Here, have some Traveler :). A Nasuada-centric chapter is in the works, for all y'all who want to know what she's up to.
Disclaimer: I do not own Inheritance Cycle.
"What you lose in blindness is the space all around you, where you are, and without that you might not exist. You might be nowhere at all." –Barbara Kingsolver
Chapter Thirty-six: Sight
Traveler was afraid. He was alone in the Land of Fire and the flames danced around him, singing his clothes and warming his skin.
He couldn't find Guide. They had been walking together and a burning tree had fallen between them, scattering sparks and knocking Traveler to the ground, and when he stood again, Guide was gone.
They had lost Courage early on—he had gone after Sacrifice when she wandered ahead—and now Traveler was all alone in a burning land with no one to guide him, and he was terrified.
The Land of Fire seemed to be empty. He had been walking—stumbling, really—for what felt like hours now, calling for Guide until his throat gave out under the thirst, and he had not seen a single soul.
There was only fire, and despair began to settle in Traveler's chest.
"Hello?" he called out raggedly, one last time. His voice was cracked and broken.
No one answered and he closed his eyes, swaying on his feet.
Guide said he would not be alone. He said that someone, anyone, would always be near to guide him on his journey, to make sure that he did not fail and fall asleep and never wake up again.
But there was no one, and Traveler was afraid. What if he fell under the river's spell again? What if he forgot all he had remembered? What if he just stopped moving and burned here, forever and ever?
Calm yourself, he said firmly. He gathered magic inside him, whispering the words that would shield him from fire. The heat licked his skin but did not burn.
He had to get out of here. There had to be some way. All Lands led to another, Guide said. The Fire Land eventually emptied out into Sky Land, if Traveler remembered right, or he could always double back and find the Forests again.
As if, an ice-cold, dry part of Traveler's mind hissed. You can't find your way through all this fire.
Looking around, Traveler's heart sank. It was true. Everything was burning, the trees, the rocks, even the ground itself, in some places. Flames leapt tall and wild, untamed, and there was no way to find the path again.
I'm stuck here, he thought. He couldn't fight the fires. He had a sword, but it couldn't cut back flame. He had magic, but it could not smother a whole land. He had courage, but what was courage against never ending fire?
Foolishness, whispered the voice. Stupidity. Just stop and rest, child. I know you're tired… I know you're thirsty… Just rest for a while.
No, Traveler said, remembering Guide's words, remembering War's, Friend's, Courage's, and Sacrifice's. They told him to keep going. To push on. To reach the end of his journey and go back to wherever he'd been before.
They would not want him to stop.
Just rest, the voice snarled, and cold began to seep into Traveler's bones despite the heat. It reminded him uncomfortably of the river and he tightened his hands on the magicked flask.
No!
The fire howled, and suddenly Traveler was not alone.
"Well look at you," drawled a new voice. "There's some fight in you after all. I was starting to think that you'd given up."
Traveler blinked, reflexively grabbing his sword, a spell on his lips.
The newcomer held up his hands, eyes reflecting the firelight. "Peace, child. I'm not here to hurt you."
Traveler eyed him warily. "Then why are you here?"
"A woman sent me."
"Sacrifice?"
The newcomer's face twisted into a frown, but he nodded. "I suppose that's what she calls herself, yes. She sent me to guide you."
"You're my guide?"
"Surprised?"
Traveler shrugged, suddenly angry. "You let me wander around alone," he said accusingly. "I was lost! I was alone! You're supposed to help me, aren't you?"
The newcomer laughed. "You are an entitled one. You think that just because others have helped you that all souls are obligated to carry yours? To bear the punishments for helping you? If you were so lost and lonely, child, why didn't you ask any of the others?"
"Others?" Traveler snapped, indignant. "There's no one here!"
"Look around you," said the guide. "Look hard."
Reluctantly, Traveler obeyed, scanning the writhing flames. He didn't see anyone. "I told you," he started, but then he stopped. He thought he saw… someone in the fire, someone moving—
"And now you see," said the newcomer smugly.
Traveler gaped. There were people inside the flames! He saw two elves locked in combat, snarling and swiping at each other. He saw a dragon tearing at the ground. He saw a man and a woman fit against each other, hands entangled, holding on so fiercely they could not be separated.
All around him were similar scenes, a hundred thousand beings living inside the fires, wrapped up intently in their tasks.
He shouted to them, hoping to speak to one, but no one answered. They were all too engaged in whatever they were doing, and then Traveler saw something else.
A spark, maybe, gleaming in their eyes, a sort of frantic intensity he had only seen a few men wear. These beings were utterly devoted to their tasks, their anger or their love or their work, and nothing, it seemed, could break them from their stupor.
"Passion," the newcomer said. "The Land of Fire is the world of passion."
"But passion is supposed to be a good thing," Traveler said. "Passion is when you love someone, or your country, or your village. Love it enough to die."
The new guide snorted. "So not only a selfish child, but a naïve one at that, hm? Tell me, child, who on earth taught you to see the world? You are as blind as a bat."
Traveler bristled, but the guide didn't let him open his mouth.
"Passion is love, sometimes," he said, voice deep and rumbling. "But it is also fire. Passion is hate. Passion is rage. Passion is joy. It is love, and lust, and pain, and sorrow, and determination and steel and grit, but it is fire. It is madness."
Traveler tilted his head.
"All of these beings here are mad," the newcomer continued. "Mad with love, mad with hate, mad with pain, but mad all the same. Their passions drove them insane, as all wild feelings do. They wouldn't be here otherwise."
Traveler looked around at all the focused souls and searing flames and shivered. "Does it hurt them? The fire, I mean?"
The newcomer shrugged. "I haven't noticed it," he said. "We are Fire's children, the passionate ones, the ones who burn. What's a little fire when we've been carrying it inside all our lives?"
Traveler remained silent.
"You are blind," the newcomer continued. "But that is not your fault, is it? You're young, and the young are stupid, especially when everyone around them doesn't see."
"What're you talking about?" Traveler asked, now more confused than angry. Flames licked his sides but they didn't hurt, only tickled warmly.
The newcomer sighed. "And here I was told you learned quickly. You are in the Land of Fire now, child. Your blindness will kill you."
"I'm already dead," Traveler pointed out, and the stranger cracked a small, wicked grin.
"Perhaps there is hope for you yet, hm? Come." And he turned on his heel and strode swiftly away, the flames dancing all around him.
Traveler followed, dubious and confused, but he didn't really have another option, and the stranger seemed harmless enough, if a little off.
"The others taught you lessons, I assume?"
Traveler nodded. "War helped me remember that I was a fighter," he said. "And Friend that I was a magician, and Courage that I am brave. Guide is teaching me many things, and Sacrifice hasn't said much, yet."
At the mention of Sacrifice, the new guide's eyes softened a little, though they still shone with the fire's light. "Pathetic lessons," he said. "What use are you if this is all you remember? That you are a brave warrior-magician?"
Traveler's temper flared. "It means I can fight," he snarled. "I can cast magic. I can be brave enough to protect the people I care about."
The stranger laughed, hard and sharp. "Dear child, what use are these things if you don't have the will to use them, and the sight to know when and how? You say you are brave enough to protect your friends, but do you have any friends?"
Traveler stopped. Did he have friends? He struggled to remember, wracking his brain and swishing the flask, tearing at the darkest corners of his mind, but he came up empty. He had fragments—
(a warm hand on his shoulder, a gentle laugh, warmth spreading through his bones, a kiss, a cry, a dragon's roar, and love in his chest like a lightning song—)
—but no names, no faces. Only emptiness, and a wound he didn't know he had bled into his heart. He had no friends.
"I don't," he whispered, horrified. He didn't have any friends! None that he remembered, anyway. He knew they should be there, the ones he loved. Their names should be burned onto his heart, always and forever, but they weren't, and their loss, their namelessness, left him reeling.
Who did he have to fight for? To struggle for? This whole journey was pointless if he didn't know who he was doing it for. He might as well have just stayed in the Gray Lands, letting himself turn to stone or to tree. He had no one, and the fire around him roared with the force of his pain—
The stranger hit him. "Child," he snapped. Traveler shook his head, ears ringing, the terrible thirst swelling in his mouth, oh how he wanted to drink from the river and forget—
The stranger hit him again and he staggered, blinking.
"Foolish boy. Don't drown in it, damn it. This is Fire Land. Burn with it. Go a little mad with it. See with it."
"With what?" Traveler croaked, hoarse and angry. "I have nothing."
"With your pain. Pain is passionate too. You hurt because you don't remember your friends. Use that hurt. Seize it, bring it in, and make it burn you."
"It hurts," he whispered raggedly.
"Of course it hurts," the guide snapped. "That is the nature of pain. It burns, but it is a cleansing fire." He swept a hand over the blazing land, at all the souls and their intent, crackling focus. "Passion drives a soul to madness, but it also clarifies. It liberates. Fire burns away the fog that we wrap ourselves in and makes us see what is important. What we care about. What we fight and die to defend, if we must."
"You—" Traveler started, but he couldn't speak. He could only double over, wailing in anger and grief, because he couldn't remember their faces and he needed to.
He needed to.
The stranger was right. All of his recently regained knowledge was useless if he didn't have a reason to use it. He needed a reason, needed the will to act, and he couldn't see that will now because it was wrapped in fog and ice and lightning-sharp stabs of pain.
But he could find a reason. He could try. War had taught him that he was a fighter. Friend showed him that he was a magician. Courage revealed that he was brave. He could do great things. He could reach the end of this long, painful journey.
I can, Traveler told himself fiercely. I can.
He could find passion. He could weather this pain.
He met the stranger's eyes, and the new guide nodded once. Traveler screwed his eyes shut, gathering up every scrap of hurt he could recall, every wound, throwing onto the blaze that was I cannot remember my friends—
Pain exploded, ice-cold and deadly. Traveler fell to his knees, screaming, his whole body shaking with it, he thought he was going to die again—
(I love you, someone chanted, over and over again. At first the voice was small and sad, alone in a smooth silver river. I love you, I love you, I love you.
And then there was another voice and it belonged to a faceless woman who held Traveler in her arms. I love you, I love you, I love you.
I love you, said an old man, and Traveler felt his warmth. I love you, I love you.
I love you, growled a bright-eyed dragoness. I love you, my little one.
I love you, murmured a blue-eyed man. I love you.
I love you, howled a bearded man, shaking a hammer at the sky. I love you, I love you.
I love you, whispered a beautiful young woman, and her words were as warm as sunlight. I love you, I love you, I love you.)
Traveler rose, staggering to his feet, coughing, magic alive and sparking in his veins. Passion thrummed inside him, beating double with his heart. He loved people, and they loved him. He did not remember them yet but he knew their voices, knew their faces, and he knew they loved him.
Traveler held onto that trembling realization, gathering it to his fingertips, and dropped it into his flask. It flared white-hot, a miniature sun, and the flask was now even fuller.
The strange new guide grinned wryly, pleased with himself.
Traveler stood in the flames, passion singing inside him, love for the ones who loved him, fury at the loss of his memories, and determination to get to the end.
He looked around, and suddenly the Land of Fire wasn't so vast and frightening any more. In fact it was strangely beautiful, blazing brightly, a beacon of light that even the Lord of Death couldn't stamp out. He smiled.
"Good," the guide said. "Very good. Perhaps there's hope for you yet, little fool."
"What do I call you?" Traveler asked. He knew he wasn't done with this being yet—they had many miles to go in this burning place.
The stranger smiled, his eyes gleaming. "You may call me Sight."
A note: If you guys can guess who Sight is, I will be super-impressed. Like, straight up.
If you have any questions, just ask! If you liked, drop a review!
~WSS