4.83 Oil and Water
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Glim marveled as his tutor's thoughts opened to him. So organized! Just like infinite reflections of two mirrors opposing each other, but with a different thought running through each mirror. Like a library, but one of cognition and memory.
At the forefront of his mind Master Willow repeated a single idea over and over: get to Hammerfall. Glim only knew the town as a vague place in the south that his father sometimes rode to. The urgency of Willow’s need was tinged with greed, but also the desperation of a feral animal fighting for its own survival.
Glim saw himself through Master Willow' eyes. Disheveled. Caked with the blood of his family and friends. The light of madness shone sickly in Glim’s mismatched eyes. He seemed backwards somehow.
Glim felt lightheaded. He felt himself drifting away. He took a moment to collect himself; to literally collect the fraying parts of his thought into a whole mind.
Focus, he warned himself. I am still me.
Just as Willow had done to Glim, Glim rummaged through the man’s thoughts looking for anything that would help. A part of Master Willow's mind caught his attention. A snippet of old legend in his vast catalog of lore, fully formed, as though Master Willow had recently recalled it and wanted to keep the words fresh in his mind. Glim knew these words from the scroll he’d read in the shuttle, but not all of them:
Certe is methodical; his mind is not easily swayed and his course can nae be wrested. Certe's coming is foretold by crazed beasts, tremors in the ground, and a wall of gray cloud that consumes the land in bitter winds. Thay who spy him become mute and listless, and succumb to apathy. Thay who hear the clap of his hammer become deaf, thereafter attuned only to a world beyond mortal ears.
Glim shuddered in revulsion. Master Willow knew.
His fingernails dug into his palms with anger. For a moment, distracted by the physical sensation of pain that pulled his mind away from the connection, the trees of the dell returned in Glim’s sight. The river gurgled its last gasp downstream, cracking into ice. Glim saw Master Willow's face across from him, distorted by patterns of whirling silver light and shadow.
Glim forced himself to focus and retreated back into the oily coils of Willow’s thoughts. He decided to give the Mage-at-Arms a taste of the violation the man had inflicted on him.
You wanted to be inside my thoughts, Master Willow. I'll show you what's in here.
Glim recalled every slight, every savage thought he'd ever had for the man. Remembered the agony of his bones being split and reformed, and of the chickens clawing at his legs.
As he unleashed his barrage, Glim allowed part of his focus return to the dell. He watched as horror fell upon Master Willow. The Mage-at-Arms sank to his knees, moaning like a child afraid of the dark in need of his mother.
Glim pressed the attack, re-living his years with the mage and tasting the sweet victory of his terror, which Glim could feel also through their shared thoughts.
Just when he wondered if he'd gone to far, guilt creeping in to sour his thoughts, Glim recalled the sight of the waking giant, and the overwhelming oppression of Certe’s sorrow. He pictured the vast eye widening in the sky and swallowing his will to live.
Master Willow knelt in the dirt and clutched at his own throat. His lips moved wordlessly, straining to speak, but Glim heard nothing. Willow had spied Certe’s sorrow though Glim’s memory and become mute.
The rage of years of suffering inflamed his mind and spirit. Glim shoved his guilt aside. Finally free to retaliate, he seized this chance to get back at the man who had tortured him for so long.
Glim introduced a sliver of hope. One thread for Master Willow's disintegrating spirit to cling to.
For the first time in my life, I truly needed you, Master Willow. If anyone would know what to do about Certe, you would. So I begged you for help.
Master Willow's mind moaned. Glim smiled to himself and twisted the knife.
Let's see how you fared, 'Master.'
Glim recalled the sight of Master Willow's fleeing horse, then the sight of the townspeople flung about like dolls. Finally, Glim thought of his father's pierced chest and lifeless expression.
In the dell, the silver light sputtered. Tears welled in Master Willow's eyes. He batted them away in irritation.
Through the unfair advantage of their linked minds, Glim knew his tutor had become enraged at the remorse Glim was forcing through him. Focusing here, in the real world, Glim watched the man suffer and felt a mixture of guilt, fascination, and dread.
You have seen Certe’s sorrow now, Master. You know we are all lost.
Master Willow nodded.
Glim was about to thrust the knife of his mind deeper, finish this once and for all, when he felt his control wrested away.
Other minds had joined their merged consciousness. Somewhere in the shadows of the woods, cloaked women rescued Master Willow's thoughts from Glim's grip.
Master Willow's chest heaved as he took gulping breaths. He steadied himself and rose. Fury darkened his brow as his eyebrows knit together in an expression Glim had long ago learned to fear.
He reached into his pouch and invoked the silver light once more, reclaiming his link with Glim.
You want to see inside my mind, boy? Fine. I have a memory you'll undoubtedly relish. Something you've wanted for a long time. Let me introduce you to your doting mother.
The dell faded from Glim's sight. He gasped as Master Willow yanked Glim’s memory into his own. They tumbled through time and touched down in a place Glim knew well. Master Willow's tower.
A woman with crystalline eyes lay on a bed, panting in labor. Another woman, a warrior with blonde hair and freckles, leaned on a wall nearby. A third woman, the midwife of Wohn-Grab, wrung her hands nervously. She looked younger than Glim knew her to be now.
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Which of these women is my mother?
Glim didn't know what Willow had in mind, but he knew his sanity was about to be attacked with as much malice as Willow could muster. Cold fear trickled through him.
Glim. Your name is Glim. I am me. I am Glim. Remember that.
"This is madness!" the midwife protested. "The babe will kill her! The birth is far too soon!"
The woman on the bed… Allora. He knew her name somehow through Master Willow’s memory. She raised her knees and bore down. “My people have a faster birth cycle than most,” she said between controlled gasps. “All is well. I've given birth twelve times already. Just catch the babe and make sure her head doesn't split open on the floor.”
“Or his head, miss,” the midwife said.
Allora groaned in exasperation. “Just catch her and leave me be! I must focus.”
Minutes later Glim heard a baby's cry–his own first cry–as the midwife tied off the umbilical cord. The warped perspectives confused Glim. Unused to such visions, watching baby him through Willow’s eyes, he desperately tried to orient herself.
This is not real. I am Glim. That is baby-Glim.
The blonde warrior, who Willow knew as Jennathai, detached herself from the wall and looked directly into Willow-Glim's eyes.
“Remember your promise. She must learn to ply algidon! Or you shall receive none of the reward we discussed.”
The midwife bustled over, cooing over a babe swaddled in rough gray cloth.
"A healthy young lad! It is just as you assured me. I can't believe he’s so hale given the timing."
"I'm sorry?" Allora asked in confusion.
Jennathai surged away from Master Willow, running to the bedside in alarm. She took the babe from the midwife, opening the cloth and confirming the midwife's words. What little color she had drained from her freckled face.
"This..." she gulped, checking once more. "...this is a boy."
Baby-Glim stirred and opened his eyes. One dark among the shadows of the blanket. The other a brilliant crystal white that outshone even the mesmerizing sparkle in Allora's eyes.
Allora sank into the bed, chin trembling. "No! This cannot be!"
A smug sense of vindication snickered somewhere in the darkness of Master Willow's mind.
As soon as she saw Glim’s eyes, the midwife cried out and backed away. She murmured a ward under her breath while tracing a rune in the air. She opened the door and fled the room.
“We have to be sure,” Jennathai said.
Allora held baby-Glim tight and snaked a hand around his tiny mouth. Her attendant held a brass caliper inscribed with runes. Glim knew that wretched instrument. Master Willow had used it to rip Glim’s essentiæ apart. Jennathai prodded baby-Glim's throat and chest with the instrument. Glim heard his own strangled cries of pain, but the woman continued her examination. At last she stared at Allora in abject puzzlement.
"It's there."
"You're certain?"
"There's no mistaking it. Algidon flows in this boy's veins along with phyr. Barely enough, but enough."
Allora’s gaze snapped over to scrutinize Master Willow, who Glim could tell was backing away by the receding angles of the bedframe in their shared vision. Perhaps even he had been shocked by this display of cruelty.
"Halt," Allora commanded. The room stopped moving as Master Willow ceased his retreat. Allora closed her eyes and her brow furrowed. Her face went through several contortions as her secret thoughts raced.
Jennathai looked at her and frowned. Perhaps sensing Allora’s vulnerability, the attendant's hand twitched on the pommel of her sword, gaze locked onto Willow-Glim, eyes narrowed in mistrust.
At last, Allora opened her eyes and looked right into Willow-Glim’s eyes. Glim felt a pang of envy. Willow had known his mother. The unfairness sickened Glim.
"This changes nothing. You will train the boy as we discussed. Jennathai, give him the caliper."
The blonde warrior placed the brass tuning fork in Willow-Glim's hands.
"We must consult our sisters."
The memory wavered. Glim heard a victorious sneer in his thoughts.
A cold woman, wouldn't you agree? She cared little for you. That much I know.
Glim's and Master Willow's minds flew apart as the other minds emerged once more from the shadows of the trees around the dell and intervened in their mental battle. The silvery light ceased. Glim heard footsteps approach behind him from the top of the ridge. He ignored them.
Anger burned inside him. Glim stared at Master Willow, who seemed as rattled and frail as he'd ever seen the man before. Mute and drained, with white shocks of hair at his temples and his dark eyebrows dusted gray. Gaunt.
Revulsion at Willow’s intrusion into his mind sickened Glim. Almost as much as Glim’s revulsion at himself for treating Willow in kind. How quickly he'd sunk to Willow’s level. Guilt warred with satisfaction at his long-denied retribution. Now that he'd finally struck back at the man, Glim felt hollow inside.
We're all of us doomed, anyway, Glim reminded himself. All you have left is vengeance. Let this be your final act. Avenging father.
Warmth coursed through him as cold radiated along the ground in a maze of icy shards. Hoary frost coated the bushes and trees of the dell.
Glim's desperation and frustration boiled over and he drew a deep breath. With every smidgeon of heat he could drain from the summer air, he flung a jagged curtain of ice lances into the air, just as he’d done at Wohn-Grab, aiming to obliterate the man who had betrayed him and destroyed his home.
But as he launched them, Master Willow raised the brass caliper. Pain seared Glim's mind and disrupted his aim. Cries rang out from the trees ringing the lip of the dell. Glim saw several gray-cloaked women fall from their hiding places behind the trees, clutching pendants in their hands as they writhed in pain. Glim recognized two of the gardeners. No ice had yet fallen, yet they collapsed as if stricken.
A massive shard of ice intended for the Mage-at-Arms slammed through a tree trunk, splitting it in half as Master Willow scrambled towards his saviors.
More gray-cloaked women among the trees collapsed in agony, as though the mere act of Glim's plying had wounded them. A few rolled down the side of the dell, limp and lifeless. They coasted to a stop near him, dead eyes staring at the sky, hair as white as the ice they lay upon.
Glim jerked back as Master Willow flung one more jolt of pain into his mind before cresting the ridge.
Glim collapsed, holding his head in his hands. His essentiæ swarmed like hornets in his head.
Overcome with apathy, his mind stretched to the brink of madness, Glim slumped to the ground. An hour went by, perhaps two. A numbing damp crept up the back of his calves. His bottom fell asleep as cold stole his warmth.
I killed father. And now I've killed these women. What have I become?
Glim tried to weep but no tears came. His world had descended into utter madness in too short a time for him to keep up. He'd gone from mage to murderer, son to orphan, in the blink of an eye. Nothing Glim cared about existed anymore.
It doesn't matter. Nothing does. Everyone I've ever known is dead, Soon I will join them.
Everyone person in Aeronthrall, in every remote town or tower—their life had ended. They just didn't know it yet. Certe walked free. The essence of algidon itself.
None can withstand him. His will can not be wrested.
He’d failed to protect Wohn-Grab. He’d failed to avenge the fallen. With no reserves left, his mind torn to tatters by the battle with Master Willow, Glim's mind gave up and dwindled to a pinpoint within a still field of darkness.