Chapter 2
*
As she sat, the skies darkened, and hoofbeats pounded along the road. Liara looked up, and saw a column of priests and soldiers, led by the witch hunter who had caused this all.
She felt no anger. No pain, no grief. Her heart was dead within her.
"Get the demonic bitch!" A voice screamed. It was the witch hunter, and soldiers tumbled from their saddles to obey. One planted his sword deep into her right shoulder, but she did not wince away. She deserved the pain, and besides, the metal of the blade felt soft inside her flesh, like a mental caress. Then the witch hunter rode towards her and thrust his sword towards her neck.
But this sword was wrong. She couldn't feel the metal in her mind. It was a spear of slime - of polluted, mouldy water. She raised her left hand in a frail resistance, and the defiled blade pierced her palm.
It hurt! It was polluted and foul. It was as though all the evil in the world had coated this blade with infectious filth. Swords never hurt her - no metal did. Earth was in her nature and it was welcomed. Wounds from sharp metal healed easily - her shoulder no longer even bled - but this filled her hand with infection that could not be removed with the sword.
"Brecke, was that really necessary?" a voice asked mildly as the soldiers bound her hands tightly behind her. Liara looked up and saw that it was a Voice of Vkandis - one of the most powerful priests in Karse.
"Yes, Honoured One." replied Brecke, the witch hunter. "I did not want her able to retaliate, Honoured One."
"Brecke, that comment calls into light a distressing lack of faith!" the Voice informed him sharply. "Divine Vkandis watches us, and he will protect us from the demon sorceress." The shamed Brecke murmured something appropriate, and the Voice looked at the column of men. "Build a bonfire." He ordered. "I will see her cleansed in the fires of the Sunlord here and now!"
A pile of wood was gathered, and a minor priest coated much of the wood with "holy" oil. Liara was dragged, unprotesting, to the wood and tied tightly to an upright post in the middle. The fire was lit, and Liara was soon surrounded by walls of flame.
She could have put it out with a single thought, but she let the flames press close to her skin, covering it in burning caresses. The ropes that bound her burnt away at once, but her clothes, made as they were by elemental magic, remained as intact and unburned as her skin.
Then the fire found her hand, still bloody and infected by the evil sword. The fire yearned to join with her, and dived in the wound. The fire found the infection that polluted the blood, and burned it away, taking over her hand in a blaze of bloody fire.
Liara screamed at the unbearable pain. She could no longer feel anything from her hand except the burning, searing touch of the BloodFire in her flesh.
She screamed and screamed and screamed - and heard, dimly, echoes to her screaming from the priests and soldiers outside of the bonfire. Then, suddenly, the fire quenched, and she stared into the blue eyes of a large horse.
No - not a horse, it's a Companion, from Valdemar, like mother told me of -
The Companion stared at her, a silver forelock falling into those huge eyes, and she stared back, feeling lost in the warmth and love he offered.
She pushed him away. She didn't deserve the unconditional love he offered, she couldn't deal with letting him replace her dead parents, and knew that, if she let him, he would give up every thing trying to help her.
There was an echo of the pain she felt in his eyes. :I am Deilan, and I Choose you. I love you always, even if you will not accept my love. Now get on, and ride away with me!:
On her own, she would not have gone with him. She would have walked away from the love which threatened to free the pain she had imprisoned, and would not have let him help her. But the big eyes touched her mind, and she found herself climbing, unthinking, onto the black and silver saddle, and holding on as he galloped away.
As she sat on Deilan's back as he galloped away, Liara gradually came back to her senses. She did not want the life Deilan had offered, would never allow herself to take the forgiveness he gave her - so why had she gone with him? The realization came - and with it, a cold, icy anger.
"You little bastard." She snapped at him. "You messed up my mind!"
:Had I not, you would never have come with me.:
"Stop right this minute. I will go no further with a coercive bastard like yourself."
:If I stop, you will only leave. I will not let you leave, Chosen. I love you.:
With his words, the memories came back, and with them the pain. Ruthlessly she pushed them away, suppressing them so thoroughly that she felt nothing. Still cold with icy purpose, she kicked the stirrups off her feet, and began to swing her leg over the saddle. Deilan was going much faster than an ordinary horse could gallop, and maybe with her leap she could finally find oblivion.
:No, Chosen!: Deilan shouted mentally, slowing abruptly. :Chosen, you must live!:
"I don't deserve to live." Liara said as she slid from the saddle. "I don't deserve love."
:You are being a coward, Chosen.: Deilan told her implacably. :People will suffer, and it will be your fault. People will live or die on the decisions you make.: Liara stared at him, stricken, and he moved to comfort her. :Chosen, I love you. Come with me.:
"No!" Liara shouted at the pain he arose in her. "I'm not your Chosen! You can't love me! Please - don't love me. Please . . ." tears began to well in her eyes.
:I did not ever mean to hurt you, Chosen. I tried to come sooner, I really did. I'm sorry it hurts, but you can't just push it away! You will kill yourself by inches, and you have a responsibility!:
"You cannot tell me what to do! You are not the leader of my life - you failed when you tried to help me, so don't interfere now!" She shoved the rage away, with all the other emotions, repressed deep under the skin, and spoke again. "You want me to complete this responsibility? Well, it will be under my conditions. You do not advise me on my life, and you do not mention my life to anyone else! You hear me?" She seized his bitless hackamore and pulled his head around to meet his eyes.
:I hear you, Chosen,: Sorrow chimed in his mind-voice like a bell. :And if it will make you live your life again, I will agree.:
She climbed onto the saddle again, and Deilan resumed his impossibly fast gallop, leaving Karse behind as they rushed to the Valdemaran border.
As they rode, Liara found herself with to much time to think. Deilan was right about her responsibility to the people she could help, and inwardly she could not deny the love she felt for the fabulous beast - And that's wrong - I don't deserve to love and be loved after all the pain I caused, all the suffering -
Liara's primary gift was Empathy, to live with the feelings of those she touched. Living through the painfilled deaths of her village would have been enough to send into madness, but knowing that she had caused their pain sent her in a deadly loop. If she accepted the pain, she would suffer, yet eventually heal, but by repressing the memories away, she only strengthened them, and, like a deadly disease, they would eat away at her life.
*
As she sat, the skies darkened, and hoofbeats pounded along the road. Liara looked up, and saw a column of priests and soldiers, led by the witch hunter who had caused this all.
She felt no anger. No pain, no grief. Her heart was dead within her.
"Get the demonic bitch!" A voice screamed. It was the witch hunter, and soldiers tumbled from their saddles to obey. One planted his sword deep into her right shoulder, but she did not wince away. She deserved the pain, and besides, the metal of the blade felt soft inside her flesh, like a mental caress. Then the witch hunter rode towards her and thrust his sword towards her neck.
But this sword was wrong. She couldn't feel the metal in her mind. It was a spear of slime - of polluted, mouldy water. She raised her left hand in a frail resistance, and the defiled blade pierced her palm.
It hurt! It was polluted and foul. It was as though all the evil in the world had coated this blade with infectious filth. Swords never hurt her - no metal did. Earth was in her nature and it was welcomed. Wounds from sharp metal healed easily - her shoulder no longer even bled - but this filled her hand with infection that could not be removed with the sword.
"Brecke, was that really necessary?" a voice asked mildly as the soldiers bound her hands tightly behind her. Liara looked up and saw that it was a Voice of Vkandis - one of the most powerful priests in Karse.
"Yes, Honoured One." replied Brecke, the witch hunter. "I did not want her able to retaliate, Honoured One."
"Brecke, that comment calls into light a distressing lack of faith!" the Voice informed him sharply. "Divine Vkandis watches us, and he will protect us from the demon sorceress." The shamed Brecke murmured something appropriate, and the Voice looked at the column of men. "Build a bonfire." He ordered. "I will see her cleansed in the fires of the Sunlord here and now!"
A pile of wood was gathered, and a minor priest coated much of the wood with "holy" oil. Liara was dragged, unprotesting, to the wood and tied tightly to an upright post in the middle. The fire was lit, and Liara was soon surrounded by walls of flame.
She could have put it out with a single thought, but she let the flames press close to her skin, covering it in burning caresses. The ropes that bound her burnt away at once, but her clothes, made as they were by elemental magic, remained as intact and unburned as her skin.
Then the fire found her hand, still bloody and infected by the evil sword. The fire yearned to join with her, and dived in the wound. The fire found the infection that polluted the blood, and burned it away, taking over her hand in a blaze of bloody fire.
Liara screamed at the unbearable pain. She could no longer feel anything from her hand except the burning, searing touch of the BloodFire in her flesh.
She screamed and screamed and screamed - and heard, dimly, echoes to her screaming from the priests and soldiers outside of the bonfire. Then, suddenly, the fire quenched, and she stared into the blue eyes of a large horse.
No - not a horse, it's a Companion, from Valdemar, like mother told me of -
The Companion stared at her, a silver forelock falling into those huge eyes, and she stared back, feeling lost in the warmth and love he offered.
She pushed him away. She didn't deserve the unconditional love he offered, she couldn't deal with letting him replace her dead parents, and knew that, if she let him, he would give up every thing trying to help her.
There was an echo of the pain she felt in his eyes. :I am Deilan, and I Choose you. I love you always, even if you will not accept my love. Now get on, and ride away with me!:
On her own, she would not have gone with him. She would have walked away from the love which threatened to free the pain she had imprisoned, and would not have let him help her. But the big eyes touched her mind, and she found herself climbing, unthinking, onto the black and silver saddle, and holding on as he galloped away.
As she sat on Deilan's back as he galloped away, Liara gradually came back to her senses. She did not want the life Deilan had offered, would never allow herself to take the forgiveness he gave her - so why had she gone with him? The realization came - and with it, a cold, icy anger.
"You little bastard." She snapped at him. "You messed up my mind!"
:Had I not, you would never have come with me.:
"Stop right this minute. I will go no further with a coercive bastard like yourself."
:If I stop, you will only leave. I will not let you leave, Chosen. I love you.:
With his words, the memories came back, and with them the pain. Ruthlessly she pushed them away, suppressing them so thoroughly that she felt nothing. Still cold with icy purpose, she kicked the stirrups off her feet, and began to swing her leg over the saddle. Deilan was going much faster than an ordinary horse could gallop, and maybe with her leap she could finally find oblivion.
:No, Chosen!: Deilan shouted mentally, slowing abruptly. :Chosen, you must live!:
"I don't deserve to live." Liara said as she slid from the saddle. "I don't deserve love."
:You are being a coward, Chosen.: Deilan told her implacably. :People will suffer, and it will be your fault. People will live or die on the decisions you make.: Liara stared at him, stricken, and he moved to comfort her. :Chosen, I love you. Come with me.:
"No!" Liara shouted at the pain he arose in her. "I'm not your Chosen! You can't love me! Please - don't love me. Please . . ." tears began to well in her eyes.
:I did not ever mean to hurt you, Chosen. I tried to come sooner, I really did. I'm sorry it hurts, but you can't just push it away! You will kill yourself by inches, and you have a responsibility!:
"You cannot tell me what to do! You are not the leader of my life - you failed when you tried to help me, so don't interfere now!" She shoved the rage away, with all the other emotions, repressed deep under the skin, and spoke again. "You want me to complete this responsibility? Well, it will be under my conditions. You do not advise me on my life, and you do not mention my life to anyone else! You hear me?" She seized his bitless hackamore and pulled his head around to meet his eyes.
:I hear you, Chosen,: Sorrow chimed in his mind-voice like a bell. :And if it will make you live your life again, I will agree.:
She climbed onto the saddle again, and Deilan resumed his impossibly fast gallop, leaving Karse behind as they rushed to the Valdemaran border.
As they rode, Liara found herself with to much time to think. Deilan was right about her responsibility to the people she could help, and inwardly she could not deny the love she felt for the fabulous beast - And that's wrong - I don't deserve to love and be loved after all the pain I caused, all the suffering -
Liara's primary gift was Empathy, to live with the feelings of those she touched. Living through the painfilled deaths of her village would have been enough to send into madness, but knowing that she had caused their pain sent her in a deadly loop. If she accepted the pain, she would suffer, yet eventually heal, but by repressing the memories away, she only strengthened them, and, like a deadly disease, they would eat away at her life.