Chap. 37

'The room was cold, bone-achingly so, and she could feel the chill contained within the barren stone walls. There was little to see outside the jagged gray, save a few patches of grizzled crimson that darkened the floor. Dried blood was not something she enjoyed, but she had the unluckiness of having been familiarized with it.

As her eyes wandered, she noticed a bloody, limp figure, though as she looked she was unsure why it took her so long time to see him. The room was small, and his presence dominated the wall directly in front of her. He was leaning, she had thought initially, but that wasn't right, not by a long shot. He was hanging, hanging from the wall by his arms, chained there like some derelict marionette long since rejected by its owner.

How did I not see him? The question plagued her, even as his appearance did. She could sense—no, she could feel—the pain radiating off of him, radiating like the little white gem that hung around his throat, pulsating in her veins to the rhythm of her own heartbeat. Aside from his tattered breeches it was his only clothing, his only barrier against the cold. Any normal human would have been shivering in the cool, stale air of the cell, but his was a body devoid of the strength for anything other than the bare essentials that sustained it. She could feel his lungs falling from their already unsteady rhythm, could nearly see his numb mind trying to cling to the last silky strain of consciousness that was slipping out of reach. Somehow, she was deeply, intimately connected to him, to his mind and body.

To his pain.

It was there, a silent plea he could not begin to voice audibly. Still she heard it, heard it as the drooping silver head tried vainly one last time to rise and failed. There was a glimpse of the solid gray of his eyes, a flicker of blue, another slash of gray. She heard clearly as his heart gave one shuddering convulsion as it faltered, and then another. The erratic beats were as loud as drumbeats in her ears, slamming against the inside of her skull as he waged a war against his own failing body.

He fought his internal war for another ragged breath.

Then he lost.

For all that the white gem was working to keep him around, it too was failing. Despite its radiance—the magic it was emitting lit the entire cell—it too had lost its battle to keep its captive conscious. A dismal part of her wondered if it had failed even beyond that.

The gem gave one last flicker, one last bright glimmer, seemingly just to jeer at its failed endeavor. It flickered one last time, flickered even as his heart gave one more violent, chest-shattering shudder. In her mind she was torn from the connection with him, drug from him just as a silent, agonized scream ravaged her ears.

His world went black. Hers was ripped apart.'

Kieci sat bolt upright, drenched in sweat, her breathing ragged. Physically she felt weakened, but mentally she was shattered, shredded, just as his body had been. She had had true dreams before, but rarely, but despite their rarity there was simply no mistaking one. Fate had spelled out her next task in crimson ink, and that ink was the blood of the person she had thought she'd only temporarily lost. Now she knew that was not entirely true; she was losing him, and this time for good. There was a difference, with a grim, dark finality ringing stark in the latter of the two options. So much for waiting for a better plan: she had to act, and act quickly. There was little time.

Kieci dressed quickly, pulling back her brown hair. She pulled on her sword belt—the one set with her throwing stars—and threw the saddlebags she'd packed the night before onto the floor beside the wooden legs of her bed. She kept only one with her, knowing she wouldn't be needing the rest for the trip she was taking.

Wandering out into the hall, she found three lamps already burning in the large central room. The dancing of the flames lit the rough wooden walls eerily, as well as the silent figures sitting within them. Rose was sitting with her legs propped on a small table while Aragorn sat in the adjacent chair, hands clasped before him as he ruminated in silence. Cloud was leaning against the opposite doorway, strong arms folded across his chest. It was quiet when she entered, but the Dragon got the distinct impression that it had been silent before that as well.

"Am I the last spinster to the party then?" Kieci questioned.

"Who could sleep?" Cloud asked her quietly. "The others are outside."

"There was too much tension to be contained in just this room," Aragorn added, standing. There was a distinct metallic sound as he rose; he was already wearing his chain mail. Rose got up as well. Kieci smiled slightly.

"Lead the way."

Please R&R!! -K-