It always started in a dream....
...in a world that was dark and dismal....
All consuming ....
....and black.
And they always started the same. He felt suffocated, ready to drown, unable to breath when the voices came, crawling against the air like insects that hummed and croaked and laughed into echoes. Sometimes he even felt the voices, as if they were crawling against his skin, tickling into his mind and even curdling within his blood.
But ever since the night his father died-
Was it death?
..or murder.
None could say...
but ever since that night the dreams had come, haunting him with memories so wicked and so real that he'd wake up, drenched in sweat, his heart nearly pounding from his chest.
.............
......
This morning was no different.
Calent awoke, eyes wide and sweat dampening
his face and hair. He was staring up at the ceiling where the first rays of
light began to peek through the curtains and glaze the stone ceiling with
color.
Sitting up in his bed, he wiped his brow with the back of his hand and had to
pause, the haunting memories chilling him to the bone. This time he woke up
before he killed his father, but the same images still scarred him. The blood
was warm when he cut his throat and after that, he could never remember what he
said or what had happened, except he had been alone, or so he thought, but it was never really clear to him who else was there... and if there were
others there in the room when he had done the deed...
Now, they were either phantoms in his dream...
or ghosts.
The dream had started off as an argument between he and his father. His father had
discovered his secret- that he had gone to the Fell. Even in his weakened state, his
father had the strength to lecture him.
"You don't understand, it's ancient..."
"But I am no mage," he heard himself growl, almost like an animal.
"Those relics you brought back to kill mages..."
"They will do the job." he heard his voice echo. "They have to."
"They will kill you in the end. And you will be no better than they."
Then he'd feel it, the pulsating rage within him growing hotter...
his vision blurring, his skin burning as if on fire...
Then nothing.
But it was a dream, wasn't it?
He couldn't have killed his father.. why would he? And the Fell...
he couldn't even recall if that had even been real.
It had all happened so fast..
the rage,.. the anger..
He wanted nothing more than to kill that man, that pathetic mage who enchanted his betrothed...
and carried off her heart...
Yes, it was clear, even when he knew he couldn't remember- they said he must've passed out from the blow...
But he knew in his heart...
Gherrick had killed her.
And that mage would pay.
And all other mages would pay for their taint.
Clutching his hand, he looked down at the mark burned into his flesh. He couldn't recall how he got it, but in his dream of the Fell, he had seen the symbol before-
a black and red sun.
He studied it now against the yellow rays of sunlight, until he heard a knock at his door, and was quick to slip his hands beneath his blankets.
"Yes?"
"M'lord, the tax collectors have arrived."
Calent went silent a moment, brooding over his dream before answering.
"Tell them to wait for me in the great hall. I will be down shortly."
The servant nodded and left.
...............
Something wet was on his hand, he examined it by lifting his hand up towards the
light. He was no longer in the dream but it was so real that a single, warm
salty tear now ran down his finger. He stared at it against the light coming in
from the curtains, and it took in the honey color of the sun before he used two
fingers to brush the tear drop away, quelling it from his memory as he sighed and stood up from the bed and moved over towards the window
and parted the curtains.
In came the morning light, and a fresh cool morning breeze across
his bare chest.
he closed his eyes, and enjoyed the sounds of the morning birds calling across the gardens.
His private quarters over looked the gardens in the rear of the
castle and had a fantastic view of the mountains off in the distance. It was
mornings like these he was glad for it- for the visions of nature was always
calming to him.
He took a long moment to drink in the sights and sounds, letting his mind drift
away to those dark visions once again....
The people of the duchy weren't the only ones who were unsure who killed his
father and on mornings like this, the guilt was almost consuming and far too
real to be just a dream....
But was it a dream? Was it really just a nightmare? Was that really what
happened when he blacked out? He assumed one of the knights had rushed in- for
he thought he recalled that, and it was those personal high class knights of his
father who came in, shouting and yelling that he had killed the king...
And of course, when he came to, dizzy from awakening from the darkness he had
fallen; full of rage- rage of his father's death, rage of the unknown, that he
of course, shouted back and the knights who remained were caught up and
executed...
For now, most of his people believed the knights conspired against him, but he
had no idea what to think...
They had been loyal for so many years.. had it really been they who had done this?
It seemed even his trusted General Serenus had been shocked over the news.
He took a moment to examine his hand, recalling in the dream when his father had seen the symbol and called him 'a curse'...
'you're cursed..'
Was he cursed? Or had he drunkenly got himself a stupid tatoo that night?
But why one of a blood colored sun?
Little seemed to make sense, and had the dreams not felt so real, he would ignore them...
and if the dreams weren't so persistent too, he would have ignored them.
But the dreams had become a part of his everyday life...
and it had become increasingly harder and harder to sleep at night....
But life had to go on.
His servants had come and gone, and he was freshened up and dressed for the day.
How many months had passed since his father had been gone?
Perhaps he should go to the graveyard...
When he was left alone, he stared once again at the symbol on his hand, before wrapping it up and hiding it beneath a pair of black, silk gloves and he left his room and met and talked about taxes...
But something was eating him inside, so he sent word to The Hunters,
and that was all they were called..
He wanted them to meet at his father's tomb by night fall.
There was much to discuss.