Word Play

Prologue

Prologue

It is almost silent. The ticking of the clock and the soft night breeze reminding him that time has not stopped. He blinked, trying to find some meaning to her words, though he knew she couldn't possibly get any clearer.

"Please, tell me you aren't serious, or that I'm misunderstanding what you mean."

She shakes her head, a soft smile on her lips. "No, no you are hearing me correctly. I will be leaving to search for my student. "He shakes his head at her, clearly disapproving her ideas.

"You know that's not how things work around here. What are you really going after?"  

"I'm going off to learn."

"Learn? Learn what? Everything we need to learn or know about Mas'aver is here, at Eleanor's palace."

She shakes her head again. "No. Not what I need to know, Mark. Nothing I need to know is here."

"Your just confused and a little lost, but it's ok. Master Gerald said it would happen after Matthew's-"

"Stop calling him that! Master Gerald. He is no master of mine. He is a selfish old man who uses our powers for his own selfish gain!"

He was shocked by her words. "Stop it, stop it at once! You know that's not true!"

"It is, Mark, don't you see it? Matthew was right! He was right about everything, and I refuse to ignore his last wish for me before his death!"

"He was condemned to death for the murder of three new younglings, was that master Gerald's fault as well?!" He yelled at her, "Your eyes are clouded, I'm calling for Master Gerald now" She shook her head and smiled softly.

"I should have known you wouldn't believe me." She closed her eyes and took a breath. "I won't forget you Mark, please, I hope you can forgive me for this someday and accept that it was the only thing I could do...

"What are you-"

"An angel's kiss to your forehead as you are laid down to rest, sleep tight my dear child...may the grand one's eyes never leave your soul unwatched. Sleep."

Everything went black for him as he fell to the ground. She turned away, her cloak brushing the ground softly. She murmured another verse and disappeared from sight. Alarms rung in the deep cold night, but she was already gone. Traveling farther and farther away from the sacred land, her actions would take her far from home.

13 YEARS LATER

Shooting up, he fell out of the bed panicked. His head was pounding, his heart racing. Where was he? It was a deep, strong pressure that made him feel sick to his stomach. As if his insides were twisting together with his outsides in some sort OF A dance. He felt dizzy and nauseous.

A cold hand gripped his shoulder and lifted him to the bed. The hand felt his forehead, and again it was cool. He took a shocked breath. Something was murmured. Then his heart was slowing, his mind clearing. Everything was slowing down again until it simply all faded to black.

Before his eyes closed, he caught a glimpse of a face. He recognized it, just barely.

When he awoke again, he noticed it. The words. They were everywhere. Floating around, flying or clinging together in huddled groups. He stared; amazed at them, for his language was a wordless one. He reached a hand out to a word. Another hand caught his wrist instantly.  

"I wouldn't if I were you." He gasped, recognizing his spoken tongue. He turned his head to the side and met slanted yellow eyes. They were wise and watchful, calm and calculating. He felt shivers run up his spine.

"W-where am I?" He asked, his mouth was dry and his lips chapped horribly. The woman released his wrist quickly and handed him a cup of cold, clean water. He drank it quickly, and soon mourned the loss of the sweet, cleansing taste of the clear liquid. He looked up when he heard a soft chuckle.

The woman was watching him still, and he felt cornered. Who was she? Did she own the use of these words? If she did, what did she want with him, a stupid village boy?

"Relax young one, I mean you no harm. My name is Arzath, I am a word collector. Her lips formed the words perfectly, without even a slight problem." As if speaking in her own native tongue. Though he knew just by looking at her, that she had neither lived nor grown up in his home village.

He sat up straight. She was a Word Collector apparently. He had heard many stories of those. They were dangerous beings if crossed, clever and very tricky at getting what they wanted. They collected languages and voices. If you were not careful they could steal your mind and everything in it. Your thoughts, memories - all of it.

She chuckled again, as if hearing his thoughts. "I believe you had a question for me young one?

"Where am I?" He asked, trying to keep his voice calm and steady. He mustn't let her know his fear, mustn't let her know he was panicked.

"You don't remember? Such a shame." She said with a click of her tongue. "Oh well, we cannot move on until you remember your deal with me. Lunch will be served in a few hours. Please, if any Veret-maz come into this room, do not touch them. Not yet. It would be unwise." She stood and held out her left hand. She whispered something in another language, though; bits and pieces seemed to translate themselves in his mind.

"Children of knowledge, hate, scorn or warmth, leave this youngling be. One who's words are not yet held, carelessly spoken into the world, let this clueless child rest, and when their eyes awaken, their mind be clear of doubt and worry."

He felt his eyes grew heavy and his mind grew blurry. He was laid back onto the bed. The words drifted out with the woman, as she closed the door behind her.

He laid there for a moment. His mind drifting, his eyes shut. Everything around him faded away. A barrage of colors seemed to sneak into his mind and he let the images fill his head. He let his mind wander, and let the memories take over.