Cross-cut thoughts with no focus, rushing down upon the conscious, running down a steep hill with not even the wild companionship of The Carefree to act as a nullification to being here, out-thought and cast out from his throne. No opportunity to reflect, respond, react. Grief and shame would not allow him space for anything constructive. Wretched and rain-soaked fool in a cave; trying to rally the last elements of his self-respect, hoping from such a modest gathering he could build confidence again. He was not going to think beyond those small goals. This was no environment to nurture Ambition; for therein might lay a wrong turning into Delusion. He looked out onto the steady light rain, the soft impact upon the land did bring a type of comfort to the ragged senses, and that aside no one would bother to scour these remote lands for him. He could take some rest. Savour Isolation. And find a way to ease his back, aching from the cold and damp. His old tutor, ever practical might have approved.
The comfort was quickly snatched away, as through the mist brought by the easiest of rain he perceived a figure trudging up the hill, their cowled head bowed down and the laboured gait gave him the brief hope they were not actually looking for him, but by some mischief of coincidence he had happened upon a place familiar to him. Trying to stay within the shadow of the cave he peered out, the rain making true observation difficult, giving the impression the figure was fading in and out of view. When they did come into view and thus closer he saw they limped, and leant heavy on a staff, at each step their breath ragged. He reckoned them to be some one of equal ill-fortune albeit with age as an added burden. At least, he reasoned he could share with them shelter and some of the staling bread he had by careful economy retained.
They stopped at the cave entrance, head slightly raised, breath laboured.
‘Ah. Already taken. Might you have some room in there?’
‘Oh yes. This is not a time to wander these unforgiving hills,’
Thanking him the traveller stooped in and slipped down against the cave wall, legs stretching out while breathing forth a long heavy sigh.
They drew back their cowl, regarding him, their long tangled russet hair framing thin very pale feminine features.
‘Colonel Myrea Dreswech late of the Zerdat Cavalry Regiment,’ she said as an introduction.
At those words, her being seemed to fade a small measure, causing him to reach out in an reactive urge to keep her there, his fingers brushing against the sleeve of her cloak, in turn resulting in her bemused smile and returning to a more solid being.
‘Why thank you sir. I thought I was going to get lost in that desolate and dry sparse land again,’ her smile was rueful ‘There doesn’t seem to be much simple about being dead. Leastways not in my case,’
‘You’re a ghost?’ the words were loose, into the air before his mind could still the embarrassment of stating the obvious. Although her response did mollify his discomfort. There was a puzzlement on her face, her reply slow, of one trying to grasp a concept.
‘I suppose so. I was commanding a cavalry rear guard. We’d done a good job, cost us though. Then there was this punch, and looking down I see this crossbow bolt b ‘twixt my girlish charms. Frib, I was annoyed, just as we were falling back I get caught by some stray shot. It goes dark. When my eyes seem to open there’s a familiar face over me, picks me up, puts me in a cart, takes me back to our camp. I try to thank him, tell folk I’m alive, but no one hears me. It goes dark again. Next time I open my eyes it’s all desolate. I feel so wretched and alone. Start to cry she looked around ‘Then here in this wet forlorn place. At least it’s lush and natural. No bolt,’ she touched her chest ‘But it still hurts. Don’t take for granted The Dead are at peace. If I am properly dead that is,’ an open questioning face ‘What about you?’
‘I was a prince. One who didn’t pay enough attention. Didn’t spend enough time learning the craft form his father and observing those closest to him at court. He died I ascended the throne and assumed those still there would help me, never thinking they had their own ambitions and agendas. I still do not understand. My own uncle, The Learned Council and The High Trustees, and turned against me. By good fortune my dearest friend Verräter dashed into my apartment, warned me and helped me escape through a window, pushed me actually. I took the fall badly into a outside greenery, was stunned but came too undiscovered and just wandered, shaken and still stupefied, and found myself here. When I was younger we used to visit the mountain fastness of a loyal Duke, I grew fond of walking its way. It did not seem safe to announce myself to him though. All trust gone,’
Dreswech had been listening without interruption. Then with her teeth worrying her top lip, she spoke in a low intense voice of one used to giving commands and expecting obeyance.
‘Don’t get excited by this. I want you to take off that cloak and shirt, and turn around,’
He did not feel the need to question, the direct manner of her instruction caused a fear to rise within him, one which hissed for an answer. Having done as requested he waited, while cold fingers traced quickly up his back, the following click of her tongue echoing in the cave.
‘I can’t keep talking like this,’ were her first words ‘What is your name? Never mind titles lost or misplaced,’
‘Beyragen,’ he blurted in a hurry to hear what she really had to say.
‘Well, Beyragen, I have to tell you, there is a deep sword wound here. And you are, also. Dead,’
He should have been shocked, but her slow steady plod up the mountain, her frank admission, the concern on her face as he had told his tale, and then her command, in that instance of time and place there was on reflection an inevitability to this assessment. After all his tale of how he had escaped and journeyed here had been a vague thing.
‘Oh. I see. The ache in my back is not through the cold and damp then,’
‘That’s a solid reply. I commend you on that. Just don’t ask me any Whys, Hows or What-Do-We-Do-Nexts. Not only am I still trying to get used to being Dead and Alert there is also the small matter as to why I was drawn here,’
‘Or,’ mused Beyragen ‘Did I arrive here to await your arrival? There’s not much difference between the two circumstances I will grant you. Where are you from? I am not familiar with your regiment,’
‘Faymorgel in Rutheder,’
‘But they are lands from history, surely. I was Prince of Eienstarr,’
‘Never heard of it. If I’m from your past. You must be from my future. Oh scraith. What a tangle,’
With this the two lapse into a communal silence and stared out at the rain.
Very carefully Beyragen placed one hand upon her shoulder, saying to avoid offense or embarrassment.
‘You were starting to fade. You’ve stopped now. I wonder how this works?’
Her smile was warm, and eyes alight with gratitude. Her own hand settled upon his.
‘You’re a good man Prince Beyragen,’ she said and leaned her head on his shoulder.
Beyragen opened his eyes. He lay in a bed, in a room. candle lit. The suddenness of change from one reality to another had him out of bed and standing, facing a window silhouetted by the greyness ahead of dawn. Two sets of memories sharper than anyone other dream he had known. He felt up his back, all was smooth and no ache. Good. Without much thought on the action he dressed into functional clothes attention moving between door and window, his principal motivations fuelled by the vividness of where he had been. Grasping for reason and rationale he fixed on his tutor’s views on dreams.
‘Some say they are visions, I would nuance that. Part of that mystery The Mind still works in sleep and dreams are that part sifting and analysing and imposing on the waking part, which being muddled by this interruption sees its work in a different way,’
Those I trusted, betrayed me? He blew out and threw down the candle, finding comfort in holding the large, thick functional candle stick. Some sort of weapon.
The officer. She had been so precise. He closed his eyes and her pale sincere face was there, everyone else sinister shades behind her. She may have been a thing of dreams, yet in that cold, solitary space she had become a reality he could trust. He judged he had little time to forestall what was coming, but with calm, careful, selective investment of what might be just days he could. Innocent he had been, but he was his father’s son. He rolled the candlestick in his hand. Yes, she had been just like one of those scouts who bring you a warning afore a battle. And there was no panic. The warning had brought from its sleep another part of Prince Beyragen. He found he was smiling. Relishing the challenge. How swift Life could change. He sat and planned.
In the cave one of many places where pieces of Creation met and merged, she also sat and smiled.
‘Well done Prince Beyragen. You listened to the scout,’
Of course she had had to play a bit on a man’s preferences that when it came to it a woman would always melt a bit and lean on him, and she’d told him a lot more about this side of Nature than she had done to others. But a princedom’s well being was at stake. Plots always turned to wars between plotters. All down to him now, to change his and his realm’s Future.
She felt she was getting better at this. Going up and down, here and there, drawn this way and that. Slipping into to folks’ minds and hearts at random. Convince a young lady not to be part of her father’s plans and instead embrace her own importance, steering confidence back a veteran bounty hunter after she had been cheated by comrades set on a course that mattered. Girls were less trouble, more willing to accept the subtle whispers and unseen nudges to set them on the right course.
What drew her to this role she still did not know. Maybe because of a life mostly in the light cavalry, moving swiftly and ahead, scouting? Whatever. She was content with spending her afterlife this way. She was rather pleased with her new curled hair. Who knew? After a set number of successes she might even be celestially promoted? And then maybe get an insight into the business of skipping back and forth through Time. Now there was a puzzler. Was there Time?
Rising she winced. Yes, battle wounds still hung around. Stretching she looked out into the rain. Along came the by now familiar parting of this particular reality. A pretty, blonde with a roguish smile and a travel worn uniform, she sat joking with other soldiers. Unseen to them all brooded a town surrounded by tall thick walls down which blood ran, Dreswech heard cries, screams and the rest which went with battle, her own experiences warned her this one would be long a siege, the sort that twisted or broke some soldiers, submersing their senses until only killing raised feelings. She studied the woman, there were ethereal lines coming from another direction moving towards her, then halting, waving about her, almost uncertain.
Myrea Dreswech late of the Zerdat Cavalry Regiment tutted to herself.
‘I see. No, that will not do girl, not at all. I’ll have to toughen up you for your road,’
And set to her own planning.
Footnote:
In trying to avoid seeming to be repeating a theme, and clarifying matters for a reader new to my entries in this blog, there is something of a linkage going on with previous posts
To add background to this story please refer to others as follows:
Dreswech’s Death Places We’d Rather Not Go #Blog Battle : November – Nervous
The Blonde SoldierMore Than Faith October #BlogBattle-Dream
Writing Despite Computers and Programmes 