Flames of Awakening: Faemoch Cycle Book 1 (8 page)

Chapter
Thirteen

Bergar slowly pushed up from the
ground. Tolian's elbows quaked with the effort. He pulled his legs underneath
himself, just enough to rest on all fours.  He groaned heavily at the pain.

Jaxius snapped around,
viortassi
in
hand.

"You live! Oh, by the gods! You
live." He jumped up, rushing to help Tolian into a more comfortable seated
position. "I feared you were dead, as well. It looks like we were too late
to save him, Tolian. I had him within my grasp. I just ..."

"It's alright, ye tried,"
Bergar said with Tolian's voice. He faltered. This inhabiting a much different
body was bizarre. His voice was not his voice; his weight was not his weight.
The only lucky part in all of this was that he and Tolian were of an equal
height. But their builds were completely different.

"Trying is not good
enough," Jaxius said. He was only able to momentarily interrupt Bergar's
rushing thoughts.

The displaced barbarian lifted a hand
and moved it around, looking at the fine fingers covered in stone dust and tiny
scrapes. These hands would never be able to hold a hammer the way that he had
in his young, virile body. His eyes trailed a line from his hands to his dainty
wrists, and he wondered how Tolian had ever lived this long. Bergar wagered
that Tolian may have never successfully seen a full day's hard work.

"Can you stand? We should get
back to Grundar before anything else happens." Jaxius asked.

"I ... um, I don't know."
Bergar gingerly tried to stand. After much straining and Jaxius' help, Bergar
managed to rise.

"Alright, good," Jaxius.
"Let's get out of here and back to Grundar. He will want this news of his
beloved son."

"Right, his son," Bergar
said. Hearing Tolian's voice reminded him all over again that he had failed to
survive. He was too weak to push on and was only here by the sadistic will of a
dark and unworthy goddess. Also, it reminded him that to everyone else he
appeared to be Tolian.  Shame at that thought set in. He slowly realized that
his life would never be the same. His people would not accept that he was
Bergar, son of the great Grundar. His people would not even accept that he was
any kind of warrior. Where would he go? Asking himself that one simple question
opened a floodgate of other unanswered questions. Where was Tolian in this
body? What did The Unworthy Witch mean by "share?" What would his
father say when he found out? How would Jaxius react to this? There was only
one way to find out.

"Jaxius," Bergar said.

"Yes?"

"Well, this is diff... never
mind." At length, Bergar decided to keep his awkward condition to himself.

"What about his, um ...
body?" Bergar asked, attempting to imitate Tolian's speech.

"We'll have to take it with us.
Grundar will appreciate giving Bergar's soul his due rest. Carefully though. No
way of knowing what the witch did and how well the body might hold. Help me
look for some kind of blanket to wrap him in and keep a wary eye open for
anyone coming."

Bergar rummaged through the room and
found nothing that even remotely fit the description of a blanket. He slipped
into the stairwell and passed the bodies sprawled out in their own blood.
Seeing the carnage reminded him that Jaxius and Tolian had risked everything to
save him. He had complicated it all by not living through their rescue, and
made it even more complicated by his choice to enter into Tolian's body.

He continued down and around the
winding stairs until he found a door leading into the center of the tower. He
tried the handle. Locked. He listened for a moment to make sure that no one was
on the other side. He then kicked the heavy door with all his strength. The
door stood solid, silently mocking his feeble attempt. Another reminder that he
was no longer in his original vessel. Bergar knew that with his own body, he
would have been able to knock the door from its hinges, but in his new, shared
body, he barely scuffed the wood.

Bergar wondered how Tolian ever made
it so long in this weak husk of a body.

That was less than fruitful, friend
, a voice said in Bergar's head.

"Who's there?" Bergar
panicked.

First, I would like for you to
understand that I am where I am supposed to be. But where I reside is not
really where you are supposed to be. I have been watching you. And if you
insist on traipsing around in my gloriously healthy and gorgeous body, I think
you owe me an explanation.

"Tolian?" Bergar asked.

Your genius astounds me.

"Look, you don't have to be so
high 'n mighty."

Apologies. I am simply not used to
having my body stolen by another person. Especially one who I have just arrived
to rescue from that Hawklos witch. Now, if you don't mind, I would dearly love
to hear the story of how you came into possession of such a fine and well
groomed spectacle of a body.

Bergar, speaking aloud, explained his
entire after-death experience. He spared no detail, thinking it best to come
clean with the man whose body he stole.

That is quite an interesting story.
Amazing really. Now, the question before us is can it be reversed? And, if so,
how, exactly?  I simply cannot let you sully my good name with your gawky
fumbling around in my body. I am a trained dancer, orator, singer, musician,
and artist. Carriage and grace are my livelihood.

"I'm as unhappy about this as
you are. Remember, I'm the one whose body is dead. That's what I'm doing down
here. Lookin' for a rug or somethin' to carry myself off in."

Looking. G. G. Looking. You must
learn to speak properly. Please, I beg of you. If I could use my hands for a
moment? I could help you open the door, but I can't force the muscles to work
without your assistance. Oh, and one more thing, I can hear your thoughts. You
do not have to vocalize everything to me.

"Sorry. I just think I'd feel a
bit crazy havin' thoughts that answer themselves."

And speaking one side of a
conversation out loud does not give you that very same feeling?

"Right. Good point." Bergar
felt a bit embarrassed.

Anyway, let's see if we can't get
that door open. Feel in the small pocket located in the cuff of my left sleeve.
You feel those thin strips of metal? Remove those, if you would. There should
be three of them.

Bergar felt around, finally pulling
the black pieces of metal out of his sleeve. Each was thin and crooked in
various ways. He eyed them suspiciously, starting to question Tolian's
trustworthiness. He wondered if these were really what he thought they were.

Yes, they are. Being a traveling
storyteller requires that you get information. Sometimes that information isn't
shared outside of locked doors. So I have, on occasion, removed the tongue's
barrier. I do not just traipse, uninvited, into any house that I please. That would
be wrong.

Suren' the ones what invite you have
the least interesting stories
, Bergar thought.

Truer words may have never been
uttered. Now back to business, before another of that witch's guards comes in
to check on things. Put the metal pieces into the keyhole. One at a time. I
want you to feel for the tumblers. They will feel like little pieces protruding
into the empty space. If you wiggle and jiggle just so, the door will open as
if by magic.

Tolian walked Bergar through picking
the lock. After quite some time, Bergar felt the lock to the door click open.
Bergar chuckled quietly to himself. He never thought he would do that in his
life.

Technically, you didn't. Remember?

Aw, why'd you have to be reminding
me?

Bergar turned the now unlocked handle
and pushed open the door.  He couldn't see more than a few feet into the room.
He seized a torch from the wall and walked in. A large assortment of variously
sized and shaped skulls, mirrors, and candles decorated the small bedroom. A
rich looking wash basin sat next to the door collecting cobwebs and gray dust.
A darkly ornate wardrobe on the wall opposite the door stood open, revealing a
selection of clothing that was pitifully drab compared to the rest of the room.
The witch's bed was even more ostentatious than the wardrobe. The pretentious
gold-leafed four poster bed covered much of the left side of the room. It was
almost comical to think that such a shrinking, wicked and ancient hag needed
such a large bed.

Blanket, right?

Bergar jumped a bit at the disembodied
thought. He stalked to the bed, grabbed hold of the blanket with his free hand,
and tore it free.

Alright, let's go. I do not like it
in here. I have that ominous feeling like we are being watched. I've noticed
that those types of feelings are a touch stronger when one doesn't have the
comfort of focusing on something else. Like one's heartbeat. Or one's
breathing. Also, Bergar, breathe through your nose, I implore you. It is easier
and much more polite.

Bergar felt the need to get out of
Tolian's body more keenly with every passing second.

We will extricate you, my friend. I
swear it. In the meantime, don't you think we need to rendezvous with Jaxius.

"Yeah," Bergar spoke aloud
again.

You will have to confess all to him,
you know.

"Surely we can tell him
later."

"Tell who what?" Jaxius'
voice cut through the brooding silence.

Bergar, startled, dropped the flaming
torch to the floor. He snatched it up, afraid that it might catch something on
fire.

"Nothing, no one. We can talk
later," Bergar said.

"I can't find a way out. So we
will have to go out the same way we came in."

"Right. The … um ... way we came
..."

Through the window. We climbed in
through the window. Fifteen feet up or so.

"You aren't worried about the
fall are you? You don't think it might be too far?" Bergar hesitantly
asked.

"Am I hearing the great Tolian
right? The man who tumbled his way down the sheer side of a mighty cliff
without so much as tousling his hair? You? Scared of a tiny little fifteen-foot
drop? With a spear as a hand hold halfway down too?"

"Eh? No, I was just worried
about you. That's all. Oh, and Bergar's body. Here's the blanket by the
way." Bergar wanted to deflect the conversation away from anything having
to do with Tolian's memories.

Unbelievable
.

Shut up
, Bergar thought.

"Good. Let's get back upstairs
and then away out of here."

The two men climbed back up the
stairs and bent to the task of wrapping Bergar's lifeless body in the brocaded
blanket. The pair then began the awkward descent to the waiting window. Bergar
let Jaxius lead the way, not wanting to let on that he had no idea where he was
going.

His cadaverous body was much heavier
than he thought it should be. By the time they reached the window, Bergar was
straining to keep his grip on the blanket.

Jaxius peered out the window and
ducked back inside.

"New problem," Jaxius said
somewhere between mouthing and whispering.

Bergar moved to the window and looked
out, curious what else could possibly go wrong.

Most of the raider camp was assembled
below the window, circled around his father.

Chapter
Fourteen

"How many?" Jaxius asked.

"No less than 30," Bergar
said. He did not like the odds, particularly because of his predicament.
Besides the fact that his muscles seemed comparable to that of an adolescent,
his weapons were intended for cooking, not fighting.

Jaxius asked,"You think they'll
scare easy?"

No. Not easily. They are a fiercely
loyal people from what I have heard.
Tolian's voice said to Bergar.

"No. Not easily. They are … um
... fiercely loyal people. From what I heard, that is." The clumsy-tongued
barbarian stumbled over Tolian's words.

"You took a pretty nasty fall up
there. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah. I am fine. Never
better." Bergar tried to mimic Tolian's laugh, failing miserably.

"Right," Jaxius said.
"How are we going to get out of this one, old friend? Surely, you have
some trick or another up your sleeve. Because I am all out."

All out, Bergar thought. He tried to
force his mind to see their situation from a different angle. He was not used
to making decisions or planning. The best he had ever really offered his father
was sarcastic remarks and childishness. How could he hope to come up with a
plan to save his father while descending fifteen feet down the side of a tower?
All the while making it appear that he wasn't who he really was.

We are going to need to change the
way you think. This is less than productive. I can't even focus on coming up
with a plan to get us out of this with you wallowing in here. So, either help
or quit thinking.

You shut up. I am sick of you talking
at me like that.

Look, you are the one doing the
invading. Do I really need to remind you that I have enjoyed this body for
longer than you were alive?

The last insult cut Bergar a little
more deeply than Tolian intended. Bergar's shoulders slumped, and his eyes
glassed over. Of course, Tolian would remind him of the fact that his life was
beyond over. That this was all his fault.

I didn't mean it that way, Bergar.
Maybe we can work together to figure this out. I mean we do kind of have an
advantage that other people don't have. So let's talk this out.

* * *

Grundar growled each time one of the
barbarians came closer than he found comfortable. His thick black beard
glistened as his sweat started to freeze.

"Well, northern cur, what game
are you playing at?" the leader of the camp asked again.

"No game," Bergar said.
"I tol' ye. Let me boy go. An' I ain't fer breakin' the bones in yer legs
and lettin' the wild dogs eat ya."

The brutish camp leader lurched
forward and backhanded Grundar across the face. Blood and spit splashed out
across the snow.

"There are more of you than
you're saying." The angry man eyed the short-spear stuck into the tower
wall curiously.

"Nope. Jes' me. Aimed to climb
to and through th' window and git me boy," Grundar said. "Oh, and
kill as many of ye inbred goat molesters as I could on me way out."

Another harsh slap met Grundar's
already split lip. Grundar laughed. The uproarious laughter started deep in his
stomach and worked its way outward.

"This one's hopeless. Beat 'im,
but don't kill 'im. The lady'll want to see 'im," the disgusted barbarian
commanded.