View source for Quendalon/Session17LiInterlude

In a rude camp of brambles and stones, guarded by her comrade Thorwald of Stonehold, the swordswoman named Li of Orchid slept.  And as she slept, she dreamed; and the dream was real.

In dreams, she stood in a grand hall, its walls of apple-green chrysoprase and white alabaster, its windows shedding beams of green light.  Everywhere, racks and tables and shelves brimmed with exotic wonders.  And before her, in the form of a youth with hair like spun copper and eyes full of rainbow light, the demon Makarios sat at a table carved from a single sapphire.

“I am a merchant,” said the demon Makarios.  “And dreams are my stock in trade.  I hope to interest you in some of my wares.  Admire, for instance, this magnificent daiklave, dreamed by seven youths of the House of Bells…”

Li shook her head.  “I thank you for your interest, friend Makarios, but I have no interest in your wares.”

Makarios gestured grandly.  “Look about you, my friend.  My inventory is extensive, my prices reasonable.  Surely there is something here that you might desire.”

“Your wares are splendid, good Makarios, but I am certain that they come at too high a price.”

“Not at all!  They are of the stuff of dreams, and I ask only for more of that miraculous substance that I may use to craft more such wonders.  And look you there, Li of Orchid.”  He gestured at a window, where a burning shape clawed at the glass.  It changed form as she watched; sometimes it was a great daiklave, and sometimes it bore the shape of a man: Katsuro Neroon, called the Righteous, whose flesh Li had once worn, and the blade Burning Tiger, that Li had wielded in that flesh, both of whom haunted Li’s dreams with blood, terror and flame.

“You may even yield me your own dreams,” continued Makarios.  “For it is clear to see that you have little use for them.”

Li shook her head once more.  “Terrible they may be,” she said, “but they are mine to suffer.  I shall not yield them up.”

“Very well.”  Makarios smiled.  “I will not press a client.  My offer remains open; I can always find you.  Now, however, there is another who wishes to speak with you.”

The doors of the hall gaped wide.  The sounds of the street rose up from the city beyond.  And strangely, those sounds began to gather, to resonate, and from their massed noises, a melody arose.  It swelled like the sea, taking on a light and delicate clarity, and the swirling incense smoke upon the air coiled and danced to its tune.

A light gathered then, moving in time to the music.  Spheres of light bubbled from it, converging, parting, and interlocking, all cloaked in an aurora of velvet brilliance.  They drifted closer, and every thing in that hall hummed and shone in sympathy with its brightness, its movements, its music.  And Li wept despite her wishes, for the music was clean and pure and alive-oh, a holy and perfect thing that touched her at the core.

The spheres slowed then, and came together in a moment of brilliancy; and when that radiance dimmed, a young woman stood there, her transparent body formed of soft blue light.  Luminous spheres swirled around her, through her, and the music ebbed and flowed like the wind and the tide.  She smiled, and when she spoke, her voice was music also.  “Greetings,” she said, and the word sounded like a promise, or a gift.  “I am Sanceline.”

Li inclined her head respectfully.  Her face was a mask.  “Greetings.”

“Li of Orchid.  There is a thing, a thing that we would have of you.  And for this thing we ask, I offer a gift, a thing I know you truly desire.”

“I desire nothing.”

“You desire nothingness; you desire the lack of desire.  You wish union with the Omphalos, the axis mundi.  You would be one with the Essence, one with Creation, united in harmony with all things.  Is this not your heart’s desire?”

“This is true.”

“This is the thing that I offer you: union with the Essence, union with Creation.  I shall lay my touch upon you, and you and the All will become one.  And we ask but a single boon in return.”

Li frowned.  “This is not a thing that may be given.  It must be earned.” 

“I am Sanceline.  I am the music of the spheres; I am the dance at the heart of all things.  It lies within my power to give you this thing.   It is true and it is real.  Will you not take it?”

“I cannot.  That which comes without struggle has no value.  Please forgive me, but I cannot accept your terms.”

Sanceline shrugged, and her movement was part of the dance.  “As you would have it, Li of Orchid.  We shall speak of this again, for you may choose another path in nights to come.”

“I find that unlikely.”

The demon smiled, and the spheres made music around her.  “We shall see.  You shall remember nothing of this in your waking hours; but you may yet dwell upon it in dreams.  Farewell, Li of Orchid.  We shall meet again.”

“Farewell.”

The grand hall of Makarios began to fade, like mist before the morning sun.  The walls dissolved; all of the marvels and wonders blurred into smears of color.  And Li of Orchid opened her eyes.

She yawned.  Stretching, she brushed away dirt and fallen yellow leaves; stretching, she groaned as all her wounds reminded her of their presence.  She leaned against the tree she’d slept under.  Nearby sat stolid old Thorwald, his sword in his lap, keeping guard against the night.

A tune had come stuck in her head as she slept.  She turned it over in her mind, and found it good.  Of the rest of her dreams, she remembered nothing.  It was true that her wounds still pained her, and it hurt to move.  But for the first time in many weeks, no dreams of blood and fire plagued her sleep.  She smiled a thin, tight smile.  Perhaps this was a good omen.

They broke camp.  She hummed a few bars of the tune, and it sounded clear and clean as it hung upon the forest air.  Where, she wondered, had she heard it before?  She did not know; and really, she thought, how could it matter?  She shouldered her pack and put all thought of dreams and music behind her.  Better to focus on important things.  Real things.

They set their feet upon the path.  She set her hands upon the hilts of her swords, and her doubts fled away.  That was better, she thought.  That was right.