Clarion Call

Clarion Call, pt 8

The time passed quickly, between her training and the chores she assisted Brian and Eara with Deirdre hardly had time to consider what would come when Artan was strong enough to make the long journey to the capital Aergad. In truth, she shied away from thinking about what it meant to be The Clarion, about what the dreams that visited her every night could possibly mean.

Though different from the dreams that had plagued her while under the power of Eara's drafts, they held a consistent theme since she had started to sleep on her own. She would close her eyes to sleep and open them on a gray and featureless dreamscape, empty but for a lone figure wreathed in flickering black, whose voice rand out in the echoing vastness. Though he was cloaked affectively against her sight, his voice was familiar, one that she could not quite pinpoint other than as the Voice who whispered advice to her even during her waking hours.

            They spoke of many things in those dreams, but often when she awoke she could not remember the details. All that would remain was the promise that when the time was right, the knowledge would return to her. What Deirdre could remember were the Voice's attempts at teaching her control over the power that simmered beneath her skin. His methods were harsh: coming close, she could see that the flickering black was a heatless fire that licked at his skin.

            "This will burn you if you let it." It was the only warning he gave before his hand snaked out and gripped her arm, the same place where deep purple bruises still lingered. The fire poured off of him, racing along her skin. Burn was such a tame word compared to the agony that knocked Deirdre to her knees screaming. Then there was no air left in her lungs and she fell twitching to the gray earth. A cool hand gripped her arm once more, drawing the flames from her skin. After it was gone, she lay panting, frantically examining herself but there was no charred skin, no burnt hair falling from her. She was whole, left only with a memory of the pain. The Voice stood over her, silent until Deirdre regained her footing.

            "We will do this again. Now, when the flames reach you do not scream: breathe it in." Bruised green eyes stared up at his hidden face in shock.

            "Are you insane? Why would I--" But his hand was gripping her once again and all was black fire once more. It was after the fifth burning that she frantically put her mouth to the fire and inhaled as deeply as she could. The flames cooled instantly, following the line of her breath into her body, traveling into the empty space where the power had set its roots. The last of it trailed behind her lips, and she clamped her mouth shut to prevent its pouring back out again. It struggled, pressing against her teeth and causing them to ache.

            "Control it. It is of the same power you already have, make it obey you."

            The pain was quickly becoming overwhelming, the cold entering into her bones and making her shake violently. She felt her temper rising, heating her with its angry energy. She had not asked for any of this! The pain, the power, none of it! Who thought they had a right to inflict this on her, to make her some mythic Clarion? Well so be it, if it is what she must be, then by the gods this pain was going to end! The cold receded before her anger, the power contracting into a small ball that obediently spilled out of her mouth into her hands, flickering and gleaming with potential. It was beautiful, rolling and spinning like liquid fire.

Deirdre threw it high up into the gray nothingness that was the sky in this dream place and it exploded into a thousand sparks, and she smiled triumphantly at the wondrous cacophony of it all. It shattered the dreamscape, pushing her into wakefulness. She heard the Voice whisper "Forgive me" as she opened her eyes and left him behind. Forgiveness for the pain? It slipped her mind as she turned back over onto her side, and fell into a true and deep slumber.

            On the day that Deirdre and Artan were prepared to leave, Brian pulled the younger man aside. He had been having a silent argument within himself over the last three weeks about whether or not to say anything about what was going on here. Even though Brian knew that Eara would be furious if she found out about his interference, but sometimes a man just had to do what it would take in order to be able to sleep at night.

            The girl looked at him a little curiously, but as usual she was too lost in her own head to truly see what was going on. His heart ached for her: she tried so hard to not let anyone see just how acutely she was still feeling the loss of her family, her home, and in a sense, her freedom. There were those few golden moments when one of them would surprise a smile out of her, or even a laugh, but for a great deal of the time she was quiet, staring at nothing. He worried about her, what would happen when she left this safe place and was taken out into a dangerous world with a man who only sought to use her for his own purposes.

            Artan followed him to the other side of the clearing from where Eara and Deirdre still worked at packing saddlebags with provisions. Eara eyed him with a look Brian knew all too well, but even so, he was determined to have his say.

            "What is it you wanted to talk about?"

            "Well..." Brian had thought long on what he wanted to say, but he wasn't a man skilled with words. "I know you and Eara think that what yer doin' is justified by the struggle...but this girl's been put through enough without you addin' more. I think you should take it easy on her, let her be." An angry spark glinted in Artan's eyes at Brian's warning.

            "What I do once I leave this place is my own business. I don't know just what you think is going on but --"

            "We both know what yer doin'," Brian growled at the smaller man. "I seen your measures of persuasion. You think that because you've lost someone that it makes it alright for you to use any means necessary to win yer revenge, but it don't. It makes you more and more like yer enemy, our enemy. I know you, Artan, and that yer a good man. Just be that man."

            The two men looked at each other silently for a moment as Artan tried to swallow his own sense of shame. This task was hard enough without Brian making him see just what a low person he was for doing what must be done.

            "You have had three weeks to say something, anything, about what has been going on. But you haven't. You were at that table with Eara, and you chose not to speak up, just as you didn't speak up when another method might have been put into effect. You only do so now so that you can forgive yourself for my...persuasion."

            "Yer right, of course. I could have said somethin' sooner, and I probably should've. But..." Looking back at the young woman who moved slowly to accomplish each task, as if the world weighed down on her shoulders, her pale skin gleaming in the morning sunlight, he sighed, "It brought her out of her shell a bit, and a smile to her face. After what I saw in her face that first night, I couldn't bring myself to take it away. I can't fault yeh for that. All I'm askin', Artan, is that yeh not take advantage past the point you and I both know yeh shouldn't."

Artan had no response that would not make him appear worse in the eyes of a man he liked and respected, so he merely nodded his head and walked back to the two ladies. At the sound of his approach, Deirdre looked up and met his eyes with her own, a quick flash of a warm smile lighting up her face. His stomach dropped a little at how striking she was when she smiled at him that way, but he shook the thought out of his head. Personal feelings couldn't come into what he was going to have to do.