Book 3: Chapter 50: The Dream of the Dust

Book 3: Chapter 50: The Dream of the Dust



A true understanding of the martial path will forever elude the one who seeks only the journey’s conclusion. It is in the depths of study and the intricacy of the reasons behind each step along that path that enlightenment and mastery are truly found.

- The Living Sword by Fen Vaigorus circa 520 AC.

The first meal of the day was a light breakfast of fruit and lightly salted meat on saffron rice. At first, we ate in silence, our expressions dour, fueling ourselves for what was to come. But with his ever-rogueish grin, Elwin mentioned Ansan and our time together as slaves.

This opened a floodgate of memories. We spoke of the little things, of past adventures and shared experiences.

And of vanquished foes and challenges overcome.

Our words danced on the edge of bittersweet nostalgia, each tale a thread of our shared history. The conversation was a gentle stab at, and poignant reminder of, our past. It infused the space between us with a quiet, unspoken understanding. The meal made me almost feel that we were saying our goodbyes.

*****

“I’m saying this just pretty much for the sake of saying it, but like, you sure about this?” Elwin asked with only the smallest of hints of nervousness.

“I’m as sure as can be. This is destiny... I can feel it.”

“You know, I heard a lot of people saying this and saying that about destiny and fate and all that malarkey. Just saying, and just saying, mind you... most of them ain’t on this side of the Shallow River,” the Rogue remarked.

Kidu placed a massive paw on Elwin’s shoulder. “If Gilgamesh feels this is the best course of action, then I place my spear with his. He has not let us on the wrong trail yet.”

“Yes, Elwin. If we wish for power we must take it!”

“Quick reminder though. Just so you know and all, that really isn’t one of my wishes, if you’re thinking of granting it.”

I drew myself up, straightened my shoulders and looked him square in the eyes. “Why were we made slaves?”

“Got a bad roll of the dice,”

“No, Elwin. It was because we were powerless. Would you have that happen to us again?”

“But a practitioner of the dark arts an’ all? Really, now?”

The large hunter snorted at this. “There are things that the Wise Ones do that you warm landers would call dark arts. Ignorant, you are. Minds inflexible, like heartwood.”

Thank you Kidu, perfect timing.

“But the little man, womanly as his words sound, may have a point. When dealing with other tribes, one must be as careful. Are they friend or foe?”

“As you say Kidu. But I have spent a lot of time thinking about this. I believe the opportunity outweighs the prevalent risks.”

“Sounds like famous last words to me,” Elwin cut in.

Regardless of Elwin’s trepidation, it was time to cross the threshold. I knocked twice on the door to the Necromancer’s chambers and waited for a few moments before a voice called out that I could enter. Pushing against the dark wood, I could not help but marvel at how smoothly it opened.

“One sees you have brought company,” the walking cadaver of a man greeted me. Vincenzio seemed hardly off-put by the presence of Kidu and Elwin.

“You sure about this, Gil? I mean this looks dodgy as hell, like,” commented the Rogue sarcastically.

I shook my head in mild consternation. “Vincenzio has treated me well so far. Forgive the cliche, Elwin, but one should not judge a book by its cover.”

“Mild insults aside. Who are these two?” the Necromancer asked. “Talking of covers, they do not look to be of the cultured sort.”

“They are my companions and good men. They are sworn to me and I trust them with my life,” I stated firmly. Kidu snorted in response, that simple act more menacing than if he had drawn a weapon.

“More importantly, they can keep a secret,” I made sure to add.

The sallow man looked my companions over. “Very well then. I know that Visitors have a strange habit of picking up the strangest of companions. It is part of their glamor. Also, one supposes that a few more pairs of trusty hands can only help,” he remarked offhandedly, throwing me a small purse that jingled as it flew through the air.

I checked its content, noting, much to my surprise, that it was filled with slightly tarnished silver coins.

The Necromancer looked me steadily in the eye. “Payment for your time. Excuse the coins, habit if nothing else. One still doesn’t trust those slips of paper. Also, the Milander, as you know, was an excuse,” he stated.

I gave the purse to Elwin, who readily accepted it with his greedy hands. Kidu just looked on steadily, his presence a solid rock.

“Your master...” the Necromancer began to explain, only to be interrupted by Kidu.

“Not master,” the giant of a man stated simply, his voice a rumble of challenge.

Did my ears deceive me, or did I hear a note of nostalgia in the practitioner of the dark arts’ voice? I cricked my neck, feeling one of the bones pop.

“...the Dream will give you time to hone your skills. All you will need to do is to overcome that challenge.”

Lust for power warred with common sense as I mulled over the Necromancer’s offer. The temptation laced in his words ate away at my reserve. Surely a single dose of the Dust could do me no lasting harm?

“Very well then, Vincenzio. I accept your offer,” I answered determinedly. There could be no reward without risk.

“Gil, you’re not serious. Gil...” was Elwin’s shocked response.

“I will watch over you in this Dream, if that is what you wish,” said Kidu supportively.

“Then we are in agreement. I must make a few preparations. Take this time to gird yourself for this challenge,” finalized the Necromancer, his tone surprisingly anti-climactic.

*****

I lay on a simple wooden bed, my companions hovering over me like worried hens. Mysteriously, the necromancer reverently placed a chunk of Zajasite and a well-worn scabbard by my side.

“What are those?” I asked, doing my best to hide my trepidation.

“Tokens of an old friend. The person who will guide you on the next part of your journey. They sacrificed a part of themselves for this moment,” he answered somberly.

Why did they always have to answer in damn riddles? No matter, as long as I gained a few levels and skills from this then putting up with the mindless waffle was a small price.

The Necromancer’s method made sense, I justified to myself, the brain did, after all, process things many times faster when in a dream state. Add to that the magical nature of this world, then there was a very real possibility that this would act as a shortcut to power.

“This can only be done once, and never again repeated. So do not think of giving up unless things are most dire. Do not wake from the dream until you have defeated its guardian. Do you understand this?” warned Vincenzio harshly.

His words rang true to my ears. So he did want me to succeed, at least. I smiled evilly at the thought.

He offered me a purple concoction flecked with dashes of alien green. Sitting up, I moved it up to my lips, stopping just before making contact.

“Don’t you wish to know where to find the Beron’s Dream?” I inquired, testing him one last time.

“You can tell me when you complete your task,” he replied simply. He either genuinely wanted me to succeed or was a very accomplished liar indeed. “Drink all of that down.”

And so, I did as instructed.

The fluid tasted of nothing, which was, in itself, disgusting and alien to my tongue. Forcing it down required an effort of will. A sense of relaxation washed over me, as if all was well with the world. Elwin and Kidu looked anxious. Odd, I thought, for there was no place for worry here.

My eyes grew heavy, yet my soul felt, strangely, as light as a feather. Sleep called to me, in deeper notes than I had ever heard before. It entered me like water seeping into a ball of cotton. My last thought, as I walked the path of oblivion, was that I should have brought Larynda’s Dreamcatcher.

*****

I awoke gently inside the dream, walking through a field of mist and ghost grass. Each step was filled with purpose and direction, and as I progressed, the world around me slowly began to take on color. The soft call of birds, lilting and musical, filled the air, mingling with the scent of pine.

A few more steps.

Now I could hear the gurgling of a stream, beckoning me with its cheerful song. That was the place I needed to go. I walked on to the stream.

I bent down to touch the crystal water, feeling its cool, clean touch. Above me, the sun shone, burning away the last of the mists.

A house appeared, forming out of nothing, like a raw statement of existence. It was a squat construction of simple red earthen brick and a thatched roof. Smoke escaped from a chimney at its top.

The door of the simple abode opened.

A middle-aged woman appeared from the door, as if she were a character walking out of the pages of an old tale. Her back was straight, and she moved with a grace that would have put most dancers to shame. She wore a practical-looking light yellow tunic and a man's trousers of an ochre hue.

Her hair was cut short, for a woman at least, a chestnut brown with a few threads of gray. As she walked towards me, I saw a fierce aspect in her. A straight scar ran across her nose, just beneath hazel eyes that showed the first signs of time's kiss.

When she was three paces away, she looked at me as if I were an unwelcome guest in this realm.

Like a nervous child fighting a stutter, I nonetheless found it within me to ask my question.

"Who are you?"

She smiled enigmatically, with only a sliver of annoyance tarnishing her expression. The woman drew a breath, looking around at this world, at me, drinking deep of the details before her.

She spoke as if singing, the words flowing together in an accent I had never heard before, in a language I had never known, yet now understood on an almost intrinsic level.

"My name is Fen... and it seems the world has forgotten me too soon."