The Day of Reckoning

Chapter 1: The Pillar of Education (Part 1)

She turned to Deej, "Ardanaf," she said, "Thank you."

Deej nodded, "You won't be gone forever," he said. "I will ask the spirits to guide you."

Finally, Laurel looked at Gorrmunsa. "I am ready," she declared.

He inserted the syringe into her right arm—the hand that held the stylus—and depressed the plunger.

Laurel winced as the liquid coursed through her system. Finally, the Kytarr removed the needle. Laurel felt a small rush, and a slight flush, but nothing more.

"How long does it take to affect the wyrts?" she asked.

Gorrmunsa pointed to the furry mass already congregated at her feet. Others came down the walls toward her.

"Not long," he stated simply. Laurel's friends closed the curtain of the cloister and retreated from the room as the first wyrt laid a foot-pad on Laurel's head.

Instantly—far faster than the wyrts in that cave under Mt. Horbaroth—Laurel's eyes flew open as she was plunged into a kaleidoscope world of shimmering images. The library came to life before her, but all she could think about were the furnishings the room did not hold, books she did not have. Was the room always this sparse? She moved around within it. Advertisements for bookstores and furniture floated before her eyes. She saw a vase and immediately desired to fill it with flowers. Why were all the drapes closed? Surely it would be midday by now!

The minute her hands brushed the fabric, Laurel remembered who she was and what she needed to do. She sat in a chair and closed her eyes, focusing on the source of the barrage of stimulus, trying to find what or where it was. She thought about...

She needed a new dress. Her jerkin was beginning to look faded. Besides, it wasn't fashionable. She should get something for supper as well. Some nice wine, a leg of mutton, or a ham, perhaps. And of course a new gown meant new shoes, new stockings—was she even wearing a corset? Honorable Lady Ventimeer would be having a party tonight. Was she on good enough terms with the lady to make an appearance?

Laurel clenched her eyes tighter, willing her more vulnerable consciousness further away from the prying influence. She pushed back, fighting for some strand that would lead her to the Scholarship pillar, knowing that the minute she gave into any of the bombarding thoughts the wyrts would have a way in and there would be no escaping them. They pressed closer in—there was something she needed to do, some sort of escape she had in just this kind of situation. What was it? Laurel felt completely lost in her mind, detached from her body.

In one swirling explosion, the whole psychedelic vision evaporated. Laurel's eyes snapped open, and she returned to the present. Her clothes and hair were dripping with sweat. She lay on the floor of the library, near the door into the hallway, curled in the fetal position. The stylus—Where was the stylus?

Laurel finally lifted her head. Her body felt stiff and sore. She turned her body—and froze. Above her in an easy chair, a dark figure sat. Pale hair, pale skin, dark clothing, and in the shadowy library, all that Laurel could see were the piercing silver eyes. The intruder stared down at her, fiddling with the empty stylus in his hand—her hand? Laurel could not tell if the person was male or female; she glanced at the hands: small, nimble fingers—female, then. The woman blinked at her under a long forelock of white-blond hair that was cut short boy-fashion at the nape of the neck.

Laurel wanted to move away from this stranger, to defend herself from the threat of attack. However, the psychic shock had left little strength in her limbs. She moved to sit up, to drag her body over to the wall, but she could barely manage an inch.