Eihm covered much ground as his wounds healed, and as he was able to slake his thirst with refreshing, if muddy, river water and sour-sweet lantern berries that grew along the muddy bank, basking in the sun that the grass did not have the roots to be able hoard for themselves.473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2AyfpM2aeM
As the young monk, bare-chested with a tattered and soiled robe hanging around his waist, gradually ate up the distance between him and an unplanned destination, he experimented further with the strange forces that the runes brought into being. Practicing on sticks, grass-blades, dried field-mouse bones and slate-like stones, he was able to finally wrap his head around what the runes must mean, in the ancient and forbidden otherworldly language they were inscribed in.
The monk chanted the rote lore of Ahmood in order to center his mind and steady his breathing, murmuring in measured breaths about patience, life, energy, violence, and many more mumbled musings on the majestic and the malign. Eihm’s psyche was still chaotic, but giving it a comfortable and well-trodden direction while not focusing on the constantly fluctuating present-moment and his addled consciousness - so filled with the incomprehensible as it was - gave the monk a key to channeling the alien energy that lay chained just under his skin.473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhFaAFch4MR
When Eihm caused damage to any of the objects energy from his right arm would, in an instant, transfer to it. This caused a strange reaction within the runes on his left arm, and when he focused on the sensation, flexing his muscles or touching the object, he was able to reform the broken thing as though it had always been whole. This caused another sensation in his right arm, and upon channeling it the object was violently torn apart again, the pieces sent flying. This was as Eihm had suspected, although he refused the memories of the last few days in trying to learn more about the phenomenon. What was truly strange to him, however, was the manner in which the pieces were destroyed and reformed. If Eihm smashed a stick apart with all the force he could muster, the splintered pieces would fly back to it when reforming, seemingly ignoring gravity. When he would destroy it again, the pieces would fly through the air, or the splinters would pierce his own hand, but with less force, and the trend continued the more he repeated the cycle. Not only that, but a splinter of bone torn right through the skin between his thumb and forefinger while he was reforming a delicate chest bone, and the malignant piece had rejoined the whole without blood, nestling within the other smaller pieces that had arrived there before the shard due to its impedance. This act had disturbed him deeply, shaking something emotional within him and he did not make any more attempts for hours after this occurrence. After this it was discovered that the objects could be reformed and destroyed without physical contact after the initial breaking, but the energy of the phenomenon decreased with distance.
The sun and moon had cycled three times during this phase of the journey, and Eihm had unwillingly fallen into nightmares twice. In the latest agony-filled oblivion he had been slowly pierced by sixty-four spears of energy-forged pain, but each period of “sleep” seemed slightly longer than the last.
“This must be why the Gatekeepers were in such… unfriendly moods,” he thought. “If none of them could sleep without experiencing what I do, it’s no wonder…”473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUvhg0orpoM
For a moment he stood standing in the orange field, the grass rippling in wide waves, the tatters of his robe thrashing around his waist. He stared at his arms, his young, boy-like face - rent by pink, angry new scars – was still and heavy. He thought of the Gatekeepers, large hulking figures hidden by their white robes and seen only in passing, the six tattooed symbols in two vertical rows of three stark on their bald heads. The symbols of the senior monks. The same six marks Eihm knew he now possessed, where once there were only two near his forehead. He could remain in torturous silence no longer.
“Grout; The Power. Legendary for getting his fourth mark by wrenching a stone tile from the combat arena and using it to defeat the training master. The Grandmaster dubbed him 'the first defender', inheritor of the runes of the first Gatekeeper. There was also the rumour that he kept puppies.” Eihm tried to smile and giggle at this like he once had with the other acolytes – with Marco - but found he could not; his face felt dead.473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUjXIcRcUd9
“Aayin; The Rose. She got her fifth mark with her induction as the Monastery Overseer, transitioning the sanctuary from the Fourth Age of Secrecy to the Fifth Age of Freedom.” He remembered her severe, sharp face, dark eyes that penetrated like steel from behind her curtain of smoky-black hair. “She is the protector of all, and the guardian of our world as we know it,” he recited; the words spoken aloud at her Runic Ceremony. She was the newest Rune-bearer - before himself.473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUPPqak9aTa
“And Corna; The Flame. The prodigal acolyte. Achieved his fourth mark on his fourteenth cycle. The Lore-keeper and the master scholar. We had our lessons from him once or twice. He always seemed like he was on the edge of calm. We called him “Cliff” because of it.” Eihm closed his eyes sleepily for a moment, but his eyelids flicked open when he could not bear to keep them shut.473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuYRmidGdt4
“He probably had all of his stuff together, though, all things considered. I wonder how he did it.”
Eihm continued onwards with his back towards the sun. Eventually, when the moon’s light populated the field with a shadowy companion shaped just like him, the shadow convinced the monk that it was safe enough to collapse from exhaustion. He wearily protested to his shadow all the way down, pleading with his head hung low, to his knees, to the ground.
The frigid blackness that was not cold but the absence of warmth. The sparks began to swirl into shape above him, but Eihm could not move away, or look away – he was chained to the void. The fluttering sparks coalesced into the dreaded spear, finely woven as if made of symbols and figures all along its length. It plunged down and Eihm tired to scream; but these nights, he could no longer make a sound, could not even remember what his voice sounded like. Pain still lodged in his awareness, the next spear formed, and descended. And the next. And the next. The child, Eihm, counted his agony.
Fifty-seven.
Wait.
Pain.
FIfty-eight.
Wait.
Torment.
Fifty-nine.
Wait.
Torture.
Sixty.
“It might be over now,” Eihm thought, thinking of the trend of his previous nights. “Oh please, please, let it be over.” He opened his eyes. The void invaded his vision. There was nothing, still. No moon. No sound of the rustling Autumn Plains. Not even his breathing. Panic rose in Eihm’s chest, compounding the regular sense of dread. In his head, he pleaded and begged, unable to bear the acid fear in his heart.
A red spark flickered to life above his head. It twirled and danced in a lazy flight, slowly gaining in size as it swam through the thick blackness, trailing ghostly light. As it wended its leisurely way it grew, forming a hostile pattern as it grew into a spear. It radiated a promise of pain completely unlike the green spears.
From somewhere in the void there was a horrid, languorous laughter, slowly coming closer.473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvIebDtNejU
“Wake up,” the voice coxed.
The red energy filled out its deadly tip, and the boy’s heart stopped when he noticed the edges lined with small, hungry-looking teeth.
It plunged into Eihm’s chest. His soul was shredded by pure anguish.
Another red spark flickered to life, slowly filling out its angry form.
“Wake up,” the voice purred, now dreadfully closer.
The spear, suddenly whole, tore through Eihm.
The boy’s soul was indistinguishable from what it had been mere moments before – it writhed and bucked like a trapped animal, swirling in turgid agony.
A figure stepped through the darkness as if parting curtains, its long bony fingers playfully weaving a red spark between them. It reached a broken claw towards Eihm’s face, and the spark jumped the gap, sending the boy’s soul into a wretched spasm.
“Wake up.”
Eihm gasped and leapt up, his muscles taut to tearing-point. Like a pursued beast he whipped his head around on his neck, his panic-stricken eyes aflame as they gasped for light in the mid-morning sun.473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeJqKHztc28
On the horizon, in a wake of grass, a white-cloaked figure floated towards him.
