11 – Delirium

Pain. Indescribable agony. He sensed he was falling into a paroxysm of grief and despair for events which had not yet been visited upon him. They seemed to hover over his head like a warning, a divination of things to come but still, their obscurity confounded him.

His side felt like it was on fire. The flames seemed to be licking through his insides, melding his innards, reaching every extremity. He roared out with the pain, thrashing and writhing, his skin slick with perspiration.

Four people tried to stabilize him, each gripping a limb firmly attempting to keep him prostrate so the healers could do their job. But, he fought them. Squirming, twisting, bucking, almost pulling them over the bed onto him.

"By the gods where is he finding this strength?" someone voiced.

"I know not. He was as weak as a kitten when they brought him in," another answered.

The voices were familiar and yet they were not. They kept fading and escalating, sometimes making no sense at all.

He heard an orchestra of voices; shouting, screaming, whispering, laughing, crying, cackling. It was riotous. He was sure his ears would bleed from the onslaught of sounds. He fought the restraints on his wrists, arms, legs and ankles. His back arched pulling him up from where he lay, shackled, as he thought. The noise was becoming unbearable, the incessant voices pounding his brain turning it to mush.

Then, suddenly - quiet. For a few brief moments the heavy silence pressed down on him then his body started to relax. The fight was being drawn from him.

Sounds of drumming and the hollow tinkle of wood or bone reached his ears. His fractured mind conjured the troll he had encountered in the Blackened Woods with its macabre jewellery and he automatically felt himself shrink back. Panic started to build but...

Unexpectedly, his body went rigid, the suddenness of it alarmed those who were pinning him down. He vaguely heard them asking each other what was happening and frantically calling for a priest, a nurse. Anyone!

But, further still in the distance, he heard another voice. This one was undefinable but it seemed to have some sort of asomatous hold over him. His tried to block its constant chatter but it seemed vigilant to his frame of mind and his intentions. He was being steered towards something, someone.

From behind his lids, a swirling, murky nebulous formed. It kept whatever was pulling him forward was concealed from his view, but he sensed who or whatever it was, lay just beyond the mist and was staring directly at him.

His eyes peeled open. He stumbled as he found himself upright in the middle of the fog. It swirled around his body, weaving, folding, encircling him. A strange smell hung heavy in the vapour. It was pungent, sickly sweet and yet intoxicating. He inhaled deeply instantly feeling himself become almost buoyant, giddy.

His head wobbled as he breathed in more of the odoriferous air. His mouth curved with an uncertain smile unable to determine whether he felt good or somewhat disconnected, as if in limbo.

He blinked repeatedly, trying to ascertain the strange location. It was vague, unfamiliar. An underlying sense of foreboding stirred deep in his befuddled mind. He was definitely being watched, he could sense it, yet they remained elusive.

Raising his hands to wipe away floating strands of his hair, he noticed his fingers were still covered in blood; his blood? Or the troll's? He knew not. Unable to look away from them, he watched with a muted fascination as they wavered, warped before his eyes; his focus honing in on the dried blood and grime beneath his fingernails.

The drumming suddenly stopped and an eerie silence took over. He listened to his breathing, short, calculated gasps as he strained to hear any other sound that gave him a clue as to his whereabouts.

"Sauren." A woman's voice gentle, youthful.

He spun round, searching for the source. His name had been but a breathy utterance, almost sweet. "Sauren!" Now it was a desperate plea.

"Brigitte?" Frantically he combed the mist but there was no-one there. "Brigitte!" He called more forcefully.

"Half-breed!" This one was not so pleasing. Automatically, he reached for a dagger from the scabbard around his waist only to be dismayed at finding it was no longer there. Cruel laughter followed. He crouched, defensively. But something changed in the atmosphere. The oppression lifted.

"Come here, boy." His father's voice cajoled him further into the mist.

Confusion. Disorientation. "Father?" Sauren said tentatively, stepping carefully, still enveloped by the swirling vapour.

"You will be fine, do not be frightened," Sa'themar's voice was soothing. It reminded Sauren of the first time his father had put him astride a horse. In his mind's eye, he could still see that day.

He was wary of the beast for all it was a pony, it was still bigger than him. His father handed him the reins. "Hold on, but not so your muscles cramp, son." Sauren had smiled a little wistfully at his father's comment. Sa'themar laughed softly at his son's worried expression.

But it soon faded and gave way to yet more laughter. This time it sounded like children. Mocking children. "What's wrong with your ears, elfy? Catch them on the way out of your mummy?" Peals of high-pitched laughter erupted.

"Where is your mummy?" Another asked.

An older voice then answered. "Daddy elf must have slit her like a hog to get him out of her belly!" The laughter reached hysteria.

"Stop it!" Sauren said, lifting his hands to his ears to block out the caustic remarks.

"Elves eat their mates like snakes and spiders do," the first voice teased.

"Snakes do not!" Another said.

"Do so!"

"Do not!"

Screams started, followed by scuffling and the sound of a slap and a yelp.

He felt himself being yanked along a cobbled street. The rustling of heavy skirts and click-clack of heels was suddenly the dominant sounds. "Honestly!" a rather shrill voice said. "Can't you stay out of trouble for one second, boy?"

Sauren looked up through tearful eyes. A woman with dark brown hair greying at the temples and a stern face glared down at him. Mrs Dalton, head housekeeper, was a scary woman. She had little tolerance for Sauren, though she never uttered the word the street children did. Half-breed. Not that he understood what it meant, he just felt the hatred when others said it to him.

Next, he found himself being dragged upstairs. "In! And stay there!" She pushed him into his room and slammed the door behind her. He heard the key turning, trapping him within. He also knew though, that she would unlock it before his father came home and say what a good boy Sauren had been during his absence. How Sauren hated that woman.

The drumming started up again. The sound sent shivers up the half-elf's spine.

"Yuh be holding pon to dat anga, bwoy. It will serve mi well."

Sauren caught his breath. This voice was new. He spun round in the fog, his movement causing it to roil and swirl in his wake. Still, he could not see anyone. "Who are you?" His voice was husky, weak but he could not disguise the unease in it.

A hiss sounded near him – was it the one who spoke? Or a trick of his mind? Was this all a trick of his mind? No answer was forthcoming so he asked again. Silence prevailed.

He jumped as something moved against his foot. The fog weaved in and around his legs, the opaqueness preventing him from seeing anything below his waist. Another hiss, long, drawn out. His heart started to pound, the beat in keeping with the tempo of the drums he could still hear. He sensed a danger.

His eyes widened as the head of a huge serpent rose from the vapour and levelled with his face. Its slitted eyes bewitched him as the tongue flicked the air, tasting the air around him.

"De serpent - him be fi yuh spirit animal," the voice drawled.

Sauren shook his head, slowly, concerned any sudden movement would make the serpent strike. "No," he said. "This is not real." He rubbed at his eyes then looked again, straight at the reptilian face, its scales oddly shimmering in the dense fog.

"Yuh ah de serpent, bwoy; ah patient killa."

"Wh – what?"

Sauren tried to rationalise what he was hearing, seeing and feeling. There was no logic here. He gulped air and instantly the serpent vanished; a veil of calm draped over him once more. The strange laughter sounded again and whether it was the herbal content in the atmosphere which took the edge off it or not, Sauren was unsure. Still he was no longer tight or quite as anxious.

"Yuh a nah like de oders," the voice said, nearer this time. "Mi see and smell mixed blood inna yuh."

Sauren stayed his ground, though instinctively he still reached for his non-existent daggers. He made a conscious effort not to show his disappointment when he remembered they were no longer available.

Staring straight ahead the fog started to disperse. A strange environment opened up before him. His eyes explored his surroundings, taking in every detail as best he could through his still slightly distorted vision of the world.

He was in a hut constructed from pliable logs and saplings, bound by a mucilage most likely that of clay or manure. It was fairly roomy, its roof domed and thatched in forest ferns bound by vines. A hole at the top allowed the smoke from a centralised fire to escape.

Casting his eyes down, the floor was mainly dry earth over which a thin covering of dry grasses provided some insulation and rough woven rugs placed around the fire's edge constituted a form of seating.

A myriad of carved wooden bowls and bulbous containers littered a low table to one side of the abode. Various other objects lay beside them; feathers, beads, small bones even what looked like teeth. Slivers of what he assumed were also made from bone appeared to be tools or utensils of some kind and they lay next to phials full of different coloured liquids and powders.

A haze hung in the air, its aroma now seductive, inviting. He inhaled again, welcoming the analgesic effect it was having on his body; the intense burn in his side having lessened considerably. With it, however, his vision seemed somewhat impaired still. The inanimate objects he had noted moments before now possessed a life of their own.

His eyes widened as the liquids bubbled in their containers, powders puffed up, coating the table and its contents in burnt siennas, ochres, reds, and blues. The implements rattled and rolled across the surface leaving strange patterns amid the multi-coloured dusting.

Sauren heard a laugh escape his lips.

"Half-breed!"

The word had a strong sobering effect on the platinum-haired boy and he spun round to meet the one who uttered it. His eyes though still hazy and dilated from the drug-infused air took on a fierce glow – his now natural response to the derogatory term he had endured for years.

A red-haired troll stood before him. "Ah! Such anga. Yuh wear it lacka talisman. Yuh swift an silent death – like de serpent."

He stumbled back, alarmed that he was once again faced with the mortal enemy of his kinsmen. The troll laughed, the sound guttural but without the hint of mockery, he had expected.

As he righted himself he sensed this one was not about to attack. At least not yet. Gradually, he calmed and studied the creature in front of him.

It was female. The hair was pulled back at the crown and gathered into a taut ponytail which cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Some fronds framed her face in tight plaits, their tails adorned in coloured beads.

Yellow eyes stared back at him. They seemed to ripple like liquid gold, the tiny pupils though black as night.

Multi-layered necklaces in varying lengths were draped around her neck affording only a tantalising glimpse of pert breasts beneath. An earthen coloured skirt was wrapped around her waist and tied in a knot at her side.

Her skin had an unusual hue to it; a mixture of indigo fading into phthalo blue – it almost seemed to shimmer as she moved. Small tusks protruded from her mouth, one bearing a gold-coloured ring. Her ears, long and tapered like the elves were also decorated with a sequence of different sized hoops. She was oddly - fascinating.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he asked in as measured a tone as he could muster.

The troll purred and she slowly started to walk around the half-elf. Her eyes worked up and down his frame, taking in all the details.

He twisted, turning his head to follow her, then snapping it to the opposite side as she came to his left.

"Mi am Tulu," she said, casting her eyes to where his wound was hidden beneath his ruined shirt. "Mi am a hexa of de Amani tribe," she continued in her slow drawl. "Mi gada souls to tap dem hurting fi m smadi."

Sauren stared at her, disbelieving. "You mean I am dreaming?"

"Nah bwoy, dis ah real." Her lips broke into a calculated smile. Her yellow eyes still studied the blood-drenched shirt and she guffawed. "Him gat yuh gud."

The language barrier was breaking down. Sauren sneered. "I got him better."

Quick as a flash she drove her fingers into the gaping wound in his side. He folded against her, crying out in pain.

Distantly he heard his father..."Save my son!"

Tulu cackled. "Fi yuh ah beyond saving." She pressed deeper into his wound.

Sauren felt panic rise to mix with the pain. "What do you mean?" he gasped. "Am I – am I dead?"

Again she cackled. Her yellow eyes rippled, as she felt him squirm against her hand. "Nah yet, bwoy. But yuh will be before much longa!" With a sharp tug, she extracted her fingers. Fresh blood gushed from the half-elf's side and pitter-pattered on the dry earth at his feet. Sauren collapsed to his knees. His face was damp and clammy, perspiration beads trickling from his brow causing his hair to adhere to his cheeks.

"I've got it! It's out!" a man's voice announced.

Sauren glanced from side to side as he clutched his side and panted with pain. Who was speaking? No-one other Tulu and himself were present. His eyes fixed on her as he saw her toying with something between her fingers. He had to concentrate to make out what it was she held. It looked like piece of metal or smooth stone, flint - a spear-tip.

Tulu purred and she cast the shard into the fire. The flames roared, rising like fiery claws. After a few crackles and spits, it settled once more to small sedate flames over glowing embers. The yellow eyes turned on him. "Him gat yuh betta dan yuh tink."

"He's not out of the woods yet!" a ghostly voice said.

The floor was starting to swirl. The half-elf scrunched his eyes closed, willing the sudden rise of nausea to abate. He felt more than he heard Tulu scuff her feet near his head.

"Fi yuh soul belongs to Tulu!" Her voice had taken on a sharp, caustic tone. "Ah de price yuh pay fuh stealing fi mi husband fram dis life!"

In a voice weakened from pain, Sauren spat out his response. "His death was the cost of war, Tulu. You brought it upon yourselves."

His words angered the troll. In a rage she started to babble incoherent words as she grabbed his hair, ripping some out by the roots. Yanking him down she slammed him flat against the ground on his back. She kicked at his legs, forcing them straight and apart. Bending down, her three-digit hands grabbed his wrists and pulled them above his head. He had no strength left to fight and lay, prostrate, awaiting his fate. More distant than ever, he heard the voices from another plane.

"Save him!"

"I'm trying, but you must give me room and silence."

"My son! I cannot lose my son..."

Sauren's eyes flitted behind his lids as he felt something being cast over him. It felt like snow. A memory stirred. His father had taken him to the Alterac Mountains when he was a small boy. They had spent the day riding and Sa'themar wanted his son to visit the mountains. There he saw his first snow. He'd loved the feel of it on his face, dusting his eyelashes. He'd marvelled at the intricate designs of the flakes, trying desperately to stop them melting from the heat of his hands.

His eyes struggled to open. This was no snow, however, this was some of the coloured powder in the troll's hut. Tulu was still babbling under her breath as she threw generous handfuls of the fine particles over his sprawled body.

His vision started to waver and her form ebbed and flowed from sight. Her voice changed slightly. She was chanting.

"It was poisoned, Sa'themar. I'm losing him."

"Sauren!"

"Poisoned," Sauren whispered. "How fitting..." His breathing became laboured. He only had enough strength left to manage the hint of a mordant smile.

"No! I will do anything to save him. Ask what you will!"

"There is nothing you can give, Sa'themar, that will change this."

"There has to be something..."

Sauren's head lolled to the side. Faces floated in front of him. His father, Brigitte, Brett, the Firefurys, Don, Reed even the delectable Leola and Maya – all swam in and out of focus. "Father, forgive me." His eyes closed.

Tulu had stopped her chanting but she was not completely silent. Low laughter punctuated the indecipherable words which were tripping from her mouth again and still, she wafted around Sauren's body.

There no more pain. He felt like he was floating; the sensation was ... rather wonderful. He was being drawn towards a bright light still some distance away. It was almost – heavenly, serene.

So, the journey had begun. Sooner than anticipated certainly – a small laugh sounded in his mind. Was that him laughing?

Regrets? He pondered. He was too young for those. Again, a laugh. The light was becoming brighter, and it seemed to have adopted a low thrum.

A piece of parchment played before his mind's eye – four names were written on it. There should have been more really, but those four were the worst. It was a crime that he would not have the opportunity to execute his plans for revenge. He watched and listened as flames devoured the note with a crackle and a hiss. Hiss. Hisssssss...

His body jerked as his lungs filled to capacity. He exhaled and from within the flames, the serpent returned. It rose above him then closed in on his face. He stared into the slitted eyes and there he saw a reflection.

A man with platinum hair and clad in black leather strode towards him. As the figure neared it dawned on the boy who he was. The brown eyes locked with his and the charismatic smile revealed perfect teeth. "Get up!"

Sauren felt his chest vibrate as laughter started to build.

"Get up!" his older self repeated. "We are swift, we are silent death. We are the serpent. Rise!"

He shuddered, the laughter coming full bore from the pit of his stomach as the bright light flared, reaching towards him.

In the background he heard Tulu scream. "Yuh will still pay de cost, half-breed! An de price has just gat higha!"

His back arched, limbs seized as his fingers dug into the earth beneath him. In a sudden burst of speed he was pulled forward and into the light. Breath then seemed frozen in his chest as he was extracted from the border between the Twisting Nether and life itself.

He had been balancing on the cusp of death and his spirit's sudden plummet into his body was brutal. The wound on his side burst open again and fresh pain roared through his entire being.

A loud gasp escaped him as the reconciliation of his body and soul was complete.

Exhausted, he slipped into a deep sleep as his father's tears of relief were absorbed into the pillows.