"In Dreams We Find" by Jennifer L. Post

Darkness, deep crippling blackness and the smell of fear; he can hear the sounds of movement coming from somewhere in the room, or is it a cavern? He strains forward, feeling the bitter cold of the metal collar biting into his neck and stopping him in his tracks. There are sounds now, the clink of the chain and a strange whimpering that is not his own. There is a demon out there in the darkness; soon it would come for him.

            Then, above the whimpering, a voice; raspy and insidious. It fills the air, uttering dark syllables that sound like gibberish at first… but soon he can feel their meaning in his very blood. He cries out in terror; but it does not drown out the words.

“Blood, blood and darkness,

Answer to my call.

All!

Call up all from the deeps,

foul magic kept in secret

darkest of earth power.

Answer me.

Power, power and madness,

bend now to my will.

Still!

Come up from the still lands;

death’s haunt, life’s fear,

dark heart of all nature.

Bend to me.

Come now!”

            Huddled in a ball, he feels the words slice through the dark like vicious shards of glass. The air weighs down on him, as if a heavy presence is filling up the cavern, repressing all sounds except the voice. The words grow louder, more commanding, and he feels that something is about to happen; something bad.

“Let blood join blood

and flesh to flesh conjoin

Bone with bone,

cleave souls, split, and twine.”

            He can feel himself pulled, drawn, the metal collar and chain mysteriously gone. At the same time he feels he is being torn; flesh ripped from bone, blood drained, soul caged. The heavy presence drowns out the scream growing in his mind.

“Let power shape and mold,

in dark and secret.

According to design let all unfold;

by my will and no others.

For I am Bale!

Servant of nature, master of night,

holder of the deep power!

And I command it so.

Come to me, I am your master.

Come to me…”

            Tareena awoke suddenly, just as something popped in the fire, and sat up; looking blearily about the night shrouded campsite. Something was wrong here. The entire area felt filled with a heavy, almost damp, presence, like dark, loamy soil. It was also unusually quiet. She should be able to hear Oen moving around, or at least, if he was still asleep, his heavy breathing would have been audible. Other normal night sounds seemed to be missing as well, or perhaps just muted. Tareena shuddered and threw off her blanket, standing up to look for Oen.

            She almost didn’t notice him. The fire had died down and he was lying propped up against the rock face, outside the warm ring of its light. He seemed to be twitching restlessly in his sleep, perhaps caught in some nightmare. Concerned, Tareena drifted over towards him. As she got closer the heaviness seemed more concentrated and the air smelled faintly of swamp mud.

            It was very quiet, but Tareena heard her companion’s labored breathing even before she got close enough to see him a little more clearly. His long brown hair was thrown across his face, obscuring its features, but she could see that his whole body seemed to be straining against something, hands clenched so tightly that long nails cut into his palms; and yet at the same time he was barely moving, maybe a sudden jerk of an arm now and then, or a twitch of his tail. It was as if the rocky ground itself was holding Oen down, or pulling him in.

            Tareena knelt beside him, concern shimmering on the edge of fear. Whatever could be wrong with him? Had he been hurt more than he admitted when that landslide had parted them from the others? Or had the heaviness of the air perhaps brought on some feverish nightmare? Was it safe to wake someone from such a dream? She reached out a hand to carefully brush the hair from her friend’s face, and caught her breath when she saw the strong features twisted into a look of horrible pain.

            “No! I escaped from you. You don’t own me!” Tareena pulled her hand back quickly at the sudden angry outburst from Oen. He bared his teeth, the slightly longer canines plainly visible, and growled; but his eyes remained closed. His ears twitched down, like he was listening to something, and Tareena knew that it was not her he was responding to, it was something or someone in his nightmare.

            “Not just a feverish dream then.” She whispered.

            Before him the darkness begins to thin, to fade into a sickly greenish-grey. He winces away, feeling that such light brings something even worse than the darkness. His fears are confirmed as a figure steps forth into the light, a figure swathed in long dark robes. Green light emanates from it, reaching out towards him; and a voice… a voice seems to come from the light, grasping and pulling at him.

            “I am your master…” Bale’s voice, the voice in the darkness! He must get away from him, from it. He tries to move, to run from the voice, to fight it; but some force binds him.

            “I am my own master!”

            “I am your master you worthless dog! I made you!” He feels the words slice through him like twisting, searing blades, burning through anger, resolve, and rebellion in a vicious stab of pain.

            Oen was fighting something, Tareena realized. Sweat drops slid down his forehead from the strain of resisting… whatever it was; but he was losing. For a second he had seemed on the verge of breaking free from the nightmare, but then a spasm shook through him and he cried out in pain. Then suddenly his whole body went limp.

            “Only my own.” he forced the words out in an exhausted gasp. Tareena had had enough. She reached for him, intending to shake him into wakefulness, but then recoiled in shock as she felt the aura that was flowing up around him. It burned her fingers. Earth magic, of all things, dark earth magic; how could she have missed it before?

            “I’m sorry.” she whispered to Oen, gathering her magic around her. He was under attack from the inside and the outside; she should have figured it out sooner. She narrowed her eyes and glared at the dark smudge of power surrounding her friend. “Hold on Oen, I’ll get you out of this. So don’t stop fighting yet, you got that?”

            “Come to me.” As the pain recedes, the voice returns to him, softer, more insidious. The green light reaches for him once again, shimmering poison emerald as it wraps itself around him. His strength is gone and he can only protest ineffectively.

            “No, I am…. my own…”

            “Come… to me.”

            “… Master.” As the grey-green fades back to darkness, he feels himself slipping away. Then suddenly green swirling light erupts all around him with a cry.

            “Oen! Oen, come back!”

            Oen’s eyes shot open and he doubled over, taking in big, fast breaths. It was like a weight had been suddenly pulled off of him, allowing him to breathe again; though he could see that the swirling greenness still remained, trapping him. A movement caught his eye and he jerked his head up and scrambled backwards until he felt something solid at his back. A few yards away, the dull glow of a torch lit up the outline of a shadowed figure moving towards him. He tensed, waiting for the crushing heaviness to return and bind him. It didn’t. Maybe Bale was so confident he had broken Oen’s spirit that he felt it was no longer needed. He expected Oen to come to heel like some obedient hound.

            Oen felt old repressed angers and never quite forgotten hurts rising up within him at the thought, melding into a fury which raced through his blood and filled him with new energy. He’d show that druid bastard who was broken!

            With a snarl he lunged towards the dark figure, ready to rip it apart. He felt the air rushing past him all around, felt himself slowing, stopping. The druid was trying to bind him again, but Oen’s rage gave him strength and pushed him forward. Even when he felt like he had suddenly hit a wall he pushed himself through, reaching with blood-hungry claws for the man who had tormented him for so long, the man he had finally remembered; Bale.

            He heard a startled cry of pain, and then the swirling green all disappeared into a burst of blue-green light. Oen blinked as his surroundings suddenly seemed changed. He realized that he was outside, that the dull glow was actually a dying fire, not a torch; and the figure in front of him, now illuminated by the blue-green gem shining brightly from the circlet on her forehead, was Tareena.

            All of his fury drained away in an instant, and was replaced by a sick feeling. She was kneeling on the ground, hands outstretched towards him, trying to shield herself. Her magic kept him suspended in the air, immobile now, but… he looked at her, saw her eyes full of fear, and a thin line of blood across one cheek; the same blood that stained the edge of the claws on his right hand. He had just attacked her, the Princess, one of the most powerful sorceresses in the kingdom, his friend Tareena. Oen wanted to jerk his hand back, to turn around, and run from her; but her magic gently held him and wouldn’t let him move.

            Tareena watched as her friend’s eyes regained their normal, unclouded, look. He was truly out of the grip of the nightmare spell now. What must he have thought he was seeing to make him attack her so ferociously? She’d had to use so much power to stop him that it nearly got away from her. Luckily the Morden Stone had been able to help her control it or Oen could have ended up in a lot of trouble… or at least she thought so. The way he had just pushed through her power was actually quite amazing, so she wasn’t sure exactly what would have happened to him if her magic had broken loose.

            Well, in any case he was the Oen she knew once again, back to his senses, all trace of any amazing power gone. He still looked sort of pale though.

            “Oen, are you alright?” The gentleness of her touch as she reached up and took hold of his arm and the smile on her face as the Morden’s light faded and he was slowly released from her magic’s hold baffled him. She didn’t seem to be angry with him and, after that moment when he’d first noticed her, she didn’t seem to be scared of him either.

            “Yeah, but I…” The words stumbled out of Oen’s mouth. The smell of her blood kept confusing him, stabbing him with guilt, but she didn't seem to want an apology; and he was unsure whether or not he should tell her about his dream. How were you supposed to apologize for something like this anyways?

            Tareena did not give him time to figure it out. With what he was guessing was a grin, she bridged the space between them in one sudden movement and threw her arms around his neck; which only served to further his confusion.

            “Oh I'm so glad! I thought you were lost for a second there.” she laughed, burying her face in his shoulder. Oen kept perfectly still, slightly unnerved by her actions. Would she have been so concerned about him if she knew what he had been dreaming? Perhaps she would've let him be lost, perhaps she should have.

            “Tareena I... I remembered.” Oen said haltingly. “I know what I am.”

            “You are not a demonkin!” She declared, in the same fiercely determined tone she had used the day she'd first decided this was true. Oen slumped forwards. He had the most horrible feeling that he was about to lose his only friend.

            “No.” he whispered, leaning his head against hers. “... but I am a monster.”