Quendalon/Session14Fear

It was a beautiful day; A beautiful day with a clear, cool wind and a midday sun blazing high in the sky. Thorvald remembered it well because he was with Frannja and the two of them stripped bare and dove from the top of the Eagle’s Claw into the White Ravine. He could not say who broke the surface of the water first. Looking back, he liked to think they both hit the unseasonably warm water at the same time and touched the dark, rock covered bottom together. He remembered turning, pressing his legs against the ground, blowing all the air out of his lungs and pushing up and up towards the surface.

I’m sure to have beaten her this time!! He had thought.

Light came closer. Rising, He could see the noonday sun distorted by the surface of the river. His lumps were thumping now and his heart beat rapidly, as his breath gave and water seeped into his lungs, There was one last mighty surge and…

* * * * *

Blessed Wind burst through the surface and landed on his feet on the shore. He turned to look and saw Kuro sitting in the rock, water dripping down her lithe, half naked form. She smiled mischievously and flipped a large, perfect smoke colored pearl into the air and caught it again.

“I win.” She sing-songed with a sweet smile.

“Impossible!! There is no way you could have swam faster than me! You cheated somehow!!!”

* * * * *

Angrily Thorvald smashed his fist…

And Blessed Wind’s body twisted and cracked from the force of the blow.

* * * * *

“Thorvald…”

Aekino’s face was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes.

“Are you well, brother?” Aekino asked.

Groaning, Thorvald steadied himself and tried to rise. He drew a deep breath and smelled, foul ichor, dust…the smell of death and decay. Where was he??

* * * * *

The tomb!!!

In front of him darkness. A chasm…no a doorway. In the distance… movement.

So finally they were in the tomb of Blessed Wind and Kuro the Raven. Finally, but the going was not easy. He and his brothers had not easily dealt with the Tomb Guardians. Zera, Aekino, even Li… dead? Thorvald’s head spun. No, not yet. And their new friend… benefactor. Yet someone else from his past…

No! Thorvald thought firmly. Not my past… Blessed Wind’s.

He took a breath and stepped into the dark stairwell. He was already a good distance behind his brothers though they were moving slowly to deal with the traps. He was the last.

He angrily chastised himself for being last. His jaw set in a hard line and he stormed downstairs.

* * * * *

And Aekino was the first. Chained as he was and very beautiful. Only Thorvald realized this was not Aekino but the person Aekino was before… a woman. Just as Zera had been a woman in ancient times. Kuro… A voice from within seemed to whisper.

He looked down at Aekino. His long hair fell down his face, obscuring his pale eyes. There was shame, yet defiance. His once proud robes were worn and wrinkled, and the golden chains that bound him seemed as much ornamentation as they did devices of restraint. With cold and merciless eyes Thorvald approached, judged and thus condemned him.

And then he turned to Zera and did the same.

* * * * *

“A DEMON!!!”

Whose voice was that? Thorvald tried to focus but the pain was mind-numbing. His vision dimming, he turned. Aekino stood, alive. Somehow alive. And the dark haired stranger was with him and their look was one part scrutiny the other concern. In the distance, Li… fighting, always fighting. And Kuro…

“Fourth Breeze…help me!!!” He whispered as he staggered.

He tried to step on the stone in the water but it was too far. He would have to jump.

“Thorvald, don’t. You are wounded.” Who’s voice was that? Aekino? Or another.

* * * * *

Staring closely at Aekino Thorvald tried to get some sense of his brother. Tepet Aekino was very strange for a man. Aekino was a highborn of the Isle of the Dragon Queen and he dressed and carried himself in their manner. By his people’s standards, he was flighty and womanly. But all men of the realm behaved like this.

He reached forward and swung his blade. Aekino’s head fell from his shoulders.

No... he murmured. </i>That is not how it happened... I am not Blessed Wind. Blessed Wind, who did not even have the dignity to carry out the sentence himself.</i>

Mustering the remnants of his drained will, Thorvald fought the intrusive memories of the council chamber and of his role as judge over the woman who once was Aekino.

Kuro... Larenn, Zera… Aekino. I killed my own brothers...

NO!! Not me. Blessed Wind did these things!!!!

I do not want this! A voice echoed in his mind. Angrily Thorvald shook it away.

Thorvald stared at his reflection in the water. He tried to charge but fell to his knees.

* * * * *

So this is how it ends for you... The voice was soft yet it may as well have been a thunderclap. Thorvald tried to focus but the pain overwhelmed him. His vision dimmed but not before he glimpsed Aekino and the dark haired stranger with looks of scrutiny and concern as they viewed the battle. In the distance, Li…fighting, always fighting. And Kuro...

A sharp pain stabbed at him. Thorvald fought back tears and tried to push himself forward but froze in his tracks at the edge of the lake. He stared at the still black water and felt a paralyzing fear.

“Fourth Breeze… help me!!!” he whispered desperately, but Fourth Breeze did not come.

“Thorvald, don’t. You are wounded.”

Whose voice was that? Larenn? Or the other?

It did not matter. It spoke the truth. He WAS wounded. Yes…terribly wounded and incapable of joining the battle. As Thorvald thought this he also heard an angry voice railing, screaming something or other about having suffered worse wounds than this but Thorvald quelled and ignored it. Yes….he was hurt. Very hurt. So hurt it that if he fell to the ground and feigned unconsciousness, none of his brother would know…

I wouldn’t even have to pretend. All I have to do is surrender to the pain.

And thus, he fell. His head rattled against the cold stone floor but he was still conscious. They would never know. No one would know he didn’t pass out from the strain and his wounds. Only he would know his shame.

And as he drifted away he heard a hollow laugh.

* * * * *

When the rangers saw Thorvald burst through the underbrush they all started and whirled from their seats around the camp fire weapons drawn. Anyone else would have been concerned but Thorvald laughed, pushed his way past the standing stones surrounding the camp and trudged towards his bewildered comrades in arms, the severed head of the Kanar dragging behind him.

“Looks like I’m four goats and five flagons richer!!!” he exclaimed.

But he was met with a stunned silence. At first the warriors thought he was an illusion or a Fae sorcerer but then realized Thorvald still wore his iron necklace. A Fair Folk could do no such thing. Their magic couldn’t even imitate the guise of that which was their bane. It was Thorvald alright. But to them this was even more unbelievable. They had expected two things. His death or his return empty handed. None of them, not a single one, thought it was remotely possible for him to win his foolish wager.

Thorvald laughed uproariously and with a mighty heave tossed the head of the slain Kanar into their midst. The creature’s fierce white skull rolled slowly and stopped a few feet from the fire. In the dim light of the flame, it’s dead eyes shown with an eerie gleam as shadows played on the fallen beast as giant dagger like teeth glinted with a maliciousness that belied its vanquished state. The blood on its fangs and tongue told the dangerous tale of the killing and the terrible wound on Thorvald’s shoulder dispelled any notion of dismissing what was so incredible yet obvious at the same time.

“How?” Hafgan whispered softly almost with reverence. He hadn’t liked Thorvald’s chances when he boasted of killing a Kanar in single combat but he liked them even less when he further bragged that he would do it almost weaponless armed with the flimsy hatchet that was barely suitable for cutting wood let alone a Kanar’s near impenetrable hide.

Thorvald laughed boisterously “Sit then, my brothers! I will tell you!!!”

Over the rest of the night, sitting at the seat of honor surrounded by his brothers, Thorvald ate and drank as beautiful women tended his wounds. He told the tale with great eagerness, explaining how he managed to trap the creature in a crevasse on the west side of the cliff. There he was able to strike unimpeded while the Kanar’s immense bulk hampered its movement and its swings. It had charged right into his blow as he knew it eventually must and that was the beginning of the end. Chopping the head off took some doing but was not a difficult task. In fact, he stated matter-of-factly, the climb down the mountain with the creature’s severed head in tow was much harder than the actual fight.

And as the moon hung high in the night sky, Thorvald finished telling his tale and there was silence. He was no bard, but sometimes a tale is powerful enough to make up for the shortcomings of its teller.

“Did you feel fear?” Someone finally asked his voice trembling with awe and wonder.

Thorvald thought for a long moment and finally shrugged for he could not answer the question. Fear was to him what color was to a man born blind; it was something he just could never understand.