I own nothing, ya hear? If I did, would I really be writing these short, kinda dumb fics for your entertainment? You know this, so just read. Oh, and the poem bit comes from "Life". See "LM&S revised (ch. 2) for full poem. And the message is in Russian, but I think the computer's whack so it turned out all . . . well, you'll see. Translated directly it makes absolutely no sense so read to find out what it says. Enjoy!

A Shriek In The Dark

It had been a week since Raistlin found the necklace.

He had said nothing to Kit, nor had Caramon. For some reason, he didn't want her to know. His naturally dark, secretive nature, he thought with bitterness. But there was something more. . .

He was begging to feel like someone was always watching him, always behind him, always a step ahead of him. Any thoughts that raced across his head, he had the odd feeling were being read, and this gave him an angry sense of violation. The result was that he was more snappy and sarcastic with Caramon than usual.

But that was before the nightmares came . . .

He was alone, all alone. There was no one beside him, no one behind him, no one ahead of him. All he could see was colorless, and yet a million colors at once. He looked down and saw that he was standing on nothing . . .

He was falling, falling through emptiness, nothingness, into a colorless void. Down, down, down, down. He was shrieking, but no one heard, no one would ever hear. At the sorner of his eye, he could see Caramon, Kitiara, Rosamun, Gilon, everyone he had ever met, everyone he had ever known, and he screamed out to them, reached out to them. But they could not hear him over the wailing of the wind, the wailing of the wind that was rushing, rushing over his feet and legs and hands and arms and face, up his chin, into his mouth, ripping the screams away from his tongue and flinging them away.

Up his nose, stifling his breath so that he gasped, gasped and choked painfully for air.

Into his eyes, flailing back his lids and hair and running through every single strand, standing it on end. And yet the wind rushed higher.

And it was not wind at all but water, cool water, calm water, terrifying, wonderful, dark, awful . . . awesome . . . horrible . . .

And then it was not water or wind but somewhere between mist and smoke, blacker than night. And, gleaming at the center of the awful mist-smoke, was a shining sapphire light

And still he screamed as, echoing in his ears, resounding in his very soul, a woman laughed darkly, triumphantly.

"Raist! Raist, wake up!"

Raistlin sat up quickly, his eyes open and terrified, a scream in his throat. He quickly snapped his mouth shut.

"Are you OK, Raist?"

"Am I ever OK, Caramon!? No! Go back to sleep, you'll need it in the morning!"

"OK, Raist."

Raistlin, sitting up in bed, watched the red moon, Lunitari, fly slowly, gracefully ascross the night sky, vanishing playfully in the clouds only to reappear, a glimmering, laughing ruby, dancing high in the heavens. Solinari, cousin to Lunitari, shone with a diamond's brilliance, his silver rays flying across the sky, striving to outdance his cousin's in a contest of cold silver vrs. warm ruby. Nuitari, cousin to both Lunitari and Solinari, haughtily watched, generally unseen and unfelt by Krynn, the contest of wills between the other moons, believing himself to be higher than they.

Raistlin watched the two moons with a slight, disdainful smirk on his lips, but with serious, cold eyes. He could feel, albeit distantly, the strands of power emitting from the moons, and he hungered for more. Why, he thought absently, why should he become a warrior, hacking away bloodily at another for the sheer gain of emptyg glory from the barmaids? Or a fat inkeeper, doing other's bidding, always at another's beck and call. No, what Raistlin wanted was power, power over others. He wanted the innkeepers and warriors, with their strong, fat, big healthy bodies, to bow to him, to call him lord, him master.

Drifting into semi-sleep, lost in his ambition and desires, words came, flitting softly across his mind, spoken by another voice-a whispering, shattered voice . . .

The jealousy, the enmity devoid of blithe

The bitter taste of copper on my lips

The caustic mockery of shattered life

That I am forced to live. . .

Raistlin sank into the shadows of dreams.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Something was wrong.

Caramon sat up slightly in bed, not knowing why he did so. Something was wrong, very wrong.

The silence outside, the silence of night, was no longer contented, peaceful. Instead, it was taut, anxious, hushed and warning. Not a whimper excaped the lips of a baby, not a cry flew from the tongue of a frightened child. Nothing penetrated the thick, heavy, oppressive silence outside, nor the taut, frightened silence within.

Caramon saw a shadow move, and he stiffened with alarm and sudden fear, but relaxed when he saw it was only Raistlin. "Raist?" He whispered softly, not wanting to disturb Whatever was out their. " What are-" Raistlin made a swift, negative move with his hand, and Caramon fell silent.

Cararmon hopped out of his bed and scurried over to Raistlin, and the two watched the door, Raistlin wary, Caramon confused and frightened.

Raistlin had no idea how much time passed: a second, a minute, an hour had lost all meaning, melding together to form one and nothing. Caramon slipped his hand into Raistlin's, or maybe Raistlin slipped his hand into Caramon's. Either way, both twins stood in the doorway, Raistlin wisely in the darkness, Caramon foolishly in the red-tigned silver moonshine, hands entwined. All was hushed, all was apprehensive, a tight quiet like a peice of cloth stretched out of a loom instead of its usual looseness. Something was Wrong: that everyone understood.

In her window, Kitiara watched the roads silently, one hand holding the handle of a sword-a real one, a memento from her various journeys-in her hand, the other resting on the window ledge, keeping back the curtains. Her dark, cold eyes raced over Solace, silent and wary. The grip on the sword tightened.

In their room, Gilon, exhasted, was sleeping silently, his snores unheard. Next to him, Rosamun sat up in bed, wringing her bony hands and staring fixedly into the wraithlike shadows caused by the silver moonlight flitting through the sparse clouds into the room.

Raistlin was almost glad when the scream split the silence.

A shrill voice, a scream so inhuman that it seemed to come from the very deapths of the Abyss itself, raced on the taunt air, pierced the human mind and raced through limbs, paralyzing them with their own fear. Raistlin could not say wheather his ears or his soul heard the shriek first.

The heavy silence broken, candles flicked in windows and in the hands of townsfolk as they hurried out of their tree born homes, gathering at the edge of the swinging bridges to peer down across the ground below, searching for the shrieker.

They did not have to search long.

A shocked gasp, followed by a cry of dismay and fear, floated up throught the trees to touch the sky with its whisper of terror. Another gasp, another cry, signelled that the source of the shriek had been found.

Kitiara ran silently down the stairs, moving quickly across the room, tossed a cloak over her head, then grabbed a smaller one. Quickly pulling it on Raistlin, she tossed another to Caramon.

"Quickly!" She snapped, casting an uneasy look at Gilon and Rosamun's room. "If you don't want to get caught, come with me!" Raistlin noticed that the cloak covered the sword at her waist: he had seen it before, when he had boredly poked through his sister's belongings one quiet morning.

They moved out the door: Kit and Raistlin a soft whisper of cloth, a gentle thud of footsteps, Caramon much louder, thudding distinctly. Kitiara shook her head, shoving her brothers out the door. Raistlin could hear his parents stiring: Rosamun's frightened whimper, Gilon's worried voice. He thought nothing of them.

The three raced swiftly down the various bridges and ladders, stopping frequently for Raist to catch up, at which Kit would dissaprovingly shake her head and purse her lips. But they were still among the first to reach the crowd on the bottom, near a tree.

Pushing and shoving through the crowd, squirming through bodies of people, Raistlin reached the object of such shock and interest.

There was nothing there.

At least, that was what he thought. Looking closer, Raistlin saw that the bottom half of the trunk and the ground was completely bathed with dark blood, mirrored in Lunitari's light. Just a little above the start d of the blood, a chain was nailed to the wall, hanging so that Raistlin could see the piece of writing-written in blood-on the stained paper:

Ãîðå âñåì, êòî ÿåò êðîâ åðíîòå "àõèçèñà, îåíü çëîãî òîáû þäàòü, òî çàæèâëåíèå Ìèøàêàëà ïðîíèêàåò åðåç îòíîñèòåëüíî ÿíîé öåïè Ñîëèíàðè, ñæàòîé ñ âîëøåáñòâîì "àõèçèñà è îáîäðåííûé ñ ïðîñüáàìè Ïàëàäèí.

He had no idea what thy said, but noted the words down in hs brain, memorizing every symbol for later ussage. In fact . . . looking around, he noticed that everyone was either talking or looking at eachother glumly. Kit was sternly reprimanding Caramon for who knows what, so . . . if no one was watching . . .

Raistlin's breath came faster: his fingers tingled. Now, a voice said to him, take it before anyone sees!

His fingers shot out, grabbing the message, yanking it swiftly off the crude metal chain, and pocketed it quickly, not thinking about the blood on it. Turning, he saw that no one had seen him . . .

Brushing his fingers against the note, he felt another thing there too: the neckalce. Strange. How did that get there? He didn't remember it being there. And why, as his finger brushed against the stone, why this tiny, cold, icy sliver of fear? . . .

You know the procedure by now: review, review please! Flames espeically welcome, I want my writing to be the best it can be. Oh no! I sound like my mother! Eeeeee!

Well, what do you think? Bad, good, middle: rating welcome. 1 is downright terrible, 10 is the best you've ever read. Be truthful, please.

Yes, I just realized, Raistlin acts sort of kenderish at the end but who cares?

Danke for you know what.