Cambolton's Fall

Chapter Eight

Helplessness. Consequence. Repercussions. Brin could feel the warriors vice-like grips on his arms. He could sense the commotion around him even as a foot kicked the back of his legs, making him fall to his knees. He couldn't fully comprehend what was going on around him. This was the price for his life debt? This was the price for holding himself to an honorable code? His shirt was ripped from his chest, leaving his toned muscles exposed to the freezing weather. The tattered remains of his shirt hung down around his arms. When he looked down he could see his ink covered chest yet he couldn't feel the cold against his skin.

Curious. He thought. Is this shock?

There was more movement and gathering of people. Someone was speaking loudly, most likely to the crowd. Brin couldn't make out the words. His gaze was locked straight ahead, his body moving limply as the rough hands kept him standing by the iron grip on his biceps.

Stepping in from his peripheral vision, Brin noted a man. His features were blurred and unrecognizable. He carried a metal rod about two fingers in width. Its tip was bright red lined in yellow. As the snowdrops touched it, they transformed into small columns of steam.

"Your home no longer." Said the silhouette of a man.

Brin looked from the sizzling rod to his chest. The gorgeous work of art that belonged to his clan. Regeneration. The Oytili at its center was an intricate rune that was surrounded by a smaller circle that then fanned out across his tightened tendons. While still staring at the runework, the reddened rod entered his vision from the top.

Pain. Searing, blinding pain. Clarity slammed into Brins consciousness. A foul, awful smell rose into his nostrils right as his head rolled back and a roar of pain escaped his throat.

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Brin jerked upright in the middle of his yell, his hand immediately going to his chest. He quickly assessed his surroundings and realized where he actually was. He shook his foggy head, attempting to clear it. Removing his cotton shirt, he used the piece of the damp cloth to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Then he reached into his pack and pulled out a thick wool cover.

He emerged from his tent, while sliding the warm cloth over his head, to find Bard already standing outside in the early morning air. They had been on the road for a few days now. Last night being one of the odd nights where they weren't able to make it to a decent inn before sun down. Their campsite was in a small clearing just inside of the woodline from the main road.

"What's got you up before the sun?" Brin asked, enjoying the biting cold against cheeks in contrast to his now warm torso. This weather always reminded him of his home in the northern mountains.

Your home no longer. His heart stung, remembering the words of his trainer and mentor as he was exiled.

Bard shook his head in response. "I had a vision last night. I can't ever seem to fall back asleep after one. My mind is too busy trying to sort through the sensory flashes." Bard was leaning against a tree, with his back to the small gathering of tents. He was staring into the quiet, shaded forest. The tall pine trees had slender bases with little to no low branches.

Brin looked up, marveling at the height of the trees. The branches didn't start to grow for at least thirty meters up, and they kept their leaves and needles even in these harsh months. It provided for the perfect cover from snow, leaving a dry forest floor for travelers to camp if needed.

"Do you need any help? I don't know much about your country, but I like your peoples puzzles." Brin sat down cross-legged near where they had a fire the previous evening and waited quietly.

Bard thought for a moment. "I suppose you could try. It was short and very confusing. It didn't have much depth like the dreams that I get, but instead it was full of flashes and smells and sounds." Brin just nods in response. "I saw a gorgeous, clear meadow. There wasn't any snow on the ground, yet there was snow falling still from the sky. More confusing was the feeling of warmth that I had. How can it be warm and a snowless ground, while there is snow falling?" He shook his head and continued, "There was the sound of running water and the smell of fresh air and grass. I was staring at the sight for a moment and then it cut to the three of you standing in front of me. All three of you were standing there with your hands out towards me, holding what looked to be thin chains of gold. Then I lose control and I am outside of my body, looking down on the scene. I see my mouth moving but I seem to be floating nearby, rather than being myself. That was all that happened."

"You sound like a shaman from my home. They have visions and see The Fates. These are never things to be taken lightly."

Bard chuckled, "It's a little frightening if I'm being honest with you." He looked down and kicked a stick with his food, "It might be pretty cool if I could control it or even understand it."

The stick rolled forward a few feet, coming to rest in a puddle from the dripping snow above. Brin sighed, "If there is anything I can do, let me-"

"It's alright," Bard rushed quickly, cutting off the other man "I appreciate the offer, but I can do this." He made eye contact with Brin.

Brin searched his eyes, finding nothing but stubborn determination. He smiled then. "Fair enough." Brin nodded and stood and began to gather wood for the mornings fire.