A deep blackness weighed on Amirae's eyes; a tiring drowse pulled on her eyelids. She gave in to the soft beat that sounded in her head.
Du-dum, du-dum.
A sudden, urgent voice pulled her from sleep. A strong hand tugged her shoulder and shattered the dense cloud of slumber. She tried to open her eyes.
The heavy weight closed her eyes again, the tiring tug of darkness ended her sight. The faint beat resonated in her ears.
Du-dum, du-dum.
The rhythmic thumps of galloping horses awakened her. The rumbling body on which she was mounted broke her restless sleep. The haunting howls and grueling growls of marching monsters filled her with fear.
The soft soil of sleep welcomed the reaching roots of her tired thoughts. Again, the soft beat thumped on.
Du-dum, du-dum.
Hard coarse ground cut her knees like little pieces of broken glass. A cold swirling river loomed hauntingly before her eyes.
Du-dum, du dum.
Amirea's eyes closed and she fell back into sleep.
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Zoraean awakened from a restless night, his blanket trapped him like the dark talons of the nightmare from which he had just awakened. The sweat on his forehead was the vapor of dread. The dark rings under his eyes the result of a haunted sleepless night. A night in which gray phantoms strode over cold misty plains to bring eternal sleep to their quarry.
Zoraean dragged his legs off the bed and sat at its edge. He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. In his mind he kept reliving his failure. His inability to fulfill his call, his very purpose. All these thoughts had kept him awake and unable to rest. Rest, he thought to himself, how he longed for some. Zoraean turned his head to the round little window above the bed, a blissful white moon peered into the room. It seemed to him a cruel contrast. He traced a beam of light to the opposite wall. Now taking his time to survey the room Zoraean realized that this wasn't his house.
But being slightly comforted by the realization of where he was, Zoraean laid back down and fell into a slightly less troubled sleep.
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Amirae awakened with a tired heart and a battered soul. She slowly unraveled herself from the bed-sheets and blankets she has become entangled in. Once free Amirae set her feet on the hardwood floor, it felt cold. She stood up and half walked half stumbled towards the wash basin. The face that looked back at her in the reflective water mirrored what she felt in her dream. Wild tussled hair frames her face. Red puffy eyes stared back at her.
A menacing thought crossed her mind, a small flicker of doubt nudged her fear. Amirae shoved it away, dismissing it as nothing more than a dark rumor created by a restless night plagued by a devilish dream.
Deciding to have breakfast in the dining room Amirae splashed water on her face and straightened her hair in an effort to look presentable. She pulled on a gown from her wardrobe, smoothed out the wrinkles, and stared at the long upright mirror at the other end of the room. As long as anyone who saw her stayed at least this far away, her current look would pass.
She opened the bedroom's heavy wooden door and stepped into the hallway. A long pine-green carpet covered the hallway floor. On it were embroidered in gold thread depictions of the most noteworthy of Arbon's histories. She recognized most of them by now. Especially the image she looked at now. Stitched in gold thread is the final battle of King Daenoran. A great army is pictured on the cloth, intricately detailed warriors with spears, swords, and shields. Waving flags and banners bearing the crest of Arbon jut out over the swarm of soldiers. A majestic warrior ran in their lead, his brows strong and his hair wild.
He was the Ironbone King, Ursidaen's father. Not only was this battle considered his greatest victory, it was also his last. After this battle he was never seen again. Though stray tales could be heard from the mountain men that roamed the northern forest, the Bo Sen.
Amirae put an end to her trailing thoughts, and, without a second glance at the telltale carpet, made her way to the dining room.
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A sinister figure sat crouched by the river shallows. His deep dark eyes gazed into the restless water. The bubble and swish on the gravely bank whispered through the heartless winter air. It accompanied the pondering parasite that plagued his mind.
"No!" Said Jahad aloud, with a slight growl. "SILENCE!"
Having shut up the treasonous whispers he stood up to mount his horse. He looked up into the cloudless gray sky, skullbirds circled overhead.
Death.
Skullbirds were a foreboding of death. Whether it was dead, dying, or yet to. Jahad peered at them with hidden disgust, white skinless heads and beaks, black soulless eyes. It was no wonder why they were given the name. But he had learned to use all things to his purpose and kept his eyes open.
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Upon entering the dining room Amirae found her father seated in one of the chairs located at the middle of the table. On his plate was his usual breakfast, hot fresh bread with sliced ham. Though most of it seems untouched. Amirae cleared her throat to announce her presence. Her father's head jerked toward her right away.
"Good morning." Said Amirae courteously.
Her father looked at her in silence. Only now did she notice his unkempt hair, red eyes and sad expression. The puzzled look he now showed turned his face into an unrecognizable mess. Yet somehow this mess brought in her a sense of awakening.
"I-uhm..." Stammered her father.
"How-how do you feel, Amirae?" He asked as he slowly walked towards her.
"I feel alright, considering I had the most horrifying nightmare." She replied.
Her father now stood before her as he asked, "nightmare?"
"It all felt..." Amirae paused.
Her father looked at her in a way she had seen only once before. "It was all so..."
"No..." The small flicker of doubt had now grown into a confident flame.
"It can't-, it wasn't..." She said, though the words she spoke contrasted with what she believed
"...real." She finished at last
Reality rammed her in the heart like the monster that rammed her husband and child to their deaths.
Soft waves of realization flowed downward until they became the inescapable flood of sorrow. Deep distraught washed through heart and flows from her eyes. She could not hold back the warm tears rushing to soothe her quivering cheeks.
"My daughter, I-." He paused for a few seconds, as if he were contemplating what to say.
Instead of finishing his sentence the father rushed to his child with open arms and clamped her into a comforting embrace. Amirae felt safe and warm amidst the cold darkness that tugged at her heart.
After what seemed like a lifetime did she pull away. After the storm had calmed down to a heavy rainfall did she let go, and so did her father. His eyes questioned her with a
And while her tears still leaked across her face, she walked away. She closed the door with a dull thud, breaking the deadening silence that filled the room behind her. In the empty, heartless hallway she slid to the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, and her head cradled in her arms. The tears she cried watered the sprouting seed of sorrow that would surely entangle her heart.
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The sweet scent of apples and cinnamon wafted from a little pot atop a small iron stove. It wove through the living room all the way up narrow stairs. The fragrance of lemon and ginger then found its way under the bedroom's door.
Zoraean blinked, rubbed his eyes, then blinked again. He sniffed the air; he recognized the homely hint of steaming winter brew. He swung his legs of the bed and looked around the room. Everything was just as he had left it long ago. A peek through the little window near the ceiling told him today would be gloomy. He glanced at the clock on the wall, it was still morning. Zoraean stepped out of bed, walked to the door, and opened it. He was greeted with the sight of a familiar old flight stairs. The solid, worn wooden steps that once been a certain shade of blue. The wall-mounted banister which had saved his life many a times after a hazardous hurry downward.
He remembered it all. It brought a joy to his heart and a smile to his face.
The unmistakable shuffle of a certain pair of feet sounded from the living room. Though they were slower than he remembered Zoraean knew right away to whom they belonged.
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Dark clouds loomed in from behind the mountain range. A strong icy wind blew in from north-east, it stung her face in a way that woke her up from the sorrow filled haze she found herself in. Amirae saw and felt it all from the balcony of their room, except, now it was just hers.
"RHAAAAAHHH!!!" Screamed Amirae into the wind. "RRRRRHAAAAAAAAHH!!!"
With her face red and her lungs out of air she stepped towards the handrail. She bent over it and gazed at the ground below, it looked so disturbingly welcome. A certain escape from the cold reality in which she was caught. Testing her resolve she leaned a little further. And a little more, she could feel the ground pulling her, she could feel the beckons of death.
Suddenly shocked by her own loss of control she reeled back. Her own lack of strength scared her. Her hands trembled and her legs felt weak, she had to sit down. Anger, sorrow and hopelessness formed an impenetrable jumble in her head. And to add upon all that were the skull birds that circled overhead. Amirae felt their haunted gazes slink around in her mind. She sank back into a chair. She buried her face in dress and pressed her hands against her ears. She imagined the slicing sensation slowly fading away.
With her hands on her ears Amirae found herself in a quiet, muted world. One where pain was distant, sorrow far away, and ?madness? out of reach. She heard the muffled sound of crackling thunder rumble over the mountains. She dared a peek towards the sky and saw that the skullbirds had gone. Having nothing more to shield herself from she should have ???, but she did not. In her ears resonated the comforting sound of the beating pulse.
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After riding upriver for nearly half an hour Jahad found his men. They awaited him by the southward path, as he had instructed them.
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"Good morning, Zoraean!" Said the old man kindly.
"Good morning." Replied Zoraean. "Kirlon, why am I here?"
"We will get to that later my boy, but first, let us have a drink."
And so they sat themselves in the warm, cosy living room.