When he awoke, there was no more blood. The foul scents of a medical room assaulted his nostrils; blood, urine, feces, and pus. He was sitting in a little bit of all of it, and the distaste upon his face could have been read with a telescope. Doctors came to look upon him, and were appalled when he calmly stepped out of bed, twisting his neck from side to side and stretching his sore limbs. “I am well now,” he told them, and left them behind to clean himself… and to get to work.
Hands plucked flowers from the small corners and thistles from the forest’s edge. Eyes found lily pads in small-running streams, and tendrils of willow that surrounded them. Fingers curled around sticks, leaves, tubers, poisonous mushrooms, moss, and apples. Feet shuffled when he hunched over to paw at the pine needles and refuse of old plant life that made the forest floor. Nails told the tale of soil collected from underneath.
He gathered it all, the small things that carried the old proxy. It had been designed well; recycling itself in various forms throughout the forest. It was spread so thin that he could not find key points without the assistance of his fallen protectors. The bloated corpses served as bloodhounds, stalking earth with a lewd manner of motion. It would have been risky, sending them from safety like this, but the old proxy was strong and only one man discovered them. His body was crushed into a crater twelve feet deep and set aflame.
With sufficient material gathered, Trylstrian now sat amongst the trees, his eyes shut tight and a smile gracing his face. He now knew that the forest was key; there was a certain comfort in that fact, as though through all of this terrible time he had been watched over by an old, familiar friend. As if he wasn’t left to do this great work on his own. Yet simultaneously, the magician’s heart wrenched. A crisis of faith was to be expected so far from home, but this – what sort of life could he make for her? She was used to far more than he would ever be able to –
This is folly, came the angry thought. It was his own, but not in his own voice. A shiver raced through his spine and his eyes finally snapped open. Truth be told, he no longer wanted to do these things that he did. There were things that he cared about here; and though he would certainly kill a few men here – folly!
His mind finally squeezed itself quiet. His wishes were not his own. He had known this since first he gazed into those eyes. Slowly, his hands reached for the pile of foliage that he had gathered. He balled his fists around an obscene assortment, and took a deep breath. What would follow would be difficult, but necessary. He would be able to see where he could not otherwise see.
Steeled now, Trylstrian brought the first handfuls to his mouth, and began to chew.
***
The hall was quiet. It seeped a gentle breeze through the stone arch that curved around the tower, a gentle sort of thing that prevented men and women from suffocating in the dull, musty corridors. Dull firelight flickered feverishly to prevent stubbed toes or cracked skulls. And in the center, a man doubled over and vomited. In his ears, the whisper of a thousand voices ripped sibilantly outward, and he feared that they would be heard; it was impossible, of course. They were not real, but experienced sounds. Perspective was nearly as key as the forest.
The new proxy was thus in place. It left the refuse and found tiny nooks and crannies to burrow into and lay dormant, but he wanted to ensure that it worked. Trylstrian’s eyes hazed over as his sight scoured every inch of the castle; nude people, clothed people, angry people, people who were cooking, people who were sick; he could see them all. The old restrictions were gone, now.
Trylstrian walked away from the puddle of bile, leaves, dirt…
Tue Apr 28, 2009 6:56 pm
