor, and then stared up contemptuously. "Women die in labour all the time. Who says I did anything? But if you cut my throat, they'll know it was you."
Numair crouched down next to him, keeping the knife at his throat, his eyes empty and cold. "I seem to have given you the wrong idea. I don't intent to cut your throat." He spun the knife idly around, keeping the point against Elan's skin. "See, you're right about me. I'm the black mage. But you're too stupid to realise what that means. If I wanted to kill you, no-one would know how you died. I could be very, very creative and not leave a mark." The knife stopped moving, not even shaking this time. "And I do want to kill you."
All the blood drained from the bandit's face, making his eyes stark and frightened as he stared back. The mage's expression told him everything; he didn't need to read his mind to know that what he was saying was the absolute truth.
All Elan's worst nightmares, all the horror stories about mad mages sped through his mind. He tried to open his mouth, to speak, but for the first time his words failed him. Numair smiled humourlessly and carried on speaking.
"Your life isn't worth two coppers next to hers. So if you tell me what poison you used, I'll let you live. For now."
Elan made a garbled sound, and then desperately tried to make it into a word. A name. The name of the plant. Don't lie, don't lie, don't let him boil your eyes from their sockets and your blood in your veins. Don't let your bones turn into splinters of rusted metal. He squeezed his eyes shut and spat out the word.
"Moonflower! I tuh-took it from the huh-healer's box." He opened one eye long enough to see the look of pure loathing the mage gave him, before a heavy weight crashed into his head. The darkness danced with him, but he kept his mind awake. As soon as the mage had left, he stood up and ran shakily out of the room, staggering for the first few steps. There was much to do.
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"Dear Shakith!" Keith yelped, "Are you alright, sir? You're covered in blood!"
Elan winced and touched his head, where the coppery redness was starting to feel tacky. His hair felt too heavy, but the pain was down to a numb aching. "I'm fine," He said curtly. "Is this where you've been experimenting?"
He didn't need to see the scholar's nod; he knew that it was. The room's opulence spoke loudly; more ornate than any other room in the palace, here the green light had a colder blue tint. When he looked through the doorway he saw that this was due to the pool of water that filled half of the floor. Its reflected light was strangely silvery; the pool was lined with mirror bright metal and threw back no colours but white and blues, even though the torchlight burning around it was orange. The green light from the lake outside didn't dare creep past the tiled borders of the pool, but lingered outside it in a murky haze. Walking through the room was like walking through a stained glass window, or stepping inside a coldly reflective cat eye into the knowledge that lay beyond.
For this room was full of knowledge, as cloyingly thick in the air as the light, and as slow moving as the waters which lapped, without tide or current, against their ceramic shores. Elan smiled without knowing it and stepped forward. No wonder they lingered in here, drinking in this light of learning like the water that flowed so sweetly at their feet and flowered into stone. No wonder they hid it away from the others for so long. No wonder they had tried to kill him. It wasn't out of anger or anything as sickening as love, it was for daring to challenge them.
The voices of knowledge spoke into his mind as seductively as the sensuous curves of water caressing the tiles near his feet. He stood still and listened with his ears and his mind and his whole being. This was not just magic, this was the voice of gods. This was the song that sirens sang to sailors, and the love that drove them to the crushing rocks. A hearing that went beyond his ears, and speaking that was softer than his sight... he was captivated by it.
"Sir," the tentative voice broke into the silence, and he was suddenly angry. Furious. He rounded on the mortal, the one who would try to steal this beautiful song from him. The man wrung his hands at the expression but babbled on, each word shattering the silence into shards. "Sir, what are you doing here?"
"You... you! You tried to keep this from me! You knew I would be able to understand, you..!" Elan hissed, barely hearing his own words. His hand clawed at his own ears, as if by scratching away their shells they could hear more clearly. He span away from Keith, still talking furiously. "You and that mage and that whore, all in it together, and I'm glad she's dead, and you soon to follow!"
"Dead?" Keith whispered the word, but again it was too loud! There should be no voice but the water, the magic, the gods, the sea, the listener... and as Elan spun around to scream at the man for being so loud, he heard the chime of metal. But the man did not strike him with the brazier he held in trembling fists. He stared with frightened eyes, as if he could change the immortal knowledge of the gods with his pitiable opinions.
"Did you kill my friends?" Keith's voice trembled, and as soon as Elan's mouth split into a manic grin he yelled and swung the brazier, as hard as he could. Elan caught it with one hand, feeling the strength of the ages in his arm and the laughter of death in his throat.
The blue light... the blue light swam with the green, and the glass like room swam under the watery light. The light that shifted over hands and features, making them blue and green and grey even as the skin beneath turned white with fear. The light that played tricks with the eyes, making fingers seem elongated and nails look like silver claws.
The light that danced with a thousand tiny crystals as, laughing, the knowledge of the gods threw the scholar into the pool. They hung suspended in the air for a single breath, long enough to scream, long enough to cackle wildly, long enough to leap after the mortal with legs that were stronger than the moon-fed tide.
A thousand tiny crystals danced in the air as the elongated hands dragged the mortal under the water, and held him there.
A bubble broke the surface.
Another bubble, the whisper of a plea within it.
Elan paid no attention. The silence had returned, and soon even these gentle sounds would stop and he could listen to the song.