Gatewalker by Elizabeth A. Freeman (brene brown rising strong .txt) 📕

Prologue

The tower stood like an ominous black scar on a lone island, surrounded by the vast waters of an ocean. Arioch groaned internally as he recognized the place he'd been dreaming about for nearly a year now. Like the lens of a jeweler his mind zoomed in, passing through the intricate hallways and lifts that made up the interior of the tower and there, at it's heart stood an immense clock. The hands ticking away the seconds as the hour neared midnight. He watched as the they closed in on the diamond at the head of the clock that marked the hallowed hour. As they struck the world suddenly twisted and warped, reality distorting until he found himself some place else. Arioch's head swam as he gathered his new environment: a dark room dimly lit by a torch on the wall. The room was little more than a poorly kept shack, the starlight visible through the cracks in the rotting boards. The floor had long eroded away to nothing more than dirt.

“Hurry the hell up if you're going to do it.” a ragged voice drew the sorcerer's attention to the center of the room. In the dim light he could make out the figure of an elf, bound to a chair and towered over by three hulking figures. Each of the elf's supposed captors garbed in white robes trimmed with crimson, the cowls raised so their faces were obscured. The enchained elf bore tanned skin and flame colored hair which hung in disarray, his face which may have normally been attractive marred by vivid bruises and encrusted blood.

“If you're in such a hurry to die then we may as well grant your wish, heretic. Kill him.” one of the men spoke, his voice conveying the sneer that hidden by the shadow of his hood. The tallest of the three men paced to a corner of the shack where a broadsword was propped, grasping it and turning back toward his victim. Despite himself Arioch felt his heart race in distress, he had long ago learned that there was nothing he could do to effect the outcome of the dream. The people in the shack could neither see nor hear him and likewise he simply drifted through them like an apparition if he attempted to stop the slaughter.

The prisoner regarded his captors through swollen eyelids, his mouth forming a mutinous line. He did his best to straighten in the chair, tilting his head back in defiance. The man leveled the blade with the red head's neck, drawing it back and then sweeping it forward. The weapon hissed as it sliced through the air, followed by the sickening wet sound of flesh and bone being torn asunder. Arioch flinched as blood sprayed from the headless body, staining the white robes of the three murderers. Opening his eyes once more he scanned the floor as he had a hundred times before, his gaze finally settling upon the severed head.

Arioch sat up with a start, gasping for breath. His fingers held a white knuckled grip on the sheets and he gazed about the room before the reality of awakening finally set in.

“Again?” a voice rasped to his right. Arioch turned, bloodshot crimson eyes settling on the raven that perched on his bedside table.

“What do you think, Moru?” Arioch grumbled irritably. The pale skinned elf flopped backwards against his pillows.

“Maybe you should see a doctor about this... It's going to be a year since you started having this dream next month.” Moru croaked, golden eyes narrowing as he hopped from the nightstand onto the bed and sauntered up so that he was standing on Arioch's chest.

“It's just dreams, Moru. I don't think there's anything a doctor can do for recurring dreams.” Arioch sighed, running a hand through his snowy hair.

“Well then, maybe you should do something about it.” Moru gave a derisive caw and pecked at the sorcerer's chest. Arioch yelped at the sudden assault, sitting up and batting at his familiar who flapped just out of reach.

“Oh really? Just exactly what would you suggest I do then?” Arioch sniped as he regarded the avian with a challenging scowl.

“Well, you're not going to get any sleep so to start you may as well get your skinny arse out of bed and get dressed. Here, I'll even get your clothes.” Moru glided from the bed to the floor, his tiny body beginning to crackle with magic. A small violet whirlwind erupted from the spot where he stood enshrouding the bird for several seconds. As the spell dissipated a man stood where the raven had been, clothed in the black garments of a butler. Neat shoulder length black hair framed a pale face with keen golden eyes.

“Fine..” Arioch groaned, tossing the sheets back and swinging his legs so they dangled off the edge of the bed. Wearing a self-satisfied smirk Moru paced to the closet, selecting his master's frequently worn clothing and bringing it back to the bed once more.

“Have you considered that this dream is more than just a dream?” Moru questioned, folding his arms. Arioch silently discarded his bedclothes and began to dress himself; Pulling on a pair of fitted pale blue slacks that cut off just below the knees and a skin tight lilac undershirt. Over the other clothing he donned a wide necked robe, a slit cut at each hip so that it resembled a tabard more than a robe.

“Of course I have...” Arioch finally answered, seating himself on the bed and donning his sandals. His nimble fingers lacing up the leather cords that bound them to his legs.

“So why haven't you tried to do anything about it? If a doctor can't help you why don't you try helping yourself, or are you telling me that with all your various powers there is nothing you can do?” Moru demanded firmly.

“You know you're lucky you're my familiar. Most other sorcerers wouldn't tolerate so much cheek,” Arioch growled in annoyance, “I suppose you're right though. Lets get to work then, we've got a lot of work to do if we're going to figure this out.”

“That's the spirit.” Moru stated triumphantly, following his master as the silver haired sorcerer left the room.

Text: Cover images created from stock from http://www.morguefile.com
Publication Date: 12-08-2011

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