In Lost Dreams the Four Were Bound

41 - Nerin- Succumbing

For what seemed like hours, Nerin had beat on Neris's door, screaming for her to make things right. He had pleaded, threatened her with losing her place beside him, but nothing brought her out of her chamber.

Unable to calm himself, Nerin chose to seclude himself in his room. The anger and uneasiness of the evening ate away at what little resolve he had left. The whole day was appeasement of those who did not deserve to look upon him, much less call him their brother. All the appreciation was equal to that of fly spit. Only one person's admiration was worthy of his attention, but she was too far gone.

In the darkness of the tree-top chamber, Nerin heard the whispers of his master and supporters all around. They called to him. They yearned for him to fulfill his final part of the contract and take his place. There was one step left before the following day's ceremony, and yet he could not drum up the courage to make the journey to the ordained space far below. Today's affront was the final straw of a thousand hammers levied against his ego. His black hound ears hung limp while his body sat rigid and hollow. What was the point of greatness if he could not capture the thing he prized most? He had told himself he would make Neris see the light, force her to recognize her place, but the hold of others was too strong on his beloved Delvori kin.

[When the time is right, we will face him together!] his lord had proclaimed as he prepared the last of the nectar maidens. The Virage's hold was no doubt the source of the malady that had eroded his sensibilities and locked his sister in chains of bitter malice. But was that true? Was he just deluding himself into believing that sordid lie when perhaps she was just a thrall of the world? Maybe they both were only slaves to their dead father's will, forever driven by a fear of and a lust for abuse.

Nerin did not know how long the space around him seemed to stretch and distort in the near-perfect darkness of the blackening night, but he did not care. Sometimes he scanned his surroundings, his rust-hued irises wide and dilated. Everything seemed to be falling away. Still frames of non-locomotive change flashed in his brain. At times he felt as if he were sitting upon his bed contemplating the madness around him. Other times he felt aloof as if traveling a great distance in little time.

[I'll come back for you. I promise.] Nerin pursed his lips as his face curled in scorn. His eyes were drawn shut as visages of a little black-skinned girl rolled between the folds of his brain. In those dark days, neither of them knew the truth of those who disappeared in the covered black carts. Neither of them understood what end a prisoner would meet once sold to the brown- and gold-skinned traders from afar. Nerin had run in the dark of the night as his father howled for his affections. He had found the small cages used for animals and children, among them the frail Delvori that had not respected her blood. How much had he longed for the day she'd return? How many nights had he screamed for his sister, begging to be saved? And still, she never came back.

[Be empty.] A chorus of all-too-familiar voices erupted in him as Nerin stood paralyzed for several moments. Spinning within the darkness, he felt as if the floor had changed out from under him. He felt the ground. His warm feet fondled what he imagined was the smooth, damp stonework of some ancient structure. The scent of decaying wood mixed with that of dusty, rotting mortar. Silence ruled the space around him, save for echoes of a single droplet from some deep well.

[Free yourself.] The words welled up from the ether once more. Nerin watched as small green lights sprang into existence all around him. What courage and willpower had denied him, madness and fatigue had provided. Surrounded by a dome of tiny mirrors reflecting his shade-like visage, Nerin stood once more in the hallowed hall of the ancient recess deep beneath the Hyunisti great tree. In the light of the small wisps, the room seemed to be someplace out of space. At the heart of the chamber, a vortex of mist and green-hued miasma churned and frothed. To his eyes, the pulsing tempest took on fanciful shapes, everything from faces to bodies reaching from deep within the well-like sepulcher of the sacred place.