Cards Reshuffled

Even dead, my sire was ever resourceful. Dreams, hopes, the thoughts unacknowledged by the conscious mind, those are the kind of things that make you vulnerable. And that is where he would strike, always seeking out what weakness he could find. Had I been forced to deal with those dreams alone, I doubt I could have retained my sanity at all.

Excerpt from ‘Ruminations Of A Master Bard’

Zaerini blinked. Where was she? She was outside, yet she could not remember how she had got here. There was grass beneath her feet, gray and dusty, looking as ancient as the dust of a mummy. Without looking, she somehow knew that there would be no ants in this grass, no mice or moles. Dead, completely dead it was. The air was still and musty, with no trace of wind, neither hot nor cold. Where is the light coming from? There was no sun in the sky, no moon and no stars. Just inky blackness. It might as well have been a solid lid over the world.

That can’t be real, the half-elf thought. This has to be a…

“A dream.”

Rini startled at the familiar voice, then turned around. “Immy…” she whispered, feeling tears rising in her eyes. “Immy, I’m so sorry. I’m coming for you, I promise, just as soon as I can! I didn’t mean to leave you! I didn’t!”

Imoen didn’t seem to acknowledge her friends words, maybe she didn’t even hear them. Her pink hair was covered with the same gray dust that was on the ground, and her blue eyes were distant and sad, all the sparkle and mischief in them faded away. “A dream of many things,” she said in a soft, almost inaudible voice. “Of friends, and family. These things always mean something.” She paused, frowning a little. “Don’t they?”

“Of course they do! Immy, you mean everything to me, you know that! You’re my best friend!”

Once again Imoen didn’t seem to hear. She sighed a little, then walked away. Zaerini followed, not knowing what else to do. This might only be a dream, but she knew better by now than to dismiss her dreams out of hand. Besides, she wanted her friend, even if only as a dream image. Now they were suddenly standing in an open courtyard, tall gray stone walls rearing up around them. And there was the Keep itself, with its tall towers and the tiny windows above. Rini shivered. Candlekeep.

Her old home, the place where she had grown up, where she and Imoen had played through many an endless childhood day. It looked just as it remembered it, she could even spot her old window. Yet something was different, frighteningly so. The walls were slowly crumbling, the windows gaping emptily like blinded eyes. The very ground was missing here and there, and far below she could spot more black sky, except now she could see stars, distant and cold. The ground…oh gods, the ground is full of stars! And Candlekeep…what happened here? It’s like…like an empty chrysalis, when the butterfly has left it behind.

Imoen was watching the keep quizzically. “Do you remember these doors?” she asked. “I remember... I think...”

“Of course you do! This is home, remember? Or it was.”

Imoen nodded. “Yes, this was home for so long, but it is too late to go back.” She sighed again. “They wouldn't have you now. They wouldn't have me. Had no use...”

“No! Immy, that’s not true, and you know it! We’re not useless, neither of us.” Are we? If I wasn’t useless, shouldn’t I have been able to save her?

Imoen suddenly took her friend’s hand, and Rini almost shied back. The other girl’s fingers were so very cold, like those of a dead thing. “Someone else does,” Imoen said in an odd little sing-song voice. “He wants something. I... I don't know why. Those in the cowls don't even know. Why don't I know?”

Irenicus. He wants something of us, I know that much. When he would…do things to me…he talked sometimes. I remember that, but I can’t remember what he said. Why can’t I remember? It’s important, I know it is! I have to remember!

Imoen was walking away now, heading across the courtyard. Her steps were very light; she hardly seemed to touch the ground. Now she was approaching an odd cluster of statues, that Zaerini certainly couldn’t remember from before. There were three of them, standing together, and Imoen sat down at their stone feet, watching them curiously. As the bard got closer she could recognize them, and she had to swallow hard to force down the sudden lump in her throat. Gorion.

One of the statues resembled her foster father in every detail. There was the kind face, lined but still strong, the eyes wise and loving. The short beard, gray as far back as she could remember, and the mage robes of the same color. He was leaning on his staff, watching her lovingly, or at least so it seemed. Of course he was nothing but at statue, but it was so lifelike she could almost believe it was really him. He looked exactly the same as on the day she had last seen him, the day he died, sacrificing himself to save her life by meeting the attack of her half-brother Sarevok. Gorion, I miss you so much. I need you, now more than ever, and I wish you were here.

Blinking the tears away she took a closer look at the second statue, and yet another familiar face. This was Khalid, her dear friend Khalid. The half-elven warrior’s slightly befuddled but friendly and open face was instantly recognizable. He seemed to be smiling nervously at her. Oh Khalid. You also died because of me, didn’t you? Whatever he…Irenicus…wants, it had nothing to do with you.

Now she turned to look at the third statue, which almost seemed to be crouching a little behind the other two. Adahn? It is, isn’t it? It certainly looked like the rogue, though the face was partially obscured by a deep hood. But what she could see of it seemed familiar enough, as did the body stance, wary and tense, like a coiled spring. She got the unnerving feeling that the statue was watching her, and there was a tiny smirk on the face that reinforced that impression. Somehow it seemed even more alive than the other two statues. He certainly seems to show up everywhere, doesn’t he? Funny…Gorion was my father first, and then Khalid took over at least part of that role. So logically, I suppose Adahn is going to adopt me, to fit the theme. She almost laughed. When I see him again, maybe I should ask him to put me on his lap and tell me a story. I’d love to see the look on his face. Unless…the other two are dead. Suppose he is too? No. I know he isn’t, I did that Reading. I know I haven’t seen the last of him.

Imoen had been studying the three statues silently for a while, but now she spoke again, sounding regretful. “Do you remember Gorion? Or the others? I think I do. They were... no... wait...” She reached up to touch Gorion’s hand. “They were the guidance, and there was much more to learn, but it is too late now. They are so far away...” The pink-haired girl reached out again, and this time her icy fingers gently touched her friend’s cheek. Her eyes were dark and weary, and her voice even sadder than before. “You are far away... Too far away to help... Why? Memories should stay... but he digs deeper... pushes everything aside...” She looked at the statues again, and her face turned blank. “I don't remember any of you.”

As Imoen spoke the last words, the three statues slowly dissolved into mist, which drifted away like transparent snakes slithering along the dead ground. The young rogue looked regretfully after them, and then moved off again, stopping when she reached a dark corner of the courtyard. Rini recognized this place, it was the sparring grounds where Jondalar would practice daily with the recruits. The person who was standing there right now most certainly wasn’t a green recruit though. It was Sarevok.

Well, it was a statue of Sarevok, at least. Zaerini apprehensively approached it, half thinking that it would come to life at any moment and try to kill her. He was as tall as she remembered him, a giant of a man, and the hideously ugly spiky armor he was wearing only emphasized his strong and muscular form. It wasn’t that which interested her the most though. Carefully she stepped even closer, and she looked into her brother’s face, able to do so for the first time without fear of dying. Sarevok’s face was partially obscured by his helmet, but she could see at least part of it. The statue didn’t have his fiercely glowing golden eyes of course, burning with a wild hunger that had always threatened to consume the world. And yet, it managed to capture at least a little of that immense pride, the grandiosity, the wildness of the spirit. It was a good-looking face too, she couldn’t help but notice. Sarevok. I wonder where you are now, brother? I wish…that things could have ended differently for you.

Imoen hugged herself as if she was feeling cold, not looking at the statue. “Do you remember Sarevok?” she asked. “Or any other? I... I don't know...” She paused for a moment, thinking. “They sought your death, and mine. They seemed so important at the time, but I... I don't remember them at all. Something else is...”

“Immy?” The half-elf hesitantly put her arm about her friend’s shoulder. “Immy, you don’t have to do this.”

Imoen shook her head, pink locks bouncing. When next she spoke, it was in a mere whisper. “Something else is more dangerous... Closer... I can feel it...” She gave her friend an imploring look. “Do you remember me? I... I can almost see... I want to, but I... too late. You will come too late...”

“NO! Immy, I promise I’ll find you, I’ll find you in time!” Imoen’s eyes closed, and she slumped in her friend’s arms, unconscious. This is a dream, Rini told herself. Only a dream. It didn’t help. She was still scared, still angry and helpless to do anything about it. Carefully she lowered Imoen down onto the ground. Something stirred at the corner of her eye and she turned her head to see Softpaws sitting on the ground, green eyes steady and calm.

Careful, kitten, the cat warned. He comes.

What? Who…

And then there was a shimmering in the air, a rippling magical portal, and Irenicus was standing before her. No. No, no, no, no, NO!

She should do something, she had to do something, but she was frozen, immobile, and couldn’t even budge an inch. All she could do was stare wildly at her tormentor. The mage looked exactly as she remembered him. There was the unusually muscular body, uncommon in a wizard, and he was wearing that odd combination of leather straps and golden buckles that would have looked hilarious on anybody else but somehow managed to look threatening on him. And there was the mask across his face, the perfect mask of a young and beautiful face, perfectly proportioned, but cold and sneering. And the eyes. The terrible eyes that were the worst thing about him. Blue, a deep and beautiful blue, and cold, colder than ice. They were staring contemptuously at her, chilling her heart, making her feel small and helpless, a mouse frozen in front of a snake. Then they turned to Imoen.

“She resists,” Irenicus said, his cultured voice as dispassionate as ever. “She clings to her old life as though it actually matters. She will learn.”

Finally the bard was able to find her voice, though it sounded distant and feeble in her own ears. “Don’t touch her! Leave her alone!”

The mage simply looked at her, as if he was curious about her anger and fear, unable to entirely comprehend it. “I will do as I wish with her,” he said, sounding as if he was explaining something simple to an unintelligent child. “It is necessary for me to achieve what I seek. In this place it is simply happening earlier.”

“What place? Where are we?”

“It is a portrait of what has happened, and what may happen.” Irenicus sounded completely disinterested in this. “Do you cling to the past, or can you see through the pain?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Now he was suddenly standing very close to her, and she couldn’t remember him approaching. He was simply there, cupping her chin and forcing her to look up directly into his face. The blue eyes looked back at her from behind the mask. Cold…so cold. His fingers were strong, like iron. They hurt. She felt as if she were about to fall into those blue eyes, to drown in icy water without end. “You feel the potential within, don't you? Will you cringe from what you know you want? What you can take as your own?” He sounded just a little bit impatient by now. “You know what you want. It is you, after all, which has brought us to the dream. Nothing is real. Yet.”

Magic leapt from his fingertips, striking Imoen who writhed on the ground, screaming. Rini tried to scream as well, but her tongue wouldn’t obey her. And now there was another voice, a terribly familiar one, deep and malicious.

THAT IS RIGHT, MY DAUGHTER. THE POTENTIAL IS STILL WITHIN YOU, STILL WAITING TO BE USED. YOU CANNOT HIDE FROM IT, YOU CANNOT HIDE FROM ME. YOU WILL GROW IN STRENGTH AND SPIRIT, AND YOU WILL LEARN.

Now she was able to scream at last, a wordless scream of terror and defiance, and as she heard her familiar hissing at the faceless presence that was pressing against her mind she woke up. As she woke, she was still screaming.