A/N: I chose this song because it really helped me get through a bad case of writer's block for this chapter. I also chose it because, although it might not be apparent yet, the lyrics have a lot of relevance to Sam - who, incidentally, is becoming a LOT more fun to write.
That night, Sam dreamed he was the wind.
He awoke in the dream curled in on himself. He was compressed, trapped, wrapped up in a ball. He could feel a raging power inside him, desperate to escape. But he was confined by something, something that pushed in on him and held him utterly still. He was immobile, unable to even attempt an escape.
He pushed at his prison, testing it. The confines were like stone, unbreakable against his touch. Sam pushed harder, straining against it. Yet the more he pushed, the more he was constricted. In his fury, he let out a scream at his prison. It seemed to shudder at his fury, then contract and bind him tighter.
With a gentler touch, he ran his… being… across the surface of the confines. He had no real form, no fingers to touch with. It was like he had abandoned his body and taken on a purer form.
Beneath his touch, he could sense that the place he was trapped in was at once infinite and indestructible, yet also distinctly finite and malleable. The less he pushed against his prison, the easier he found it to move.
And then at last, he found it: the exit. Sam pushed at it gingerly and found himself flow out of it with remarkable ease.
He rushed out into the air outside, rippling with vitality. He was free.
Sam soared up high, his being stretching out across all of Veritas. He became all places at once; he was the air itself. His mind raced across the cloudsea, feeling the rolling sea of water vapour as if it were a part of his body. The slightest touch of his mind stirred the clouds into a huge storm. Another brush and it was calm again. He turned his direction east, and felt the presence of a different kind of air. He surged towards it.
Land rapidly came into view. With it, Sam felt his form change. Solara stretched around him. Beneath him rose the Tower of Voices. At the peak, the Light of a Thousand Kings shone bright in the night. A part of Sam felt tugged towards the Tower, but that part of him was irrelevant. He was the wind.
Again, Sam turned his attention east and he raced across the plains to the Summersea. It stretched out for miles. In parts of it, mists formed, and he felt them as if they were a part of him too. He extended his mind out across the Summersea, following it as it flowed into the Seven Great Rivers.
He pulled his mind back together and shot northwest toward Nys. The city seemed to gleam in the moonlight, yet a dark, repulsive force pushed back at Sam. His wind-body shuddered and sent waves of air racing through the air. Skirting around the southern border of Nys, Sam flowed over the Honshitsu Mountains.
In the centre of the mountain range was a long flat plain, stretching from north to south. In the centre, the land fell away, forming a ring around an island. From it rose He Who Watches, the Great Tree. A foreign presence stemmed from it. Sam felt a chill pass through his being and the wind he was transformed from a cool summer breeze to a chill winter wind.
Sam flowed through the massive branches of the tree. The leaves whispered around him, red, gold, green, yellow – they were the colours of the seasons, for in Alethia, no one season ever gained dominance.
The raging power within him began to call out in yearning, pulling Sam toward Dominion. He rose over the mountains and raced through the Ruins of Razareth, wound past the Weeping Wyverns and over the cloudsea.
And there it rose: Dominion, the great island citadel. Home to the Nine and their thousands of acolytes.
Massive walls of stone rose from the edges of Dominion, protecting it from the outside world. Within, the island city stretched for miles and miles.
Even at this hour, Sam-the-wind could feel the breaths of many hundreds of people going about the island, speaking their prayers. He longed to go down, to whisper as light as a breeze among this secretive nation, to see these people that had given so much. The calling that surged within him, however, tugged him further inland.
And then ahead of him, the Temple of the Nine came into view.
The raging force inside him slammed against the edges of his being, and Sam roared like a howling gale into the Temple. The massive wooden doors slammed open and all around him, the fires that lit the Nine went out in a whoosh. In this revered Temple, only the Grand Master Acolyte was allowed, and he sat quite still in the centre of the Nine.
Sam crashed into the ground. The force inside him still roared with energy, but Sam was in control now.
He was no longer the wind: he had a body, forming around him, out of the mist of the night and the chill of the air. As his body formed, his mind was closed off from the all-expansive wind. However, he could still feel it – like a phantom limb, one that if he could just reach for it, he could use it, but without the means to do so. His body felt heavy, a dead weight that dragged him to the ground. Sam had to force himself to stand, had to remember how to walk.
He struggled toward the figure that now sat illuminated only by moonlight. Around him, the silent figures of the Nine watched on.
The man who sat before him was completely bald. His head shone, unmarred by age or hair. His face, obscured as it was in shadow, was untouched by the rivers of time. His eyes were closed as though he were sleeping.
A curious arrogance curled through Sam’s mind. I could crush him, he realized. With the barest flick of my hand, I could annihilate him. I am the wind. I am the storm. I am destruction.
“You have come, Child of Wind,” the man said quietly. His eyes did not open. “Why?”
Sam could not answer. He could feel the eyes of the Nine boring into his skin, could feel their gaze burning at his soul. He felt ashamed at his arrogance, and sat down to face the man.
“And now you sit. What causes you to sit, Child of Wind?”
“Why do you call me that?” Sam asked in a curious tone.
The man opened his eyes. They were a dark brown, plain and common. An ancient wisdom resided in them. It reminded Sam of Dallus’ eyes after he finished reading a book. It was the kind of look someone had when they contemplated the inner workings of the universe, and found answers for themselves. “Why do they call me the Grand Master Acolyte? It is the same thing, is it not?”
“No, it’s not,” Sam replied. “The Grand Master Acolyte is the avatar of the Nine. He carries out their wishes. He wields the power of the gods.”
“And yet,” the man said, “He is only an acolyte.”
Sam fell silent.
“Why have you come, Child of Wind?” the Acolyte asked again.
“I don’t know,” Sam answered truthfully. “Something inside me wanted to come here.”
The man shook his head. “You believe you came here because something else made you. I believe, however, that if you tried, you could have ignored it and gone anywhere else in Veritas.”
“Anywhere?” Sam asked the question carefully.
“Anywhere,” the man confirmed. “With the merest thought, you could have sought out the breath of anyone in Veritas and found them in an instant.”
“Then… could I find Maia?”
The Acolyte nodded. “Of course. However,” he said as Sam rose to his feet, already reaching for the power of the wind. “Is that what you want to do?”
Sam frowned. “Of course it is. I have to make sure she’s all right.”
The Acolyte spoke quietly. “What would it achieve, though?”
“I’d know if she was alive,” Sam said softly. The question had unsettled him. He sat back down. “But… what would I do after that?”
The Acolyte smiled encouragingly. “Precisely. That, I think, is why you are here.”
The ring weighed down on Sam’s mind, the words of the note burned on his thoughts and the dream tore at his heart. A solitary tear dripped down from Sam’s face. He needed help, and he knew it. “What do I do?” he croaked.
Above them, the moon shone a little brighter as it passed into one of the windows in the ceiling. The light fell down onto them and illuminated the Acolyte. “It is a curious thing, the choice between the mind and the heart. Do we forget about someone we love, following the lines of logic and thought, or do we chase after them, following the raw forces of our heart?” He studied Sam. “Time and again, you have chosen the Path of the Heart. You go against the overwhelming majority of your society by doing that, but you do it because you believe in the forces of truth and love.”
Sam shut his eyes tightly against the tears that burned in his eyes. His head bowed to the ground. “The Path of the Heart is wrong,” he said hoarsely. “Truth, love, none of it is real.”
“Why do you think the Nine made Veritas, Sam?” the man asked. “After the Shattering, the world from the Times Before was falling apart, into the abyss. The Nine created Veritas, Sam – but why?”
Sam knew the answer. He’d had it drilled into him by his tutors at Seventh Tower. With them, the answer had held no meaning, but when the Acolyte spoke, Sam found himself yearning to believe. “They made Veritas because they loved humanity too much to see it destroyed. They made Veritas as a land of truth. In return, humanity gave them a world of love.”
“Love is false,” Sam replied bitterly. He’d seen it himself, so many times before. “It leads only to pain.”
“Disillusioned with the Path of the Heart, you are. Sam, you ask me what you should do, and I tell you this: follow the way that leads you to truth. Both the mind and the heart will do so. Which way you take is up to you.”
Sam nodded slowly. “Grand Master, please – the Black Dawn. If I help them, then Maia will live… but I’ll be going back to a life I swore to leave behind. I need your guidance.”
The Grand Master Acolyte stood up, his arms tucked in his sleeves. “In this I cannot aid you, Samael. The Nine cannot aid you in this. Which way you go is your choice alone, Child of the Wind.”
Around them, the Nine glowed with an ethereal light. Sam felt his body dissolving, felt the wind reclaiming him, felt the power within exploding outward. His breath was snatched away and his flesh turned to dust.
He was the wind. He was the air. He was the breath.
As his world faded, Sam reached out across Veritas, searching frantically. Darkness ate away at his presence.
Just as he gave up, he found her. Chained to a wall, brown hair matted and stuck to her face with a dark red substance. With an arm of wind, Sam reached out for her even as his vision left him.
A whisper drifted through his waning mind. “Sam… Please…”
And then the shadows took him completely.
The darkness surrounded him as a totality. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t smell or taste. It enveloped him and all his senses. Sam struggled against it, but was met with a substance that was both thin as air and hard as stone. He pushed out with his mind instinctively, and was blocked there as well.
The shadows contracted. Sam writhed and thrashed. Then, remembering the dream, he relaxed completely, gently touching his surroundings with his mind. The blackness collapsed in on him, crushing his body. A silent scream unfurled itself from his throat, shooting out into the gloom.
And then on his chest, he felt it – a burning feeling, dim but present. He focused on it desperately. It was tiny, like a spark from a dying fire. He stoked it with his thoughts into an ember, pulling on the energy contained within it, drawing it out and strengthening the burning. The heat on his chest grew stronger, and as it developed, it loosened the hold the shadows had on him. He pushed his mind further into the burning, encouraging it with increased vigor.
The ember exploded with light and blew apart the darkness. Life surged through Sam and he felt himself become invigorated with an incredible energy. It felt like blue fire gushing through his body, setting him alight, transforming him and reshaping him.
Sam woke with a gasp for breath.
The light was glowing still. It blazed on his chest, illuminating his dark room with a shine so brilliant no shadows danced in corners. Power flowed through Sam and the air around him swirled frantically. Whorls of energy streamed around the room.
Sam tried to speak but found his mouth was locked shut. He tried to stand, and couldn’t move his legs.
A voice crept into his mind. Yes, it whispered. YES! Awaken, Samael! Awaken, and know your POWER!
The air itself was coming alive, gathering energy and speed. It roared around the room, picking up books and throwing them through the air. Massive gusts of wind swirled in a circle, tossing up anything in its path… and Sam was the eye of the storm.
The light on his chest flashed out quite suddenly. The wind died. Objects fell to the ground. Movement returned to Sam’s limbs and he flopped down on the bed.
He glanced down at his arms. That was when he saw it.
Rash-like stains of grey had spread down his arms. Though they were fading into colour quickly, the abnormality was clearly visible. Only one thing could have caused it.
Sam was a deiomancer.
But how? Only an Awakening could make someone a deiomancer, and Sam had never had it done. They were for one thing expensive, and for another completely against his philosophy. And then there was the matter of when… Sam furrowed his brow. When could it have happened? The only time an Awakening could happen was when the person being Awakened was asleep.
A tingle of unease trickled through Sam. He closed his eyes and groaned. First the ring and the Code, then the Nyscari, and now this? What have I done to the Nine that would displease them so?
With a jolt, he remembered the first half of his dream. I was… I was the wind. And I went to Dominion, isle of the Nine. I spoke with the Grand Master Acolyte! Sam leapt from the bed. He had to write down what he remembered. He shuffled through the papers and books strewn everywhere, trying to find even a single scrap that hadn’t been used.
Unfortunately, it seemed as though the inkpots he kept in his room had let loose their contents in the miniature hurricane. Streaks of ink lined the walls, but the worst of it was on the paper. Every piece he picked up seemed to have at least a few large blotches on it.
“Oh, shit,” he groaned as he straightened up and fully appreciated the mess.
The room was, quite simply, destroyed. The books were falling out of their bindings. His clothes had blown everywhere. Ink had somehow even made it into his wardrobe, and splashes of blue and black decorated the clothes that still hung in there.
A crackle of paper sounded behind him. Sam spun.
It was Thedric. “What the hell happened…” He glared at Sam. “What is this?”
Sam hesitated guiltily. “Er… an… accident?”
Thedric sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his right hand. “And I suppose it’s an accident you’d rather Dallus didn’t know about?”
A nod from Sam, who had finally found an unmarked piece of paper. He swore. He had paper, but all the ink was now in a daubed mess around the room.
“Lost something, my lord?” Thedric asked wearily.
Sam nodded distractedly, already pushing apart piles of paper with his foot. “Do you have any ink on you?”
Without a word, Thedric reached into his pocket and pulled out a stoppered pot of ink and a fountain pen. Sam walked over and took them gratefully.
“A late breakfast will be served in a quarter of an hour, at Master Dallus’ behest,” Thedric said as Sam leant over the desk and scribbled away on the paper. “I can see that most of your clothing is now ruined… Would you like me to send something up from the washrooms?”
The scratch of pen on paper paused for a second. Sam nodded. The scratching continued.
“Very well. It should be here presently.” Thedric strode out of the room.
Sam barely noticed him go; he was too absorbed with the task of detailing every last aspect of the dream. As he wrote, the blue stone around his neck fell out of his nightshirt.
He went to tuck it away, then paused. Carefully, he laid down the fountain pen and held the stone up to his face.
It wasn’t blue anymore. The colour had drained away from it almost entirely, leaving it with only the dullest azure tinge. Sam rolled it around in his fingers. Something else was missing, but he couldn’t quite place it.
Then he realized: the tingling had stopped.
That was it. That was the final confirmation. Sam recalled Dallus’ words the night before: “Only a deiomancer can use it.”
He was a deiomancer. And, if the miniature tornado in his room was anything to go by, he was, quite specifically, an aeromancer.
A quiet knock on the door announced the arrival of his clothes. He thanked the servant girl and took them from her. She peered at the chaos of his room with a quizzical expression. Sam laughed and smiled at her, then closed the door.
Several minutes later, Sam had made his way down to the main dining hall.
It was empty.
Sam glanced around the room, trying to seek out Dallus’ distinctive form. He was nowhere to be seen. With a shrug, Sam walked around the tables into the side dining room.
Again, empty.
Sam scowled and turned out of the room, back into the main hall. Thedric was waiting for him.
Sam’s tone was irritated, but not quite rude. “Where is he?”
Thedric smiled. “If you had perhaps waited, then you’d know that Dallus is taking breakfast in the garden. Follow me, if you please.”
“I know where the garden is,” Sam grumbled, but followed the butler anyway. He and Thedric had a rather interesting relationship: Sam, either by accident or design, was the most trying person Thedric had ever served, and Thedric responded by treating Sam with never-ending patience, albeit sarcastically.
They walked together through a small door in the main hall that exited into a narrow passage. The walls of stone closed in so tightly around Sam he had to turn on his side slightly to get through. Against his skin, the stone had a cold, clammy feeling.
Sam emerged gratefully into the garden behind Thedric. Ahead of him, he could see Dallus seated at a low wooden table. Two places were laid out, one for Sam and one for Dallus. Sam made his way toward him.
“Delightful day, isn’t it?” Dallus said cheerfully, gesturing with a wine glass at the sky. Sam followed his hand and looked up. It was indeed a nice day, with only a few clouds drifting lazily across the sky. The sun was already far above the eastern horizon, Sam noted. A light breeze wafted through the garden and the grass. Around them, the trees rustled and lost a few leaves. Dallus spoke again. “The weather is so changeable these days.”
The garden, though small, was perhaps Sam’s favourite part of the castle. It was more of a dell than a garden, really. A low stone wall ran around the edges of the garden that didn’t back up against the castle proper. Small trees ringed the glade, growing up against the side of the wall. A stream trickled its way over rocks in a small stream, and eventually wound its way into a pond at the bottom of the clearing. The splash of fish in the water echoed up to Sam, who now sat opposite Dallus at the table. Thedric stood at the head of the table for a moment, bowed and exited.
A few moments later, a serving girl brought out a covered platter. She laid it down on the table, revealing two plates of Crêpe Suzette. Dallus smiled gratefully at her and she scurried away. Sam waited for Dallus to take his plate before he took his own. They ate in a contented silence, and the garden was filled with the sounds of wind in weaving through the trees, fish splashing to the surface of the water and the flow of water over the rock bed of the stream.
When Sam finished, he wiped his fingers on his napkin and waited patiently for Dallus. While he waited, he listened attentively to the sound of the wind.
He could hear it around him, the ebb and flow of the air. It was like in the dream, the phantom feeling of a limb he couldn’t use. Sam could feel the air as though it were a part of him, yet he couldn’t do anything with it. He closed his eyes in frustration.
“Sam,” Dallus said. “We need to talk.”
Sam’s heartbeat quickened. He opened his eyes hurriedly. “About what, sir?”
“About that damned Nyscari. Tasorys, that was his name, wasn’t it?”
“Oh. Right.” Sam barely kept the relief out of his tone. “What is it?”
Dallus sighed. “He guessed your identity, Samael. What happens to you if word gets back to Solara?”
A dull chill rocked through Sam’s gut. He’d barely given it any thought. The note had distracted him completely, and after the dream he had last night… Sam cleared his throat. “They call me the God Child reborn?” he said hopefully.
Dallus snorted. “Oh, gods, boy. No, they call you a traitor. And this time, you really will die.”
Sam flinched at that. That particular wound was still raw, and the current situation was only exacerbating it.
It happened five years ago. Five years ago, Sam had turned his back on everything he knew and loved, for a greater cause: the Black Dawn. Had he been anyone else, he could have gotten away with simply disappearing. Had he been anyone else, Sam could have joined them with little fuss. The cult was growing in power even then, and it was growing more and more common to see the insignia in the shadier districts of Solara.
But Sam wasn’t just anyone. He was a Prince of the Seven. A Prince of the Seven couldn’t just disappear.
They had to die.
Five years ago, Sam faked his own death, and left behind his pampered life as a Prince of the Seven to become a Disciple of the Lord of Darkness, to become a member of the Black Dawn. To become one who sought a single goal: the Return.
Sam bowed his head. “I know,” he whispered. He stood from his seat and walked down to the pond. His eyes glazed over as he watched the clear water and the fish within.
Two koi carp circled each other in constant motion. One was a dark black colour with a white mark on its forehead. The other was a clean white, with a black mark on its forehead. As they swam in their circles, they sometimes broke the surface of the water and sent ripples shimmering, breaking Sam’s reflection.
Dallus appeared at Sam’s side. In the water, Sam could see the man’s aged face was lined even further with concern.
“I’m worried, Sam. If Tasorys takes this news back to Solara, it could spell the end for you. I don’t want that to happen to you like it did to me.”
Sam closed his eyes. His dark brown hair fell over his eyelids, but he didn’t brush it away. “But what can we do?”
He opened his eyes and glanced at his tutor. Dallus had an incredibly weary expression on his face. When he spoke, he spoke so softly Sam could barely hear him. “I want you to go to Skyfall.”
Alarm snapped Sam to attention. “Sir! What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” Dallus replied, “that you aren’t safe here, and the only safe place is Skyfall. Solara doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the Atherian Council. They can’t get to you.”
Oh, thank the Nine, Sam thought. He doesn’t know. “Dallus, I don’t know about this. If I stay here, we could convince them that I’m not Samael of Seventh Tower. But if I flee, that’s all the confirmation they need.”
Dallus stared at him sardonically. “You really think you could convince your own parents that you’re not their son?”
Perfect. I resist a little, but cave eventually. Sam smiled. “I see your point. When will I be leaving, then?”
Dallus frowned. “An old friend of mine is going to be passing through here soon. He sent word ahead of him. You can travel with him. He’s going to Alfheim, and I trust him implicitly.”
Sam hesitated. “Are you sure you can trust him?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll take your word for it, sir.” Sam paused. “If it’s fine with you… I’d like to go away for a while.”
“Away? Why?” Dallus’ tone was apprehensive.
“I need to… clear my head. I’m sorry, Dallus, but lately… Lately, study hasn’t been the first thing on my mind.”
Dallus nodded in understanding. “It won’t matter that you’ll be missing study; you’re leaving soon anyway. So long as you’re back within a couple of weeks, you can go anywhere you want within Atheria, perhaps barring the southern border.”
“Thank you, Dallus,” Sam said warmly. I’m sorry, he thought.
Cloverdale was quiet when Sam arrived, late in the afternoon. The streets were almost deserted. Most of the occupants of the town would either be out working fields or trading for goods, Sam knew. For that, he was grateful.
When he entered the market square, he found that it, too, was deserted. The stores were open, true, but it wasn’t a market day and so the stalls that usually lined the edges were packed away. Sam strode purposefully through the square to his destination.
Sam walked up to Curlicue and Stayne’s with his head bowed to the ground. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and looked up into the shop.
It was closed. The windows were bereft of books, and as Sam peered in with heightening worry, he saw that the shelves were empty as well. Anxiously, he grabbed the door handle and rattled it. It didn’t give. He knocked on the door loudly several times.
Finally, giving up, he slid to the ground in the doorway and lowered his head onto his knees.
The lightest scuff of boot on stone. “They’re gone.”
Sam looked up at the origin of the voice tiredly.
In front of him stood a woman in black uniform. The Dawn insignia was emblazoned on her shoulder, Sam could see now. He narrowed his eyes. “You. You’re the one who’s been following me.”
The woman nodded. She gestured at Sam. “Come.”
“What’s your name?” Sam called to her retreating figure.
“Kyra,” she spoke back. She paused. Then, again, “Come.”
Sam sighed and got to his feet with the utmost reluctance. He fingered the ring as he walked quickly to catch up with the woman.
She led him through the streets of Cloverdale to a small stable at the edge of town. It was the same gate Sam had said goodbye to Brynn at, just the day before. Kyra was leaning against a wooden post when he arrived.
She looked him up and down. “Where are your things?”
Sam pointed at a bag tucked behind some hay. Only someone actively looking for it would have found it. Kyra grabbed it and tied it to the horse that stood waiting, saddled and ready. Sam didn’t recognize it from the stables in Cloverdale, and neither did he recognize it from Spire Castle.
He did, however, recognize it from the stables that belonged to his cell in the Dawn. Sam walked over to the jet-black horse and rubbed its mane. The horse snorted at him. “Sleipnir,” he said with a smile. He turned to Kyra. “My daggers?”
She pulled out a small bundle wrapped in untanned leather. Sam unfolded it.
When he left Seventh Tower, the only weapon he knew how to use proficiently was a dagger. The Black Dawn took that skill and honed it like the blades he now held, until he became one of their best agents – especially for a novice.
He took a dagger in each hand, and spoke their names to them. “Wrath,” to the dagger in his right, “and Retribution,” to the dagger in his left.
The twin blades glowed with a dark purple light that arced along the lengths of the metal. A dark tingling of energy travelled up his arms. He looked Kyra in the eye. “I’m ready.”
She nodded. “May the Lord’s will…”
“… Burn the light away.”
Kyra flexed her arms, and vanished in a cloud of shadows. Sam slipped the daggers into their sheathes on Sleipnir. There they would stay until the time came to use them.
Sam looked out at the horizon, his eyes travelling along the divide between earth and sky once more. He had to do this. It was the call of his duty.
“I’m coming, Maia,” Sam whispered to the wind.
PS/AN: If you recognize the garden from a certain TV show, or any of the things in this chapter, then... I approve :P
Alright, everybody: this is a call for help. I want to do some proper casting for my story, but I'm terrible with actors, so I'm asking you, the reader, to give me your opinion on whom you visualize when you read about x character. Actor's names would be great :P Any suggestions, just post it in the comments.