CHAPTER 6 : MIND OVER MATTER, part 1
Sparhawk found himself in the motherhouse of the Pandion order. Instinctively, he knew that he was not awake. Yet this was not a dream. Somehow, he was in his own mind.
Memories rising unbidden to the surface as the grey walls embraced him in their solidity, he made his way to the well in the courtyard, where he and Kalten had spent countless hours drawing bucket after bucket of water, only to pour it back in under Vanion's stern gaze, courtesy of some latest loophole they'd been exploiting. And afterwards, when their arms would be jelly, their heads pounding, Vanion would finally relent. Which was usually when Sephrenia would wander by, chiding the Preceptor for his harshness. And he'd let them drink that last bucket. And it'd be nectar.
Glancing in, he started. His face was that of the raw boned youth who'd graced these walls so long ago. A lifetime ago, Sparhawk thought. His nose was still broken, though, he noted with some disappointment. And as he stared into the waters reliving his memories, friends, enemies, war, and peace, he heard the distant rumble of thunder.
Frowning, he shook himself out of his wondering and was startled to find that now, he was the hardened veteran he was when he'd been exiled to Rendor. A warrior at his prime. And as he heard the thunder rumble again and felt the sense of wrongness that came with it, from far off to the west, he knew why.
His mind, the final sanctuary of any human, was being threatened and his psyche had responded in kind. His fist closed around the worn grip of his long sword, now strapped at his waist and he felt the steadying influence of the steel calming him.
From beyond the walls there came a great wind, bearing dark, roiling clouds. It battered at the closed gates, the aged oak creaking and groaning under the assault, rattling them, threatening to tear them loose. And amidst the thunder and lightning that rained from above, there came a scream, a voice of madness and rage. It battered at Sparhawk, nearly driving him to his knees with its intensity.
A lesser man might have been undone there and then, but this was a Pandion Knight, and they were made of sterner stuff. Gritting his teeth, Sparhawk drew himself up to his full height and drew his sword. And then he stood facing the now groaning gates, naked blade in hand.
The great oaken gates bowed inward, and under a final assault, shattered into so many tiny pieces, peppering Sparhawk. And into the gap, rolled in a grey, greasy miasma. It blackened the ground as it advanced, and from its depths seemed to emanate a serpentine sussuration.
As he readied himself to meet this amorphous foe, Sparhawk felt a cool breeze blow at his back and he glanced aside. And his heart soared. At his left stood his ever present friend Kalten, his black Pandion armour gleaming as he unsheathed his sword. Grinning at him through his visor, he roared and fell upon the fog hacking at it with his sword. And at every blow he struck, it seemed to almost flinch.
As Sparhawk readied to jump into the fray after his friend, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking back, he came face to face with Ulath, the blond Genidian gently shaking his head as he pulled Sparhawk back and advanced to meet the fog, axe in hand.
And as Sparhawk stood, his mouth hanging open, his feet glued to the ground by an immovable force, one by one his friends strode past him to give battle to the strange miasma. Tynian in his massive Deiran armour, his hand rising lazily to salute Sparhawk. Bevier, his young face full of righteous joy as he pounced upon the foe, lochaber axe whistling.
And the fog seemed to recoil under the concerted might of the church knights. But just as they were about to beat it out of the gates, an ear shattering roar sounded from within it and it swelled in size and dwarfed over the knights. And as Sparhawk watched in horror, it broke over them like a wave and they were gone.
As he strained to move, to reach the vile fog and unleash his fury upon it, two figures moved in front of him. And in all the surrealism of the situation, he somehow felt comforted. Kurik, somehow larger than he had ever been in life stood in front of him, his muscular arms hefting his chain mace. And beside him, as a beacon of whitest light stood Sephrenia, his little mother. The fog clashed against them and ground to a halt.
Sparhawk tried in vain to step forward and stand with the two people who had shaped him all his life, but still he found himself rooted to the spot. And he watched, in slowly dawning horror as the fog chipped and hacked at his protectors, somehow diminishing them with every strike. And then after what seemed like an eternity, it swallowed up Kurik and Sephrenia and moved towards him.
A bellow of rage and grief tore itself loose from Sparhawk's throat and he found that he could finally move. Filled with a single minded need to kill whatever the fog was, he strode forward. And as he did, it seemed to coalesce into a humanoid shape, loosely mirroring him in its build, but somehow all wrong.
The shadowy figure hissed and suddenly in its hand manifested a sword of the same substance. Sparhawk said nothing, his face grim as he charged his foe. The figure raised its arm and the two swords met in a thundering clang, the impact jarring Sparhawk's entire frame.
The shadow figure staggered back, but just as quickly righted itself and swung. And so their blades met and it went on and on. But no matter how hard Sparhawk fought, however gravely he wounded and maimed the creature, it always got right back. Slowly, ever so slowly, after what could have been an eon as easily as an hour, Sparhawk began to feel the faintest tinges of despair.
And from within the creatures shadow-face, red eyes flared as if sensing his weakness. With a mighty scream, more hiss than roar, it swung at Sparhawk and this time, as their blades met, Sparhawk's exploded and he was hurled back by the force, smashing into a wall.
As he blearily struggled to his knees, the shadow grew and grew and until it was just a huge grey expanse. And it came crashing down.
When everything is lost, when the last shreds of hope have been burned away, man always turns unbidden to God. And so it was with Sparhawk as he closed his eyes and a prayer formed in his mind. And to Sparhawk's eternal surprise, it was not one to the Elene God, but a call for Aphrael.
And the darkness came down on him, with all its sense of wrongness, but before it could touch him, a shining light manifested before him and the miasma rolled of it like water off a lotus leaf. It enveloped him and beat back the fog. And there it stood like an impenetrable barrier.
As Sparhawk gazed in wonder at the nimbus that was keeping him from being devoured by the... thing, in front of his eyes sparked a light brighter than all the rest. As he squinted his eyes against it, it gradually dimmed into a tiny figure. And new hope filled his heart.
"Hello father" said Aphrael, her impish smile reaching into his heart and washing all his fatigue away.
A/N : Yes, it is the thing. You know. The thing.
