I was in pain, so much so my mind couldn’t focus on anything but the pain. My eyes were burning, I knew they were open but I could see nothing, it only felt like someone replaced my eyes with fire. That sensation radiated outwards from my eyes through my whole head.
My eye socket felt eerily empty; I blinked trying to feel my eyeballs through my eyelids, instead, a jolt of pain assaulted my senses, driving me to the edge of insanity.
I struggled like a mad man, thrashing about, but I was laying on my back on a hard surface, restrained so completely the only part of my body I could move was my head.
Just then I felt the cold edge of a blade on my chest, I knew it was a blade because it soon cut into my flesh, evoking a blood-curdling scream from me.
I wanted to run, I struggled against whatever was restraining me, but I only succeeded in thrashing my head about, screaming so much my lungs burned. It felt like a million needles were stabbing into every part of my body and then hot lava was poured into the tiny holes created by those needles. As I struggled to break free from my constraints, I suddenly lost all strength in my body, then I lost consciousness.
A familiar feeling of weightlessness overcame me, I was wrapped by something heavy that restrained my movement as I sank deeper and deeper into darkness, not this again I thought.
In the darkness I could hear voices, disjointed words traveled to my ears through a thick membrane that distorted sounds. I couldn’t tell who was saying what, or how many people’s voices I was hearing, but I did my best to focus on the words and the voices, the pain I felt earlier, so intense it dyed all my senses, nothing but a distant memory.
“Is… dead… mis—ke…” a voice was saying. I couldn’t make sense of the words I was hearing, and the voice—distorted as it was—gave me no clues at all about who the speaker was.
Slowly, the darkness began to recede, I was still sinking, but my body only felt weightless now, whatever it was that was restraining me was completely gone. I began to flail around, groping in the dark for something to grab unto, but the space around me was totally empty.
Whatever barrier separated me from the speakers seemed to grow weaker the farther the darkness around me receded; the voices and the words I was hearing became clear enough that I could recognize there were three speakers, a female, and two males, though their voices were still distorted.
“I told you, his revival is becoming faster,” the female said.
“What does this mean?” one of the males asked, and another male answered, “I cannot say, however, if what Valeria says is true, this could cause many headaches.”
Hearing the name Valeria dug up many memories of my childhood. Mother, who was as distant as my father, seemed almost like a mythical creature to me. While I never felt any warmth from her, I always felt elated just catching glimpses of her as I grew up.
Her beauty was unmatched by anyone I'd ever met, my sister—beautiful as she was, not even her could match mother's beauty.
She had such a soft melodious voice that even canaries would envy. When she spoke, one was tempted into a lull, seduced by her voice one couldn’t help but listen. It was very hard to remain guarded once one heard her voice, it gave one a sense of security, a sense of delight, although her words were often harsh and spoken with no emotions.
Mother had long black hair that always glistened in the sun, she had grey eyes that looked like they knew every secret in the universe; it was impossible for one not to get nervous once her gaze fell upon one, those eyes always looked like they were unraveling every guarded secret one held.
Her eyes were different from father's in that sense. While father's blue steely eyes betrayed no emotions, it inspired fear in others. And just like their eyes, everything about their being evoked different feelings in whoever stood before them. With father it was fear, with mother it was reverence.
My relationship with mother was perhaps even more tenuous than with my father; at least father made his displeasure with me known, at least father acknowledged my existence. Mother never even bothered with me, she would look at me with those cold dead eyes, no emotion discernable from her gaze. Her words were often very robotic, and the only instances when I could detect a tiny hint of emotion in her voice, it was always disappointment.
Perhaps the nature of my relationship with mother was why I hadn’t taken her death as hard as Aurel took Titus' death. In fact, even my sister carried on her days with no noticeable change. At the very least I’d felt anger towards the Lycans, my sister simply moved on.
It wasn't hard to understand my sister though, mother's relationship with her was worse than it was with me. At least mother felt nothing for me, but with my sister it was hard for her to contain the disdain she felt, which led to her being harsher and meaner to my sister. Her behavior was interpreted by all as tough motherly love, but my sister and I only saw unbridled hatred.
It was evident in the way she looked at my sister, it was as if she was a maggot, a dirty, stinky stain on the world. It was evident in the words she chose, always cutting down my sister at every chance she got, making my sister wilt in her presence, her self-esteem dropping with every word my mother spoke.
Amongst the things that drove my sister and me closer was my mother. In front of that lake, beneath that oak tree, one of our favorite pastimes was whispering to each other every mean thing we could about mother, afraid the wind would carry our voices to the ears of someone else, we would whisper in each other's ears.
While my sister and I weren’t very fond of mother, everyone else almost worshipped her. Her beauty made men weak in the knees and lose their wit around her, it was impossible for men to assess her objectively, and amongst those men was father. The women, even those that envied her and were jealous of her beauty, respected her power. She was one of the most gifted mages in the settlement, after all, it was impossible for them not to.
Just as I was immersing myself in the memories that were flooding into my head, it suddenly went dark again, this time the voices in the room also went quiet, replaced by the sounds of cicadas. When I opened my eyes, through the window in my room, I saw the moon, high up in the sky, shining brightly. The moon was half-formed, but it beamed so brightly one could be forgiven for mistaking it for a full moon.
It's getting close again I thought to myself as I realized what a full moon meant. I sat up, trying to figure out how long I managed to sleep this time, but ultimately giving up on the endeavor and deciding instead to make the most of the time I had.
My clothes smelled of Ale and smoke, the smell so pungent it made me retch. I changed my clothes and made my way to the training ground, knowing full well any attempt I made to fall back asleep would be doomed to fail. Besides, I was a little afraid I would dream again. Even though the pain had vanished, the memory of it was fresh and vivid in my mind, it instilled such fear in me that I was afraid of falling back asleep.
Once on the training ground, I picked up a wooden sword and started to practice. I ran simulations in my head, tried to create techniques that would best take advantage of my strength and speed. The night breeze blowing on my skin wet with sweat gave me goosebumps, but the cold did not bother me. I was enjoying swinging the sword, fully focused on the simulations I was running in my head and banishing the memory of the dream I’d just had to the far recesses of my mind. So focused was I that I was unaware when dawn came.
When I finally stopped swinging, there were already about 10 people on the training ground with me. They all also had a sword in hand and were practicing. Before long the recruits were all present, then came my sister, walking towards us with unsteady steps, her head in her hands, grumbling.
Since the principles of magic had somewhat been explained to the recruits already, we dived straight into mana channeling. Five more recruits were successful in channeling mana into the mana crystal while I busied myself with thoughts about what I’d heard from my sister the night before. As soon as training was over the males headed to the lake to wash their bodies; the females, including my sister, came with buckets to fetch water to clean themselves in their sleeping quarters. As soon as I was done, I headed straight to the library, giddy at the thought of reading the book that contained the deconstruction of runes my sister had told me about.
I have such rotten luck I thought to myself once in the library. In one of those quiet dark corners in the library sat father and two other mages, the book I’d ran over to read laid open on the table before them. I recognized the mages; they were two older mages that taught basically every mage in the settlement, including father, magic theory. Father must’ve enlisted their help in solving the problem he was facing.
I didn’t want to just turn back and leave, so I searched for Bor, determined to give him a piece of my mind, “How could he recommend such blasphemous texts to me,” I wondered out loud. I found him sitting on a stool behind the stone shelves—hidden from the view of everyone in the common reading area—surrounded by a stack of books, he looked completely engrossed in reading the book he held in his hand.
“Bor,” I called to him quietly as I walked towards him. He looked up at me, his face contorting as his usual smile floated on his face once he recognized me.
“You left early yesterday,” he said to me, closing the book he held in his hands.
“Yes, I read something unpleasant thanks to somebody,” I said brashly. Bor's brows furrowed, his smile fading as he looked at me, his eyes asking me to elaborate. “You never told me that book was written by a blasphemous fool,” I added.
Bor's smile returned to his face, his face became loose as he finally understood what it was I was talking about. “Did you stop reading due to that?” he asked, looking at me as if I were a poor ignorant fool, his smile now looking patronizing.
“Yes Bor, I stopped reading that book because of that. I see no reason why I should be subjected to the thoughts of a mad man,” I said, sounding a little harsher than I'd intended to. I blamed that patronizing smile and the look in Bor's eyes.
“Silas, if knowledge is what you seek then you should never close yourself off from learning, even from people you find unpleasant,” Bor said to me. He dropped the book he'd been reading on top of one of the book stacks that surrounded his stool.
He crossed his legs, folded his arms then asked, “Why does it matter to you that the writer doesn’t believe in the gods? Does that change the value of what knowledge they may impart on you?”
I hated this conversation, I wanted to stop having it, but I couldn’t let Bor's question go unanswered. He wasn’t admitting fault, he wasn’t apologizing, so I needed to get him to see the mistake he'd made.
“Yes, Bor, it does,” I said, as I quickly glanced around me for somewhere to sit; standing while talking to Bor who was seated was getting uncomfortable for me. I was sure he wouldn’t mind, he was that type of person, but the rudeness of it bothered me.
“How so?” he asked again.
I paused to think about his question. Why does it bother me I asked myself. The answer seemed obvious, but whenever I probed my mind to find it, it eluded me. I had a couple of thoughts, but they all seemed wrong. It was easy enough to simply say because the gods protect us and have blessed us with many things, but that answer seemed wrong. I must've had a reason for saying what I’d said, I wasn’t a petulant child that answers questions just to shut people up. I wondered what my reason was.
