An hour had passed and Klorachamol was becoming restless. He glared at Hank, but the gnome ignored him. The assassin longed to slip into the abundance of shadows in the dank mine, to strike the earth mage from behind, but the accursed collar on his neck prevented it. Even though the elf moved freely in the shadow dimension, there was the distinct possibility that such a move would cut off the signal that kept Klorachamol’s collar from exploding. He dared not risk it.
A noise came from the hole, catching Jenjen’s attention. “Something happens.” He spoke softly, sending a shiver up Klorachamol’s spine. It was never a good thing when Jenjen spoke softly.
The noise built up until it became identifiable as screaming. No discernable words, but it was steeped in grief and anguish. Eventually it peaked, not getting any louder, it broke for a moment and then resumed. It continued. It seemed not to ever stop.
“What did you do!” Klorachamol growled and launched himself at Hank.
Hank was ready for this. A pillar of rock dropped from the tunnel ceiling into the assassin’s path, Hank expecting the man to smash into it. However, Klorachamol evaded, and the second and third which came from the right and left. The fourth knocked him sideways, but barely slowed him. Desperate now, the gnome raised a thin globe of stone about himself. When the human slammed into it, it trembled. Smiling victory, the gnome shattered the rock himself, sending shards outwards in all directions, not caring who got hurt.
Klorachamol realized his danger even as he struck the rock and withdrew, easily evading the jagged shards with only a few jagged cuts on his hands from deflecting a few of the shards. Standing fifteen feet from the gnome, he snarled, “You will die for this! That Ker was under Edict!”
“So am I, remember? And I didn’t force her into the hole. She went of her own free will,” Hank replied indifferently, though his breath came somewhat ragged and sweat drenched his dark hair and coveralls. “There’s no reason for her to have gone into the fenguar. She should not have been in danger.”
“He lies,” Restorm announced from a distance down the tunnel. Hank spun and stared at the validator, snapping his personal shielding about his mind and heart again, that which he had lowered for the accursed validation.
Klorachamol also stared at Restorm a moment and then he refocused on the gnome. “I knew it. You set her up somehow, you bastard.”
The gnome looked at the assassin in silence, tense for renewed action.
At that moment, the scream changed, an unnatural reverb adding to its quality. The walls of the mine shuddered, the very stone shivering in response. Loose dirt and rocks fell from the ceiling dimming the already dim lighting in the tunnel. A stone fell and glanced off Klorachamol’s shoulder.
“The crystal sings in sympathy to the girl’s anguish,” Corko declared, his eyes narrowing. “The eaters shall come.”
A pregnant pause evaporated into panic. Desperate to silence the cries, one of the guards injected sleeping gas into the tunnel. The screams continued unabated. However, shortly after the guard discontinued the gas, they did change, becoming more muffled and difficult to hear. The earth shivered a second time.
The head guard appeared, clearing all miners from the tunnel. Spider movement had been detected by the remote sensors and he wanted the disturbance stopped. “Blow the hole,” he ordered his men. “However valuable the girl was, she’s trash now and the whole mine’s in danger.” He spun and left, furious at the situation. What had possessed the gnome to challenging the novice child and why had it been allowed? How was he going to explain the loss to the commander?
Three blasts from one of the guard’s guns sealed the small tunnel, killing the sound from within. Back in the compound, the head guard listened to the scenario. However, without actual proof that Hank had killed the girl intentionally, he was not going to lose two scramblers in a single day.
Hank smirked.
Darkness billowed in the cavern, the hanging lights faltering, struggling to shine but losing their battle. “Hank. I am displeased.” Klierallan appeared before the gnome. “The child was of interest to me.” The elf spoke in a whisper as he squatted before the gnome, running his hand along the small man’s cheek. Hank paled, his eyes growing wide, body frozen and unresponsive. “I think you shall die very miserably, Hank. Planning such a vile crime, the murder of a true innocent. How pathetic.”
Hank stammered, “I did not murder her, you evil bastard. She entered that hole under her own volition.”
The elf stood to his full height, looking down on the gnome. The light returned. The elf gone. Hank looked around frantic, terrified beyond reason. “She entered of her own free will, damn you bastard!” he screamed. Silence answered him.
The head guard swallowed, shaken. He had known about the elf imprisoned in the mines, but he had never dreamed he would be something like that. Spinning on his heels, he left the main cave.
The rest of the miners pulled away from the gnome, looking at him askance. No one wanted to be close to him lest the elf’s vengeance strike at them by happenstance.
Hank stood still for a long minute and then shook himself. Nothing had happened. Breathing in relief, he smiled. “Well now. It appears I have won the little contest. While I am disappointed that I lost Ker, I shall still take my other winnings.” He took a step toward Karen to retrieve both his scroll and the one Corko had inscribed. “Argghhh!” He screamed as his leg snapped, breaking and turning in a weird direction. He fell to the ground, trying to catch his fall with his hands. His wrists and elbows dislocated and he screamed again, even louder. His scream turned into a gurgle as the lining of his throat gave way and he began choking. After several long minutes of bloody convulsing, skin and bones breaking apart as if eaten away by internal acid, the gnome called Hank stilled, dead.
Karen stared at the mush of an ex-gnome in horror. What a horrible way to die, but she suspected she knew what the elf had done. She had been present for the ordination of a bishop and had sensed a similar spell being used at that time, though the elf had brutalized its purpose. In essence, the spell revealed a person’s inner heart. An honest and upright heart of solid character received strengthening by degrees. All those commissioned bishop or greater underwent the spell, permanently changing to something greater than they had been. However, if a vile and corrupt person underwent the spell, that one would be weakened by degrees in the same manner. Most people fell in the middle and nothing drastic happened to them. Of course, those not strengthened to a noticeable degree were disqualified from any higher Temple offices.
Hank had been so corrupt in his heart that the spell had made him brittle. When he took a step, his bones had snapped. When he fell, his ligaments had not held. When he screamed, his lining of his throat literally shredded.
Karen turned away. A horrible way to die, but one brought on wholly by the gnome’s own actions and life. He had condemned himself, for if he had possessed any worthiness of character at all, such a drastic reaction would never have happened. She wondered what would happen to the elf who cast the spell on the gnome, if it were cast on himself.
The dream began, fangs of terror clamping upon Moriah’s heart and mind. She did not want the dream to come. She forbid its approach. She shook her head in denial, trying to look away, but could not. She did not understand. She had rejected it before and it had gone away. Why was it not going away? She wanted it to go AWAY!
She began to whimper, struggling feebly as the fenguar spores penetrated her mask’s filters. The coils tightened a little.
Moriah lay in her bed asleep. Thunder shook the house, waking her. She lay still for several moments, another boom rattling her stuffed animal laden shelves, the sonics tingling her skin. Smiling her thrill, she shivered her delight at the sensation. Still, this was the wrong time of year. Thunderstorms hit heavy right around her birthday, and her ninth still lay two months away. She loved that time of the year most, thunderstorms always being thrilling and energizing for her. However, her sister did not think that way at all. Even though Sillimor was a whole four years older than Moriah, she always got scared.
Covers flying, Moriah sprang from her bed.
no
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Moriah grinned as another boom shook the window panes. Struggling to pull Hermes from under her bed. Hermes was a very special teddy bear slightly larger than its small human mistress, and the best stuffed animal in the whole world. Moriah glanced at the dark windows. She thought about leaving the massive bear, but rejected the idea. He was her protector and Moriah knew he would help protect Sillimor too. Throwing Hermes to her head like a vase, she grunted at his weight. She hated being so small sometimes, much smaller than other children her age. Still, she knew she compensated for it by being stronger. At least she thought so.
no
Opening the door to the hallway, the little girl staggered over to her sister’s room. Dropping Hermes to the floor, she knocked and then entered without waiting for a reply. “Sillimor? It’s Moriah and Hermes. We were wondering if we could come sleep in your room?” Grabbing Hermes by one arm, she hauled him into a bear hug and began carrying him toward Sillimor.
The eleven year old hated thunderstorms with an obsessive passion. Sitting up in her bed, blanket held to her pretty chin, long golden hair falling in disarray about her, she stared at Moriah gratefully and nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. The almost nine year old hauled the massive bear over to her sister’s bed. Sillimor helped pull the stuffed animal onto the bed, Moriah scrambling up after.
please stop - go away
Several more booms shook the windows, confusing Moriah. This did not sound like normal thunder. Sillimor’s door burst open, both girls jumping in fright. Their father appeared in the doorway and Moriah relaxed.
no - stop - please make it stop
But then it registered - fear. Her father looked afraid. That could not be right. Her father could not be afraid. Looking at his two daughters, relief washed over his face, but the fear remained. “Girls, get downstairs,” he ordered. “Your mother’s waiting.” He turned and raced out of sight.
please, no
Looking at each other, Moriah and Sillimor grew eyes too large for their faces. Scrambling out of the bed, they raced to the door, down the hall and down the stairs. Their mother stood in the entrance way of their house, a black coat thrown over her green nightgown. The stalwart trio Jeremy and Kord and Jason also had dark overcoats on. Moriah felt even more confused. Her older brothers never looked scared either. Jessica and Rachael came running down the stairs with her father. They looked scared too. Moriah began to get worried, just a little bit.
tears began leaking from dead eyes
The family moved to the front door and Moriah realized that both Mommy and Daddy had their big guns, not the ones for hunting, but the other ones. “Stay together everyone. Hold hands and be quiet.” Moriah’s father spared a moment to smile at Moriah. She saw the smile so very crystal clear, sparkling with its own light.
a slow sound rumbled, trying to escape
Slipping into the night, a flash of light in the distance brightened the sky, but not like lightning. A bomb of some sort Moriah realized. Exciting. She had wanted to be a warrior since just after turning four and knew all sorts of things about weapons and stuff. But she did not understand why there were bombs going off here. They did not live in a war zone, not for several light years. Her confusion rose.
the sound found a small escape
Her family ran quickly. They traveled along the street for a short distance, but then turned into the forest. They ran for what seemed like forever to the little girl.
no! stay with them!
Moriah ran alone. Stopping, she looked around. Where had everyone gone? Her lower lip quivered, tears forming. Denying fear, she allowed she was perhaps just a little worried.
find them! hurry! hurry! warn them!
She ran along the direction she felt sure her family had gone, the direction of the just-in-case place. She knew where to go. Coming to a clearing, she ran along the forest edge, sure that she should not run in the open. A good soldier did not do stupid stuff like that, after all.
no! the other side! go to the other side! hurry! before!
She had traveled just over half way to the far side of the cleared area when the little girl spotted her family on the other side of the clearing. She knew better than to run across, but she really wanted to anyway. Still, they were heading the same direction and she could meet them at the far end, just as she had guessed.
A noise began small, but rapidly increased. Moriah saw her family all duck down, so she did too, but she peeked. A Morkan tank hovered over the trees, moving slowly toward her family. She realized they would be discovered in just moments.
1. please. not again. please. no.
her head began to shake back and forth
the cords that held her arms tightened
She could not let her family be captured, but what could she do? Firming her resolve, she stood up and ran into the clearing in full view of the tank. She would distract it away and give the others time to reach the just-in-case place. She would save her family.
the escape route became wider, the sound became louder, the world seemed to catch the sound and amplify it
The next moment happened in slow motion, every detail engraved and highlighted with impossible detail. The tank’s muzzle glowed. Light shot forth. Light streaked in a straight line. Light struck. Exploded. Dirt showered everywhere. Trees shattered. Individual shards of wood flew in visible, minute detail. Light blazed.
Her family evaporated.
the sound broke and then resumed in fresh anguish
moriah thrashed - the restraining cords tightened - the cords broke - the cords grasped
The world darkened as the little girl spun to the ground as the force of the explosion washed over her. Moriah woke in her bed to the sound of thunder. She was not afraid, but knew that her sister would be.
The dream started again. Moriah thrashed, breaking free of the fenguar with adrenaline strength, but the plant struggled to resecure its hold, succeeding because Moriah remained unaware, caught within the fenguar spore dream. The nightmare memory repeated again and again, shredding the already wounded soul of the young child, but then a second explosion sounded out of sync with the death of her family.
Strange, the tormented soul reflected, perplexed out of the nightmare, and the loop broke. The little girl lay on the ground unconscious. The dreamer wondered how she could know what had happened while she remained unconscious. The tank hovered over the trees frozen, unmoving. Across the clearing, in the center of a distorted, massive crater miles across, her family all rose to stand. They turned to look at her with sad eyes.
Wait. Why were they looking at her, the dreamer? Why were they not looking at the her laying unconscious? Her mother floated towards her. The dreamer’s heart shuddered.
“Mommy, you’re flying.” Tears welled in the dreamer’s eyes.
“Oh, my dear Moriah. You have suffered.” Her mother took her daughter into her arms, cradling her as the dreamer wept bitterly for the first time since that night.
“You died! I tried to save you, but I couldn’t! I failed!” She hugged her mother with desperate, fierce strength. She did not care if her mother was a ghost or anything. She just wanted her Mommy! And Daddy!
He appeared and gathered both his wife and child into his omnipotent arms, comforting both. The others were there too, all her brothers and sisters. Even Hermes.
Her father’s deep voice spoke. “Now Moriah. How many times have I told you? If you try and do not succeed, you are not a failure. You have not failed. You have merely Delayed Success.”
Moriah said the words in perfect sync with her father. He laughed at her and ruffled her long silver hair, which contained several distinct streaks of rich purple, one of black and several smaller streak of vibrant green. Moriah gulped, feeling a little better. “But Daddy? If you died, how can success be delayed? I cannot bring you back to life, can I?”
Sillimor laughed at her sister and hugged her. “No, Silly. But can you not protect others? You are still alive, are you not?” She grinned at her sister.
“Are there not many in the place you are now who need protection? There are some whom you may even redeem, if you but try, no matter how delayed your success be.” Her mother raised Moriah’s chin. “Please. I want to see you live, my dearest Moriah. Be strong.”
“But you do not want me to be a warrior-knight,” Moriah whispered, afraid to hurt her mother now that she had her back.
Mommy looked into her daughter’s eyes with sadness, but pride. “I never wanted you to be in such danger, my youngest and ever so dear child. But it is who you are. Should I deny that for my own comfort? You would suffer more. No. I will not bar you from that path. I will bless you on it, if it is what you choose.”
Moriah looked at her mother wide eyed. “Really? Really? You will? I can be a warrior-knight?”
“Yes my love. Here. Kneel.” The little dreamer fell to her knees and her own mother christened her, blessing her with her mother’s love and loyalty. Her father christened her with his father’s love and strength. Each of her siblings christened her in their own special ways. Hermes put both of his great paws on her shoulders.
“Rise, Sir Moriah,” her mother grinned at her, the first to use her daughter’s new title. The dreamer stood, looking down at herself clothed in a suit of armor. It was the old kind, not powered. Except she knew it did have power, somehow, of some kind. She could see the most interesting lines of light making curious patterns. They seemed to have little sparkles racing all over the armor’s surface. Moriah giggled.
“Moriah.” Her father looked at her, his face turning serious. Moriah looked up into that serious face and swallowed. “You shall face many trials. You must fight wisely. Sometimes, the greatest weapon is kindness and understanding. Remember, never use your sword just to destroy. You are the Protector. You must always build up the weak. Help them to become strong in their own times.”
“Yes Father,” Moriah gulped.
“Moriah, you face four great opponents now, each must be defeated by your own strength before you will be allowed upon this path. If you fail, you will die here and now. There will be no second chances.”
“You must face the force that binds you,” Sillimor intoned, light shining from her eyes. “She who seeks to detain and bind you to this place forever.”
“You must break the cords that restrain you,” Jeremy and Jason said in perfect unison, their voices tickling in their harmony. “They that seek to devour you.”
“You must cleanse the web that bars you,” Cord and Jessica declared, again in perfect unison. “It has many guardians, though a single mistress.”
“You must pierce the path that beguiles you,” Rachael, her last sister declared. “It will bind you and bar your way, seeking to confuse and turn aside. There are many ways, save the one known.”
“Moriah, you must defeat these four alone, none will come to aid you.” Her parents looked at her sadly. “We must leave now. The first trial approaches. We love you and want you to live! Fulfill what is in your heart to do. In that you honor us.”
“Mommy! Daddy! Don’t leave me again!” The dreamer wailed in fresh anguish. She held up her hands to grasp them, but her hands passed through their bodies as they faded away.