Ashar'an Rising (Nexus Wars Saga) (43 page)

From knowledge, Andrak knew the Pacific Realm was the fabled birthplace of the Elves, where it was reputed all Elves returned at the time of their passing, unless their death was a result of less than ordinary means. That was what made the fight against the Demons all the more valorous for those who went, for Death at the hands of the Shadowspawn meant obliteration of the soul rather than return to the Pacific Realm, for Demons feasted on the essence of life: the soul. Cowardice was not a word used among the Sylvaen, but there were many who chose to remain with the re builders who could have fought, but did not have the courage to face potential, if not probable destruction.

“
There is something you can offer now, though,” interceded Janantar pointedly, if not harshly, obviously still bitter at their previous words. “We have need of your abilities, if you are still capable?”

“
Capable I am, son of Clovinius, but whether willing is the question. Why should I help you now, when not before have you asked and still openly question my beliefs?”

“
This is not about my belief, but what you will do about yours. You can stand there and preach, and say ‘I told you so’ even as the Demons break down our homes and yours, or you can bring life to your beliefs. This is what you have lived for, and if you think I am the Seeker or the Oathbreaker, help us, so at least it may come to fruition.” Pleading was not the way to describe Janantar’s words, for there was concern and pain there. The logic of it failed on Andrak, but the intention of Janantar was clear, and he watched the old Elf hopefully.

“
I will help!”

Andrak’s expelled breath sounded loud against the tense silence. Janantar merely nodded and took a long drink of his Dragon’s Fire.

“
Tell me what you need?”

Janantar explained the circumstances relating to Kitara’s kidnapping and their desire to find her, only whatever traces there might be of her kidnappers would be cold and difficult, if not impossible to find. Perthanis seemed only slightly stunned at the news of Ka’Varel’s injury, but assured Andrak without extrapolating, that the old man was most likely safe and well. At story’s end he was silent, thoughtfully running a hand through his silken hair before moving to once again sift through the room’s contents, all the while muttering incoherently to himself.

“
What you will require is a Reverie.”

Bemused looks between Andrak and Janantar prompted the asking of what a ‘Reverie’ would entail. Perthanis’ answering tone made him sound much like a teacher who was describing something for the second or third time, though he continued searching as he spoke.

“
Relationship between people creates a bond dependant upon the type of connection, along with other things such as the closeness of those involved in terms of love or respect or friendship, while others of a similar nature such as Elves or Dwarves have an affinity with each other that goes beyond friendship or blood. This affinity manifests itself in several ways, which can be controlled if you have the knowledge.”

“
I’m not sure I understand,” admitted Andrak bemusedly.

“
Have you ever spoken the same thing as another very close to you, at precisely the same time, or known without being told what somebody was thinking? How about seen somebody you think you recognize though they could be a perfect stranger? Or have you ever dreamed of those you have never seen, but known to exist, only to find when you meet them they are exactly as you dreamed them?”

Andrak could only nod to each example, but still did not know how these could be used to his benefit.

“
Depending on the strength of your link, your subconscious and that of your sister’s might be enough to manifest itself into an image or a sign, which may help you deduce where she is. Stray thoughts such as what she sees in the distance, or if she smells the salt of the ocean, can all be captured if you have the power. It is not without dangers, however, nor is it undemanding and easy. Aha!”

With a cry, Perthanis upturned several small cane baskets to reveal a leather case about the width and breadth of his hand, and half as high. A small silver latch secured the hinged lid, and as he swept junk from the nearest table and sat it down, the faint sound of glass clattering together could be heard within.

“
These are herbal potions, specially designed to calm the mind and create a state of Kenja far beyond that which Janantar or other masters of the Bladesong can attain. With it, sense and knowledge are as grains of sand to the wind, manipulated with the slightest of ease.”

“
I will try!”

Perthanis nodded, as if knowing what Andrak would decide. Springing the latch and opening the case, he revealed sixteen slender glass tubes about the size of Andrak’s thumb, eight containing a yellowy liquid and the rest a pale blue liquid. One of each color he drew out and rested atop the case as he closed it and secured the lid.

“
There are some things you must know before we start. That which we enter is a far different realm to which we live. There, nothing is as it seems, and what you see is always reality. This enigma is the essence of the Reverie. Also, depending on your strength, many forms of communication will assail you in the Reverie, and you must sort through these to reach your goal. Under no circumstance must you let yourself be overwhelmed by these, or you will lose your mind and never return to your normal senses. When you have what you seek, drink of the blue vial and you will return. Understood?”

Not truly confident but determined, Andrak took up both vials. Perthanis directed him to a chair crafted of bamboo, clearing it of junk and bade Andrak sit. “Drink and relax. Remember to control your thoughts, or you will not return to us.”

The stopper yielded reluctantly, and an acrid stench assailed Andrak as he lifted the small vial to his lips. He could feel Janantar moving to behind him, so he could not meet the Elf’s gaze before continuing, but he trusted in his feelings and closed his eyes to drink. Not that he expected to be poisoned or drugged, but the dangers Perthanis had explained sounded even more ominous the more he thought of it.

The liquid was unexpectedly cool but bitter  tasting, oozing down his throat with the essence of lemon and honey, which may have led to its coloring, but there was the definite tang of other ingredients he did not recognize.

He had no idea what to expect from the dose, other than sleep was more than likely, yet it was a surprise to find a slow build  up of senses coming to him, like wakening in a garden and trying to sort through the various smells, yet this became even more profound in that all of his senses were involved.

“
Close your eyes, Andrak!”

Perthanis’ whispered words came to him with the clarity of dulcet chimes, resounding through his mind like the wind through a vast maze of underground passages. He could feel the inflection and tone of each of the Elf’s sounds, so the normally song  like accent of the Elves sounded alien yet fitting.

A myriad of sensations flooded him with the loss of vision, which gave more freedom and purpose to the other senses. He could hear and feel the combined breathing of both he and the Elves, along with the minute rustling of clothing it perpetuated. The crackling of the fire came and went like a storm as he felt his perceptions expand, delighting in the aura of awareness that encompassed him.

The faint wind outside, barely enough to stir a hair or shift a leaf, sounded gale  like, while the near  silent chattering of the wildlife could well have suited the chorus of a gathering of giants. Small birds mimicked dragon kind as they flitted from branch to branch, and what might have been a lizard or snake burrowing through loose foliage could have been a giant wading through a forest, shifting great trees with its passage.

“
Concentrate on Kitara. Let your mind seek hers!”

The words of the Elf sounded distant, though still as dulcet and crystalline as before, a result of his shifting perception. He wondered if he would be able to still hear the Elf if his perception was far away, but shook it off as the words brought back to him a measure of urgency. All the dangers the Elf had spoken of resurfaced after having been swept away with his newfound awareness.

As he focused, images began to come to him, not dream  like images, but brief pictures of happenings and occasions, such as a rider surrounded by flat, dusty plains; or a dark glade where shapes sprang from shadow and the very light looked as if it were being slowly consumed. First they came slowly, but then they came faster and sometimes repeating, until he flicked through them like he would a tome, bending the pages so they fell with the shifting of his thumb down the edge. Not only were the images life  like, but there came with them other senses such as heat when picturing the rider on the plains, or the smell of the ocean as a sun  lit mansion came and went.

“
Focus on the link, Andrak. Feel your sister.” Even more distant again were the Elf’s words, but like a beacon they reached him through the now flashing images. As if drowning, he clutched for the vocal lifeline, searching and straining for the shore and air, which was now his sister’s aura.

He conjured up images of Kitara, remembering the sway of her hair or the scent of her favorite perfume, and then there came the memories they had shared during childhood. These mingled with the other flashing images, yet there was a sifting of those that repeated regularly, until finally there were only three.

One was of the mansion bathed in light and smelling of the ocean, the sun descending across the waters littered with the skeletal masts of ships. Another was a room; a library, books arrayed on many shelves and tables, while the smell of the ocean was present again, though faint. The third was of a dark city nestled deep within towering mountains, the sounds of combat drifting to Andrak as he tried to draw closer, but it was as if something prevented him from drawing near. Each time the image came, he strained to pierce this barrier, as some other tangible aura beckoned him closer. He could not distinguish this tugging, the barrier masking its nature, but he knew it was important. Another such beckoning pulled at his awareness as the images flashed past, but so determined was he to penetrate this mystical barrier, it took some time before he realized it was the voice of Perthanis, calling to him, but his desire to break through to find the source behind this barrier prevented him from heeding what the Elf was saying. Only when another voice penetrated his awareness did he realize what was happening.

“
Wake him, Grandfather, or I will!”

“
I cannot, Janantar, as you well know. It takes a conscious effort on his behalf to break free of the reverie, or his mind will think it part of the imagery, and he will be forever lost.”

The voices were like drifting winds, their urgency not lost but the volume weakened through extensive travel. They clung to Andrak, however, as his mind continued to work on breaking down the barrier, but even as he divided his consciousness between the words and the task, he felt both slipping away like sand running through his fingers. He grasped desperately at each, but knew he could not juggle both. For eons he seemed to weigh both, but then the awareness he had felt, constrained by the barrier, broke free to meet him, and he was forced to flail at the fleeting voices as understanding returned to him. His eyes opened to a hazed view of two figures looming over him, while a vile taste burned his tongue and throat.

“
Welcome back, Andrak. Rest now, and we will talk later.” The voice was familiar, maybe belonging to Perthanis, but the effort needed to distinguish it amongst his memories was too much as the image faded before him, and this time darkness encompassed him, without the flashing images and overwhelming senses, and he slept.

Andrak
stirred to the sweet aroma of cooked food and soft conversation, but when his eyes opened it took him a moment of panicked orientation to get his bearings. With the Reverie still affecting his senses, it took a few moments for his vision to clear, and he looked upon the interior of Perthanis’ hut.

Or at least he assumed it was Perthanis’ hut. No longer did the haze of smoke permeate the room, while the degree of clutter seemed to have dissipated slightly. Dim light came from lanterns hung from bronze brackets on the walls, allowing him to see he was lain out beneath one of the tables, on a thin mattress of what felt like feather. Perthanis and Janantar sat around a knee  high table near the fireplace in the center of the room, eating and speaking softly in their tongue. Both became aware of Andrak as he stretched wearily, still struggling to come to terms with what had happened to him. Images still floated in his subconscious, and he was sure there were things he had already forgotten, much like a dream.

“
You had us worried there for a moment, son of Dhoric,” smiled Perthanis. The old Elf looked sprightlier than Andrak remembered, and even Janantar seemed more at ease with the eccentric Elf. “Come and eat, and then we might be able to sort through what you remember of the Reverie to see if we were successful in locating your sister.”

“
She is in Sha’kar!”

Perthanis exchanged a quizzical look at Janantar to see if he had missed something, but the Bladesinger merely shrugged.

“
How do you know this?”

“
She told me,” assured Andrak. He threw them both a hard look to say he was not joking, before taking up a proffered slice of herb bread and endeavoring a bite.

“
Tell me about it!” ordered Perthanis, sounding more than a little chagrined by Andrak’s revelation. Obviously the old Elf had not expected the answer to have been so easily discovered within the Reverie.