Role

Chapter 4

Standing in the candlewood grove, surrounded by poisonous thorns and in the
company of a mute hellhound, Admund felt stupid. The spirits were all around
him. They spoke of all sorts of things, but mostly they spoke in an
incomprehensible murmur. He kept straining to make out the noises, like a
deaf old man, squinting his eyes as though it would help, half bent over and
leaning slightly forward, gripping his staff tightly not to topple over. It
didn't help. Maybe what the spirits were saying was for other spirits alone
to know. He felt stupid, and lately, ever since they had come out of that
void and met a whole multitude of people, Admund started to feel alone. It
was never like that before. What they did, they did together. Now, both him
and his brother met people separately, did things, said things, saw things
without the other one present. It was odd. He always expected his Brother to
know what he had seen and what he had heard. Talking to him as though he was
'another' was still shocking, even years later. When he felt low, the spirits
would pitty him and would start tugging at him gently. He would cast a wild
spell and help them manifest form. Wolves, foxes, rams. They always answered
as animal spirits. They would remain silent even in those forms, but they
would softly nuzzle against him in a generous display of sympathy. It tore at
him even more that he couldn't understand them. But he was grateful for what
they gave, and he took the gift with both hands.

He would sit in the strange grove next to his spirit companion and the mute
hellhound and he would think of his parents. He could still not remember
their faces, or anything specific about them. But there was Thar-Eris,
Mother. He could see her in the candlewood trees, the sand of the steppes,
the cleft stone of the tomb. He could feel her in the poison of the
candlewood barbs, in the wind in his hair, the breath of the spirit next to
him. He could hear her in the growl of a wolf, in the song of a cardinal
bird, in the roaring thunder of a waterfall, in the pattering of rain on the
forest floor. He could touch her, he could hug her, he could hear her, he
could embrace her whole body and soul. What would she tell him if she were to
speak her mind? 'Be free. Be free.' he imagined. 'Live as you are. Be.' And
he would close his eyes and do just that. Just breathe. Just exist. Just be
free for the moment, as long as it may last. 'Before the beast comes and
takes it all away.' That thought was not of Thar-Eris. It was always his own
voice that coalesced that terror.