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I could hardly move when I was roused again. Every portion of my body ached unbearably, but I dared not show any weakness. Sharidia would be the first to exploit any such display. It took every ounce of strength and courage in me to rise up off the pallet."Are you sure you wish to continue?" the guard asked me softly as he watched me fight to get up.
I squared my shoulders, momentarily feeling no pain as my faith and courage filled me. I looked at him, my vivid green eyes alight with my resolve, "I will go on."
I was then escorted to a small, dark chamber. On the floor was clearly marked a sorcerer's circle. I stood near the doorway with my guard, trying to glean any information from the room itself. Nothing betrayed this portion of the cleansing. I sternly fought off the uncomfortable feelings of doubt that kept welling up within me. Onc again, on a balcony high above, appeared the Queen.
"This is the Cleansing of Magic. Please, enter the circle."
I stepped away from my guards and crossed over into the sorcerer's circle. I looked up at the white-furred face of the Queen and saw sympathy in her eyes. However, I took my eyes away when Sharidia materialized from the shadows at the Queen's side. I could feel her amber eyes burning into my skull. However, between one breath and the next, I could think of nothing more but my own agony.
Firstly, came the Fire Purge. Huge plumes of flame danced wickedly along every inch of my skin. My eyes watered from the heat and my mouth became so dry that my lips began to crack and peel. In a matter of moments, the stench of burning flesh filled my nostrils. Even as I was close to collapsing from the intense heat, something within me would not allow it.
Secondly, came the Purge of Ice. My overheated skin and body began to shiver uncontrollably. I could not open my raw eyes because the intense cold began freezing them shut. Gradually, my body began shutting down, unable to cope with the quick changes of temperature.
Thirdly, came the Air Purge. The winds blew up from nowhere, whipping my hair around my head. The part of me that could still think was amazed at how lenient this purge was; until the peals of thunder nearly deafened my ears. Lighting arced down from thin air, racing across my shoulders and down my spine. If I had the strength to cry out, I would have.
Oh, Gods, I pleaded again, Please...Just let me die...
As my knees buckled and I pitched forward, falling hard against the floor, a vision assaulted my mind.
Warm, rich laughter. An invisible hand on my shoulder. Softly whispered words in my ear. A glass of wine. A pair of bright, grey eyes looking into mine...
"No..." I whispered, "I can't die..."
With immense effort, I hauled myself up; staggering to my feet as sweat beaded on my brow. My teeth ground together as my determination heightened. I stood weakly, wobbling slightly on my aching legs. I raised my head, allowing my hair to gradually fall back behind me.
Lastly, came the Purge of Earth. The ground beneath my feet began to crumble and churn. It threw me forward so that I fell on my knees, cutting them on the sharp-edged crags of earth. As I knelt there, I saw a huge crack form beneath me. I watched it intently as it cracked open just about a handspan wide.
A surge of raw Power welled up from that fissure, engulfing me. Power danced wildly along my nerves, sending my body into convulsions. My mouth and throat worked, but no sound emitted. Thankfully, the surge was short and soon ceased, letting me fall to my face with some small dignity.
Smoke rose from my body in ghostly wisps. I laid there, completely unmoving, tears of anguish trying to escape from my eyelids. I felt a booted toe prod my sore ribs and I opened one dull, green eye. Sharidia stood over me, that mocking grin on her face.
"Plead for mercy, Exile," she sneered, "Beg for the mercy of your own execution."
My hands clenched into fists beneath me as a savage snarl escaped my lips. I open my sore eyes, my green eyes ablaze, flaring with my fury.
"Never!" I spat.
Sharidia's eyes darkened at my bravado, and she growled irritably. She made as if to kick me, but one of my guards interposed himself, "Your presence is not required here, Commander."
"Who are you to order me around, soldier?" she hissed.
The guard drew himself up before her, "I am Kellador Vanthil, First Guard of Her Majesty Queen Amyrl. Therefore, I outrank you, Warrioress of the Veil."
Sharidia backed off a pace before turning and walking away. The guard watched her go, then turned back to me. He smiled, "You're doing better than we expected."
I glared thanklessly at him, "I'll take that as a compliment."
He offered me a hand, which I took, and hauled me to my feet, "Well, I certainly didn't mean to offend, if I did."
I leaned on his shoulder, grinning, despite my pain, "No offense taken."
"Good," he said as those sea-green eyes smiled at me.
As I stood there, leaning on Kellador, I felt a certain kinship with him. By all rights, he should be treating me like gutter-trash, but he was not. He treated me with respect, as an equal. Every portion of me ached, but I was oddly comfitted by Kellador's presence.
"Kellador?" I managed between gasps, as we slowly made our way back to my cell.
"Aye?" he turned those sea-green eyes on me again; eyes filled with curiousity, sympathy, and concern.
"Why do you treat me the way you do?" It was an impolite question, to say the least, but I was in no mood or condition to mind my manners.
He seemed startled by the question, "How do you mean?"
I stopped, looking at him with my leaf-green eyes, "You know very well how I mean, Kellador." I pushed a scraggly lock of my hair back over my shoulder.
He looked down the hallway ahead, anywhere but at me, "I treat you no different than I do anyone else."
"Exactly my point. You treat me no different than you treat others, but different from the way others treat me. You treat me as an equal instead of an exile."
He return his gaze to mine as he grabbed my wrist, turning my hand palm-up. He held his hand next to mine, "What do you see?"
"Our hands..."
"Yes, both furred and clawed. No different. You are the same as I. We are both Tyberan. Why should I treat you any different, when as much of the Blood courses in your veins as in my own?"
"I am an exile," I argued, "Banished eight years ago as all record of my existence was destroyed. You should not even acknowledge me as being of the Blood."
"No, not every record," he said, his eyes gleaming with his intensity, "In the Palace's Great Archives, there are records, journals, diaries of many of the Palace denizens. Several of such books were the journals of General Kevlaar Kinkaad."
"General Kevlaar..."
* * * I brought my practice blade up as my opponent's came down out of the fiery orb of the sun. I squinted, daring not to miss this block. Metal screamed against metal as his sword hissed against mine. I let him force me to one knee, leaning back against his pushing. However, suddenly, I slid under him, raising my leg, kicking him in the small of his back.
He stumbled away, cursing profusely, he looked over his shoulder at me, as he rubbed at his back, "By the Bright Ones, Kat. Take it easy. I'm old..."
I laughed as I rolled to my feet, brushing the dust from my fighting leathers.
"You definitely show promise, Young Katja," he said, his voice filled with warmth and approval, "Yes...You definitely show promise."
I beamed, "Thanks, Kev..."
* * * I shook my head, returning to the present. I looked at Kellador, "How do you know about Kev?"
"As I said, I've read his journals that are within the Archives. He spoke of you often; you were his favorite pupil."
"Yes..."
We reached my cell and I went inside to the pallet, falling to it gratefully. Kellador remained at the door, watching me, "Two hours," he said, "then the final Cleansing of Spirit will begin."
With that, I curled up miserably in an attempt to rest.
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© 1999 E. Angeli Mansfield