Love / Hate

by David J. Turner, posted on March 27th, 2001

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Part IV: Of Hate and Love Obscura

          It was a black, lifeless void. Nothing stirred; there was no sound, no movement, no air or sky, no ground. Nothing. He was a floating, disembodied soul, left to wander the ethereal oblivion of death for an eternity. There was no beginning nor end, no start nor finish. It was an infinite, hollow void. He tried to think back to what had happened. He remembered glorious fire and damnable heat. Damnable, condemning heat.
          He could not remember much before that. Images flickered past his eye, an eye that did not exist. He saw a woman, and she loved him. He was lost to her. He saw another person, much like him. Lost to the flames of anger and the burning rage of prejudice. They slowly blurred into obscurity, fading away. He was sinking now, sinking into an omnipotent sense of misplacement. He was nothing and everything; few and many.
          A pinprick of light pierced the darkness, making shadows flee like unwanted children. The light was growing distant though, and he was going to leave it. He stopped, thinking he had heard something familiar. He heard it again. Someone was saying 'Lakros'. That name caused pain, though he did not know why. It came again. Some rude person was disturbing his rest. How uncaring of them. He moved toward the light, thinking to speak with them.
          The pinprick widened, slowly taking place over the residing darkness. It became a tunnel as he pushed on, covering him from all sides. It took him in, a suction sucking him up and into the light. He burned all over, struggling to resist. The burning sensation became sheer torment as it tore him asunder.
          He sat up violently, convulsing. The form, back in Lakros's body, turned over heaving as he gasped for air. His lungs burnt as if they had not been used in a good while. A soft hand gently rubbed his bare back and an old gnarly man sitting across the room stared at him. Lakros, ever so slowly, moved to a sitting position. He put his hands to his temples softly, groaning. It felt like someone had placed his head on a rock, and then proceeded to beat it with a hammer. His head, not the rock.
          "Are you going to live, then?" A gruff voice asked him, sending shards of glass into his mind. He winced as he slowly opened his eyes. The world was spinning in such a manner that he immediately closed his eyes, less he sick up again. He gently rested his head back against the wall.
          "Tom, is that you? What am I doing here? And why does my whole body hurt?"
          "You died, my boy, that is what you are doing here. This fine young specimen of a lady, Dae'nar I believe, found you and brought you here. Considering you were dead, you should not over much complain about such slight inconveniences as cramps and the like."
          A soft voice spoke in a sob over his shoulder. He felt warm arms slipping around him as the one voice he thought he would never hear again sounded in his ears. "Oh, Lakros, I am so glad you are alive. I saw you and I thought… I thought… you were dead! Tom has been working on you for weeks! I read your note. How could you go off and do that?" A sob escaped her lips as she rested against him. Despite the pain, he opened his eyes to look at her face. He wiped her tears away with a thumb.
          "I was doing what needed to be done, though unfortunately I did not complete my task. I had to do it for my brother. He had nothing against Hoaron and he was murdered for it. His soul cannot rest in peace until justice is had. I will try to come back for you, Dae'nar. I love you."
          She looked at him, pain in her wonderful eyes. She choked out the next words, a touch fearfully. "I am with your child, my love."
          He could not keep his jaw from slacking. She was pregnant with his child. He had never thought of such consequences to their actions. He did not particularly wish to warrant time to anything but their actions that night. He was going to have a child. He was not hesitant in his love for her anymore, and he would have indeed wanted her to bare his child, but he was going to die. He was almost positive. But what was done was done, and could not be undone. He would just have to come back alive for certain. For both Dae'nar and his unborn daughter, he somehow knew it would be a girl, he would have to come back alive.
          He kissed her forehead softly, standing on wobbly legs. He ran his fingers through her hair, closing his eyes softly. "I am glad that is so. Perhaps if I fail, there will be a legacy of mine left. But I must do this, it is needed."
          She look frightened, then suddenly smiled, if a bit weakly. "I will go with you then, to make sure you come back alive. We will be careful and safe." He began to think about abandoning this ordeal. Then it hit him like a stone; Hoaron would not let them leave alive. Either way he went, someone was going to die. He had to make sure it was not Dae'nar.
          He quickly ran through all the ways to escape but he new Hoaron was having her watched. If she left with him and Tom, one of them would be dead. He could not allow that. Tom would do as Lakros asked. The old adventurer understood wisdom when he heard it. But Dae'nar was blinded by love and that would force her into a mistake. He would loose her and his unborn child. That could not happen, even if it meant the damnation of his soul. He had to do it quick, to make sure it all worked out. He leaned forward to kiss her, and she met his lips without protest. She dropped down into his arms limply, taken by a magic sleep.
          "Tom, do me a favor, my friend. Several moments after I leave, revive her and take her away with you. Please do not let her come after me. If all goes well, I will meet you in Tarant, at the place where we met. Do you remember that?"
          Tom's old, winkled head bobbed that he did. "I will do as you ask, old friend. I do not believe she will be pleased with me, but on my honor as a necromancer of both schools, I promise to do as you ask. Take care and bag me a few of those techies while you're at it?"
          The elf grinned morbidly. "Aye, Tomas. I will."
          The old man spoke no further words as Lakros strode out, at a jog. Lakros did not bother to search down the assassin he knew to be in the hills. Soon, the assassin would be following him, he was sure. His confidence would have waned if he saw the group of men, carrying nets and the like, enter the windmill.
          It was just before dusk as he reached Iraoh, slowing to a walk. He ignored the fatigue touching at the insides of his mouth, creeping down to the gray building with a bad shingle job. He crouched, focusing all the power he retained. He closed his eyes as his headache returned in earnest. Heat began to come from where his hands were cusped, facing the home. A small ball of fire, no larger than a marble, began to burn his flesh, though it was a good foot away. The marble of fire fell forward, landing on the building. It ignited in an explosion unsurpassed by magick users of even diving origin.
          He finally let a true, happy smile onto his face as the burning ruins fell from the sky. It was done, and he had not even faced any danger. Hoaron could now rot in his own little hell, and Shoar had his justice. He could return to Dae'nar and help her raise his child. He truly felt bliss as he rose to his feet. It bubbled up into him, causing a joyous lightness in his chest.
          A club caused burning agony to the back of his head. He fell limply, without a sound. A certain greasy dwarf standing overhead laughed oily.