#kelach

The path to her tent was dark, but he remembered the way. It was all he could stomach to think about. Just get there. Don’t stop. Just go. He repeated this mantra over and over in hushed tones to keep his mind from straying to their faces. His comrades. His friends. Nadiim and Vinar. They had met under the call to arms. They had survived every battle so far, until they were the only three remaining of the original battalion’s numbers. Now it was just Kelach. He couldn’t think about it. He couldn’t think about how their bodies had been torn asunder, how he had tried desperately to save them, and how futile his efforts seemed to be. She had told him as much, but he still tried. Now he needed answers to fill the hole those two men, who were strangers to him at the start of this winter, had left bleeding in his heart.

The door to her tent burst open as Kelach entered with jarring force. He saw Ciaragan washing her hands in a basin of cloudy pink water. She looked up as he barreled in the little one-room structure, but did not seem surprised to see him. Instead she finished drying off, picked up the bowl atop the basin, walked right past him and dumped it out into the snow. Kelach watched her as she went. Her nonchalance made his guts twist up in knots and his jaw clench in anger. She replaced the bowl and began filling it back up from a nearby pitcher, before dipping a cloth into the clean water and ringing out the excess. Finally, she approached him. Her hand reached up to wipe his face with the cloth, but he caught her by the wrist before she could touch him.

“You... you...”

“Control yourself, boy.”

“You told me...” He felt his eyes grow hot with tears. “You told me that they would die. That I would survive.”

“Release me.”

“I tried to save them. I tried. But...”

Ciaragan’s aura glowed with a terrifying, uncontrolled fury. Kelach locked eyes with her. “Release me now or you will have no answers.” 

He tore his gaze away from hers and looked at the lithe wrist in his grasp. He softened his grip, unaware until that moment that he had even been holding her so hard. Her hand hovered in the air for a beat before returning to its original task, wiping the grime from his face. The water from the cloth was hot. As it pressed against his frozen skin, the dirt began to melt away and he could not help but lean into the touch. He had known nothing but violence that day, and the fear still crept up his spine that an enemy could be lurking around every corner, ready to cut him down just like his friends. Kelach didn’t trust this woman, in fact he wished he had never met her, but after what he had seen... He appreciated the compassionate act, no matter what her motives may have been. When she had removed the last bit of dirt from his cheek, she slithered back to the basin and rung out the cloth once more. The water that escaped was nearly black.

Kelach moved to follow her, but before he could take another step she pointed a long finger in his direction.

“Stop,” she snapped, “I won’t have you spreading filth all over my tent. Remove that armor before you continue.”

Was she serious? From the look on her face, it seemed she was. He began unbuckling the various leather straps that held his armor in place, sheepishly setting the pieces on the floor one by one. He felt her eyes on him. She would not turn away and provide him any dignity of decency. Kelach was not a shy man, but being stripped down to his underclothes by a strange priestess would make anyone feel the hollow nausea of shame. When nothing remained but his long shirt and trousers, he looked up for approval. She nodded, and gestured for him to sit on the cot. He was nervous, but too tired to protest and followed her order. She sat in a wooden chair opposite him. Neither spoke for a long time.

“...Well?”

“Well what.” Ciaragan replied flatly.

“You know damn well ‘what.’ I came here for answers, not to play your little game, priest.”

“Bishop,” She corrected him. “And you ought to show more gratitude. You were spared for a reason, or so I am told.”

“Tell me how you knew. How could you know that I would live and they would die?” His fists were balled, knuckles white.

“It is no use telling you-”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean!?” He errupted. “Why are you doing this to me? Why is it fair that I should live and they die? How did you know that I couldn’t save them? Did you plan this? I saw you out there, you’re supposed to be a mender! You gave me this secret and I could have stopped them... If I would have just told them to flee, to desert... they’d still be alive. It’s not right...It’s...”

Kelach held his head in his hands, unable to stop himself from weeping. It was all too much. This woman. His friends. This Light-forsaken war. He was tired of it. He didn’t have it in him to keep going, not when things felt so hopeless. With a quivering breath he lifted his gaze back onto Ciaragan, and felt the air catch in his throat.

Her eyes had changed. The golden orbs now burned with the same violet hue he had first seen dancing along the treeline the night Kelach met her. The light in the tent was gone. What surrounded them was a cold darkness only broken by two violet eyes. There was no sound, he couldn’t even hear his own heartbeat. For a moment he thought maybe he had died out there with them. Ciaragan slowly leaned forward, her hand outstretched. He wanted to flinch away, but this time he could not move. Her fingernail scraped against his forehead before skin met skin, and an unseen pressure snapped his head back. Suddenly his mind was filled with unspeakable images- things he did not understand nor ever could have imagined. Horror crept through each wrinkle in his brain, electrifying and torturous. He saw Nadiim and Vinar out on the battlefield, their deaths playing on repeat over, and over, and over, and over again. He saw different outcomes of the battle than what had truly occurred. He even saw himself fall in a few of those scenes, but no matter what changed, Nadiim and Vinar still died every time. He saw millions of possibilities, but that fact was constant. It was driving him mad. He tried to close his eyes, but the images played inside his mind, unyielding. He wanted to scream, but could make no sound. It felt like he was drowning- choking on knowledge. The visions kept changing so quickly, he couldn’t keep up with what he was seeing. They blurred together in overlapping realities until all he could make out was red light- no, many red lights. Thousands of them. Like eyes boring into his skull, they saw him staring back at them. He felt like a child again. So afraid. So afraid. So afraid.

Ciaragan drew back her finger from the man’s forehead. She waited a moment, unsure if he was still alive in there. When she saw his rigidity loosen and his body slump slightly, she moved to sit next to him on the cot. His chest rose and fell, if only just. She checked his pulse- slow, but still there. Teardrops fell from his drooping head and splashed against his legs. He was silent, but still in there somewhere. She didn’t have to ask what he was seeing, she had seen it too. With a delicate hand she leaned the man over to lay his head in her lap. She stroked his stringy brown hair for a while, waiting for him to awaken. When he had stirred enough to roll his face towards hers, his eyes were wide and frantic. She smiled.

“What is your name, my child?”

He wasn’t sure if he could speak. A whisper is all he could muster. “...Kelach.”

“Kelach. It was useless to tell you how, so I had to show you. I knew you wouldn’t understand unless I did. I’m sorry for your suffering, but it is over now.”

His gaze was unblinking. She ran another hand through his hair and continued.

“You survived because you have a greater purpose to fulfill. We all do, even if many do not know it yet. But for now, your purpose is to serve me. Do you understand?”