The Hollow Men

by

Jeslyn Nighthawk

A/N: Well, I said before Thanksgiving, and by God, I've managed it. This fic is getting harder and harder to write by the day, and I think truthfully that the Harry Potter plot bunny that is chewing on my toes is the cause. Any of you who are interested, it is called "Only a Slytherin" and will deal with my views on what prejudice of all types is doing to the children of Slytherin House. I had to introduce an original character for this, but hopefully not a Mary Sue. Other causes for delays: Did you know that Randolf-Macon Woman's College ranks higher that Stanford in academic challenge. That's what I get for wanting a school with a good academic reputation. So my promise is simple. One more update before Christmas, and hopefully another before I go back in January. That is all I can do. For those of you who have stuck with me through all of this- you have my undying love and gratitude. I hope this chapter satisfies.

Review Responses:

Lolli: Wow, thanks. I'll try to improve, but I may not be able to change much at this late date. Maybe I got better. I certainly hope that Creative Writing class I'm taking is helping. As for the college and writing thing, see above author's note. My school is ranked as harder than Stanford and only one or two points lower than Harvard and Yale. Then of course I'm taking killer courses. Really, it's my own fault.

Lady Devimon: Thanks and I never liked her much either. Aviendha was cool though.

Kelana: Thanks once again, and I will keep writing, even if it doesn't seem like it.

Smack: Thanks and I'm sorry for the long wait. I won't make any promises about a smaller one either, cause I can't make guarantees.

Las but not least, Ilona: After being so happy about that last quick update and I do this to you. I apologize profusely. Besides that, this one isn't much longer than previous ones. The author's note is almost as long. I'm sorry and please forgive me.

Chapter 7

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

            It sings louder now. Vision recedes and I am left in a grey, swirling fog so similar to that which we had to pass through to get here. The cold stone under my finger seems to pulse. Cuendillar some distant part of me recognizes, heart stone. It moves pulses with the distant beat of hearts long dead, but never gone.

            The voices are next, surrounding me pulling at me. Hundreds of thousands cry out in perfect unison from across the Wheel. Leading them are the low silky tones of a woman. They batter at my defenses, stripping me of them in swift efficient blows.

            "Tai'shar Manetheren."

            "No," the denial is forced out in a harsh whisper.

            "Tai'shar Manetheren." More forceful this time.

            " 'M not," I deny, voice trembling with effort.

            "Tai'shar Manetheren!" No room for denial now.

            But I must, "NO!" This time the denial is torn from me, and it comes out in a guttural howl. I feel the tears streaming down my face. I am not True Blood; I am not even Tam Al'thor's real son. "I AM NOT!" I finally break down into sobs.

            The voices are gentler now, but no less insistent, "Yes, Tai'shar Manetheren. Raised by Old Blood, born of Ancient. True Blood. Will you tear the world asunder? We will protect you so you do not. Tai'shar Manetheren."

            A pulse, deep and reverberating. It runs over and through me leaving a kind of peace in its wake. Blackness reaches up to claim me, but I notice one last thing: I cannot feel the Source.

***
            I awaken slowly. The Source is gone. I can no longer feel it writhing at the edge of my mind, a miasma of filth just waiting for the flood gate to be lifted. It is gone. I almost weep again in relief. For the first time in weeks, I feel clean.

            I sit up and see that I am the first to have regained consciousness. Perrin is sprawled next to me, eyes open, glazed, unseeing. Mat is on my other side, eyes screwed shut, tears leaking from between the lids. He is clutching desperately at the skirt of Eldrene- how do I know that?- as if begging for mercy. He is murmuring something, but I can't make it out. The knuckles of his clenched hands are white.

            I decide to approach Perrin first. Slowly, I move towards him and reach out to shake his shoulder. Still shaking from whatever it was that had just happened, I am barely able to move out of the way when he lunges at me. His eyes glow with a strange golden light, and his teeth are bared, a low growl emanating from deep in his throat. My breath catches in my throat.

            "Perrin!" I croak out.

            At the sound of my voice, his eyes clear and his bunched, tense muscles go slack. "Oh, Light, Rand!" His voice shudders, "What happened? Where's Mat?"

            I gesture behind me. Perrin winces. "I don't…know," I reply and shake my head. "I don't know."

            Perrin looked back at Mat with a grimace. "Should we wake him?"

            "I don't know… look what happened when I tried to wake you."

            "Was I that bad off?" he replied nodding in Mat's direction.

            "No, just unconscious."

            "His hands are starting to bleed…" I look behind me to see the truth of his words, "I think we should wake him." I nod.

            We each move to one side of him, inching closer as silently as we can. Soon we are close enough to make out what he is saying, but not to understand it. "Shen an Calhar!" There is something desperate in his voice, quiet as it is. I nod at Perrin and we both move one hand to shake Mat by the shoulders. If he becomes violent, at least with two of us we can restrain him. He cries out as we touch him, a horrible sound of a creature in its death throws. He curls in on himself, whimpering, muttering. "Shen an Calhar, Shen an Calhar..."

            "Mat!" I say, desperate to bring him around now. He is my best friend. I brought him here. "Mat!"

            His eyes open, but they take a few moments to clear, the panic and pain only slowly receding. Finally, he pushes both Perrin and I away and walks across the plaza to huddle by a pile of fallen stone.

            I can hear his sobs.

TBC

A/N: Thank you all for reading and please review. I'm sorry it was so short, but it was just what seemed to fit best.

Ja ne and happy Thanksgiving,

Jes