Souls of Aredyrah 2 - The Search for the Unnamed One (15 page)

They stopped before the doorway and Reiv
surveyed the carved, god-like figures towering on either side of
it. Fine hairs stood up on the back of his neck; the strange
deities looked none too friendly. Torin motioned him in, and Reiv
took a hesitant step through the threshold. He looked back and saw
appreciation in Torin’s eyes.

“I will see it done,” Reiv assured him.

“Then I am forever your servant,” Torin
responded.

“Perhaps a truce instead?”

Torin nodded, grim-faced. Then Reiv pulled in
a breath and ducked into the hut.

He was met by three elderly men who led him
to the far side of the room. There they ordered him to undress.
Preparations had to be made, they said, for he was required to meet
the gods looking his best. Reiv followed their instructions without
question and soon found himself being cleansed from head to foot
with cloths soaked in a cool liquid that smelled of wintergreen and
lavender. While one man combed Reiv’s hair and braided it with
intertwining strands of cockleshells, another re-adorned his eyes
with kohl, meticulously drawn. Since Reiv had not yet been
tattooed, designs were painted across his forehead and around his
arms. He was clothed in a decorative skirt with a braided belt
around his waist. Strands of shell beads were placed around his
neck. Reiv grew impatient with the formalities, thinking them
foolish and unnecessary when a boy lay dying. But he clenched his
teeth and endured it silently, fighting to keep his body from
fidgeting throughout the ordeal.

At last the Elders finished their task and
left him there alone. Reiv paced back and forth, until Nannaven
swept through the entrance, the three Elders trailing behind her.
The men stopped and stood quietly to the side while the Spirit
Keeper approached Reiv. She held up a clear glass bottle filled
with an equally clear liquid.

“Are you certain you still wish to do this?”
she asked.

Reiv eyed the bottle nervously, then
nodded.

Nannaven instructed him to lie down on a mat
that had been placed near the central fire pit. She knelt beside
him, adjusting his necklaces so they lay upon his chest just
so.

“Is there anything else you wish before we
begin?” she asked.

“I would like Dayn and Alicine to be here, if
that is permitted.”

She nodded and rose, then exited through the
flap of the doorway.

Reiv lay upon the mat of palms and stared at
the fronds layered high above, watching their delicate branches
curl from the smoke spiraling around them. The hut was dim and
cool, and the scent of smoky incense blanketed the room. Reiv
folded his hands across his belly and crossed his legs at the
ankles, determined to stop the nervous twitches that betrayed his
fear.

The Spirit Keeper returned with Dayn and
Alicine.

Reiv smiled. “I am pleased that you came,” he
said, but the glum faces staring down at him did not return the
sentiment.

“Reiv,” Nannaven said, “before you undertake
this ritual, you must understand and accept it. You must be not
only willing, but eager to take the journey. You’ll drink this and
then you’ll leave your body and slip into that place between this
world and the next. Your heart will continue to beat, and your
chest will rise and fall with the breath in your lungs, but your
spirit will no longer be housed within your body. But reaching the
Between Realm will not be enough; you must pass beyond ego, desire,
and fear to reach transcension. If the gods accept you, you will be
granted the knowledge you seek and will be sent back to rejoin your
physical form. If they deny you, you will not be allowed to return
to this world. Once you meet the gods, you cannot return by free
will alone. If they don’t grant you passage back, then the life of
your physical body will ebb away. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Nannaven knelt and held the potion to his
lips. He raised his head and drank it down. It tasted foul, but he
made no indication of it and laid his head back on the pallet.

Dayn and Alicine sat down beside him. “I
still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” Dayn said.

“Listen, Dayn, I need to tell you—”

“No,” Dayn interrupted, “there’ll be time for
you to tell me when you get back. I’ll be waiting right here.”

“I know, but in case the gods are not feeling
generous today, I wanted to thank you for the dirk. You are a fine
craftsman, cousin. It is what I slew Seirgotha with, you know.”

Dayn swallowed hard.

Alicine took hold of Reiv’s hand. “I know
it’s too late to talk you out of this,” she said, “but since we
have to put up with your stubbornness again, I think it only fair
that we’re allowed to torture you with the words ‘we love
you’.”

“Oh, gods, that must mean you surely expect
me to die,” Reiv said. He smiled, then his face grew serious.
“Well, if we are going to torture each other with truths, then I
suppose it only fair to tell you that I—” But before he could
finish the sentence, his body arched back, and his head pounded
violently against the ground.

Alicine cried out and found herself shoved to
the side.

Dayn pressed his hands upon Reiv’s shoulders,
fighting to hold him down, but a harsh kick to the chest knocked
Dayn onto his backside.

Nannaven shouldered her way in and placed her
hands upon Reiv’s cheeks. She held his face between her palms and
spoke desperate words of comfort, but to no avail. She shouted at
him, commanding him to calm as though her authority would somehow
have power over him. But her shouts were drowned out by his screams
and guttural gasps for air.

The Spirit Keeper’s face went white as ash.
She leaned back, trembling from head to foot. “This is not as it
should be,” she said. “It shouldn’t be so violent. He was only
meant to go into a deep sleep.”

“Well then do something!” Dayn screamed over
his shoulder as he continued to fight Reiv’s thrashings.

“Is he dying? Is he dying?” Alicine’s
desperate voice cried over and over.

“Stay with us Reiv,” Dayn begged. “Stay with
us.”

Reiv relaxed beneath Dayn’s hands, and his
body went still except for the rapid breaths pushing his chest up
and down in successive bursts. His body was bathed in sweat, and
the paintings on his arms were smeared from Dayn’s hold on them.
The cockle band that wound through Reiv’s hair was broken to
pieces, scattered amongst the tendrils now trailing across the
mat.

Reiv’s eyelids shot open and he stared with
wide eyes, their violet color sparkling like crystal reflecting
starlight. Then his lips grew still and barely parted, and his eyes
went dull as though an opaque veil had been draped across them. All
went quiet as one long, last breath hissed from his lips.

BACK TO ToC

Chapter 15: Beyond the Veil

T
he room was white,
bright, and familiar, its furnishings elegant and inviting. A great
poster-bed rested against the far wall, its coverlet as soft and
billowy as a cloud. The floor was of polished white marble and
shone like glass, reflecting the candles that dotted the room. Upon
the walls, frescoes were painted, the warriors depicted in them
lifelike in their replication. A full-length mirror and carved
dressing table stood nearby. Upon it lay a fine sword, a golden
lion molded at its hilt.

The boy stood before an arched window,
surveying the room with bright, violet eyes. He turned and leaned
his elbows against the windowsill, gazing out at a landscape that
stretched to an eternal horizon. The hills in the distance looked
like lavender scarves rippling beneath a golden sky, and the
patchwork fields were like ornamental tapestries draped across the
land. The boy drew a deep breath, relishing the sweet scent of
honeysuckle drifting up the trellis.

A tap sounded at the door. “May I come in?” a
muffled voice asked.

“Enter,” the boy said.

The door opened and a woman swept in. She was
not in a swirl of yellow as he had expected, but in a gown of
purest white. Nor was her hair white-blonde, but silver-gray and
loose at her shoulders. She was elderly and her features were
lined, not young like… The boy furrowed his brow and watched as the
woman flitted about the room lighting candles and fluffing pillows.
She smiled and crossed over to him, her hazel eyes twinkling.

“You were not expecting me?” she asked.

“Who are you?”

The woman arched a brow. “A better question
might be, who are you?”

“You mean, you do not know?”

“Oh, I know,” the woman replied. “Do
you?”

“Of course. I am…” The boy paused and looked
down at himself. He assessed the fine yellow tunic draped down his
body, and the silver braided belt that was wrapped around his
waist. He twisted his head toward each shoulder, noting the
amethyst clasps that gathered the material. His gaze moved to his
hands and his breath caught in his throat. The skin upon them was
pale and smooth, and his fingers straight. He curled them into
fists, joyful at the newfound strength he felt within them.

“I am Ruairi,” he said, grinning.

“Ah, so you are,” the woman said. “Why have
you come so soon, Ruairi?”

“Why have I come? Because I live here, of
course.”

“But you did not live here before.”

He tilted his head and fixed his eyes upon
her. “No, I think for a time I lived someplace else.”

“Do you remember where?”

“I think…no, I do not wish to think. Too much
unpleasantness.” He turned away and gazed around the room, savoring
every detail of it, then strolled to the full-length mirror across
the way. He smiled as he inspected his reflection with
satisfaction. “I am here now. That is all that matters,” he
said.

“Are you sure that is all that matters,
Ruairi?”

“Well…no…” His smile faltered. “I am not
certain of anything at the moment.” He held up his hands and stared
at them.

“You poor boy,” the woman said, shaking her
head sympathetically. “It is no wonder you are confused. It is not
easy for one to accept coming to the After Realm, even when one
sought to do so.”

“The After Realm? You are mistaken. This is
Tearia.”

“Only in your mind. In the After Realm one’s
reality can be anything one wants it to be. This is your reality,
though it could be something else altogether if you wished it.”

Ruairi caught her image in the mirror and
regarded her with suspicion. He knew he was standing in his bed
chamber, and it made him feel joyful, but murky images of the
beforetime, as well as an overwhelming sense of urgency, concerned
him.

“How did I get here?” he asked.

“How does anyone?” she replied.

He spun to face her. “You mean I am
dead?”

“Your body, yes, but your spirit lives on
here.”

Ruairi shook his head furiously. “No, I am
not supposed to be.”

“Not supposed to be?”

“I am not supposed to be dead! I am supposed
to be in the Between Realm. I am supposed to meet with the gods and
ask for the gift of knowledge. Then I am to go back
to…to…somewhere. Someone is waiting for me there. Someone who needs
to be healed.”

“And who would that someone be?”

“Who? I—I do not remember who, but…someone…”
He flashed his eyes impatiently to hers. “Why am I here? Where are
the gods? I have no time to answer all these questions! I must get
back before—”

“Before what?”

“Before it is too late!”

“What if it is already too late?”

“It cannot be too late. Not yet. I have only
just arrived. I am supposed to have more time.”

“So many ‘supposed to’s. Why are you supposed
to have more time, Ruairi? To do what? To heal someone whose name
you do not even remember in a place that you describe as an
unpleasant memory? What sense is there in that?”

“I do not know what sense there is in it, but
my heart tells me I am meant to do it.” Ruairi stormed over to her.
“I am losing my patience, woman. Will you take me to the god who
can give me the knowledge I need, or must I find him myself?”

“Patience never was one of your virtues,
Ruairi. Perhaps you could work on that while you are here. You will
have plenty of time.” She chuckled at the crimson rushing to his
cheeks. “Forgive me,” she said. “You asked me a question. Now,
then, who was it again that you needed to heal?”

“I told you—Kerrik!” Ruairi’s face
brightened. “Yes…Kerrik. I have come to heal Kerrik!”

“Why do you wish to heal this…Kerrik?”

“You say the name as though he were a
thing.”

“Well, then, what is he?”

“He is a boy.”

“What sort of boy?”

“He is just a boy. A boy who wants to be a
warrior.”

The old woman laughed merrily. “He sounds
like any other boy to me. What makes this one worthy of being saved
by the gods?”

“Because he is special. He has a great spirit
in him. He believes in things that others have given up on. Like
the belief that the world can be healed, and that he will be the
warrior to do it.”

“Children are idealistic,” the woman said
with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Of course he believes those
things.”

“But he makes me want to believe those
things, too. Kerrik told me everyone gets sad sometimes, yet I have
never seen a moment’s sadness in him. He is a boy with a twisted
foot, abandoned by his parents because of it. He does not have many
of the things he deserves to have, but he is always with a smile,
and is annoyingly determined that everyone else should, too. Kerrik
asks to save the whole world. I only ask to save Kerrik.”

The woman shook her head. “But if you return,
you will find yourself back in the sorrows of your world. Back to
those painful memories of which you do not wish to speak. Take a
look around you, Ruairi.” She swept her arm toward the magnificent
room. “This is everything you have longed for. You created this
paradise yourself. Now it can be yours. Here you can learn all
things, have all the knowledge you could ever want. Will you return
to the confines of your body, or embrace the freedom of
illumination?”