Loradus the lion crouched on the ceiling of the Arena, a strange building beyond even the farthest reaches of what would be considered Chima.
Inexplicable forces pulled everything onto the ceiling as if it were the floor, but for whatever reason Loradus's head was still pounding. He wanted desperately to move from his hiding place, to flee the Arena, to walk on flat earth once more.
But if he did, They would know.
And so he remained hidden behind his bush which poked up (or, down) through cracks in the ceiling, and he strained his ears for the smallest sound.
Every one of his muscles was tensed like a steel spring, every part of his being ready to bolt if need be. His single, fierce yellow eye slid back and forth. He wished he could be bored, but knowing just how much danger he had put himself in made such a thing impossible. Instead, he felt a terrible sense of foreboding. The sounds he expected to hear were ones he desperately wanted never to hear. But they were inevitable, he knew.
His hands twitched at his sides. Greasy strands of his blazing red mane fell across his face. Slowly and silently, he drew in a breath.
Then he heard it: a harsh whisper, the words of which were too soft and strangled to be understood.
Loradus's heart sank. The breath he had taken caught in his lungs.
At last--and altogether too soon--They had arrived. He listened intently, not wanting to miss hearing what happened next.
For a moment, there was nothing but the whisper.
Then what little light there was in the building fled, and a new sound could be heard: a soft crinkle, like that of a dried leaf being crushed. Loradus closed his eye and swallowed. He'd heard everything he needed to hear. Now all he could do was wait for them to depart. Only they didn't.
The whispering stopped, as did the crinkling, but light hadn't returned, and still Loradus could feel a presence. He didn't dare move. Then two beams of green light shone onto the bush right beside his face, and he knew immediately that something was wrong.
The whisper started up again, and this time, Loradus understood it all too well: "We know you're there."
I know you know I'm here, Loradus thought grimly. Slowly, he stood up. Then he turned on the spot, twisted his wrist, and conjured two curled clouds of smoke; one around himself, the other several paces off to his left. With a word he dissolved into the shroud surrounding him, then re-formed in the other.
From here, he could see the green beams of light; in fact, they were the only things he could see in the darkness. Almost instantly, they turned on him, and he turned and ran.
A small, dim square of light lay before him: the entrance--and exit--of the Arena. It seemed impossibly far away, like a single star in the darkest of nights.
"Tell me how you came to find us," said the whisper.
Loradus gritted his teeth and ignored it.
The square of light wasn't getting any nearer. He could feel his cloak billowing out in the blackness behind him, flapping in an unnatural wind. He tried to pull it back around himself, but before he could, a clawed hand reached out of the dark and snatched it.
Loradus's eye bulged as his throat constricted; then his legs flew out from beneath him and he landed hard on his back. Gasping and coughing, he reached for his belt and drew an ornate dagger that had a pattern of blue veins running through the blade. These veins gleamed in the darkness as Loradus slashed off the edge of his cloak, leaped to his feet once more, and ran towards the light. A dreadful hiss issued from behind, but he didn't look back. Then the entire Arena was silent, apart from his heavy breathing and a crunching underfoot--
No, thought Loradus; no, it can't have spread that fast....
His lungs ached and his head pounded harder than ever, but at last the square of light was drawing closer. He might actually make it . . . . A wall of shadow formed in front of him, blocking the light, but he couldn't stop now; squeezing his eye shut and bracing himself for impact, he made a diving leap forward.
For an instant, he seemed to freeze mid-leap, trapped in a congealing cloud of darkness as doubts filled his mind and haunted his being. He remembered his mistakes, his shames, his fears. He remembered how he had let his father down. He cursed at himself. You let them get inside! You needed to block them out!
And when he remembered the raven, he did.
The cloud dispersed, and he was moving through the air again, curling in his head and shoulders as the ceiling rose towards him. Moments later he rolled out the doorway and into the blinding sunlight, the momentum of his jump changing dramatically as he tumbled down instead of up. He landed in a disorganized heap.
Dragging himself to his feet, he paused to look back up at the doorway he had come through.
Half a dozen shafts of green light peered back.
Heart beating faster, Loradus dashed off into the surrounding trees, certain that the Shadeservants wouldn't be far behind. Before long, however, a sudden, stinging pain in his hand brought him to a halt.
One glance told him all he needed to know: in the fright of the moment, he had closed his hand tightly around the blade of his dagger--too tightly. Breathing in through his teeth, he opened his fingers and pulled the dagger free. He glanced over his shoulder. No sign of pursuit. But then, they never did give a sign when they could help it . . . . Quickly he pushed his injured hand inside his cloak and held up the dagger with the other. Then, with swift, precise movements, he carved a door-sized rectangle in the air, its edges blazing with cobalt flames. The air inside the rectangle shimmered, then shattered, giving way to a swirling void.
And Loradus was about to step inside when a crisp wind pulled at his cloak and tugged at his mane.
Slowly, deliberately, he turned around. The leaves on the trees, which had been green only moments ago, were now turning to yellow, or orange, or red, or brown. Several dropped from their branches and drifted lazily to the ground. And while some might have found this sight beautiful, Loradus did not.
He gazed up, and around, his wide eye blinking rapidly, his teeth clenching. "It has begun," he said. Of course it has.
Then he flung himself into the doorway he had created, and was drawn far away.
-last edited on May 8, 2017 18:42:02 GMT by Epic: Weird formatting issues
Post by Epic on May 8, 2017 18:41:08 GMT
Chapter 1
Old Rizzo, they called him, though he couldn't have been older than twenty.
He was a strange, lonely creature that seemed to know no one personally, yet everyone seemed to know of him. They called him other things, too. Freak. Tramp. Lost one. It was rumored that he had once been a good friend to Razar, but the friendship had apparently come to an end.
For most of the day, Old Rizzo would sit on a rickety old stool right outside the doorway of his run-down house, staring out on the forest with his one good eye. Being as far as he was from the rest of his village, some wondered how he could be the subject of so many whispered conversations. Some had been known to pay a good price for the smallest bit of information about this raven. Daring young ravens, in their free time, would sneak down to his house to spy on him, to see what he might be up to. But all he ever did was stare into the forest.
Into nothingness.
The less he did, though, the more ravens became curious. Many began to speculate, and everyone had a different story for the “old” raven. He could have been a soldier. Or a poet. Or a magician. He might not have been a raven at all, but some supernatural being cloaked in feathers of black.
As for what he was doing, well, he might have been watching over the forest, making sure it was green and thriving; or biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment . . . to strike at an old enemy, perhaps?
Or maybe he was waiting for the return of a loved one (as if anyone could love him); someone who had been forced to leave and might—just might—come back.
All these possibilities and many more were discussed at length. The ravens were never to know how close they came to the truth with such wild guesses.
Old Rizzo was sitting and looking, not outward, but inward. He was lost in reminiscence, thinking of a time that could never be relived, but held a world of promise for him. His memories kept him alive, as they were all he lived for.
But no one would even begin to guess where or what this time was, or how Old Rizzo had left it to come here, or why they bothered to notice his strangeness at all. They simply kept trying to outdo each other, and the stories grew wilder and wilder.
And that was when, to the astonishment of all, Old Rizzo himself limped into the marketplace.
He searched around wearily, eventually stopping at a used book stand to buy a battered old diary; then he walked away toward the village proper. A cluster of ravens followed at a safe distance.
When the door of the Golden Guise Inn creaked open and Old Rizzo's metal leg clanked over the threshold, ravens seated all around the common room craned their necks to get a good look at him. Ridil the innkeeper dropped a freshly-stolen coin onto a table in surprise (where it was promptly stolen again).
Glancing indifferently at the many faces turned towards him, Old Rizzo limped to the middle of the room. Behind him, the doorway became crowded with the ravens who had trailed after.
Nervously, Ridil pulled out a set of scales to weigh his treasure and placed it on the table he was preparing.
Old Rizzo cleared his throat.
The innkeeper winced, gathered up his scales without measuring anything, and hurried over. "Can I help you?" he said.
Old Rizzo put his hands behind his back. "I was about to ask a similar question.” His beak twitched. “But, seeing as you asked first . . ."
Ridil blinked. The one-legged raven’s voice matched his appearance in that it had obviously once been rich and full, but now it was rough, worn; the world had not been his friend.
Old Rizzo paused, considering. "Have you any honey cakes?" he finally asked.
"Er," said Ridil. "It's . . . we picked some up from the bears . . . ." He coughed, as if suddenly remembering himself. "Ahem, but you'll have to pay up front. No less than—"
Old Rizzo held out a stack of bronze coins on his palm.
Ridil stared.
Several ravens drew suddenly closer, covertly eyeing the money.
Then—
"I . . . see you know the prices," said Ridil, snatching up the coins before anyone else could. "You're no stranger to business, eh? I'll be right with you." Smiling slightly, he tipped the coins into a pouch at his belt and moved off.
*
For a moment, all was silent.
Then wondering murmurs could be heard from where ravens were eating, whispers swirling through the building like leaves in a breeze.
Old Rizzo, however, didn't seem to hear any of it, his focus remaining squarely on the double-doors at the back of the room, through which Ridil had disappeared.
One of the ravens near to Old Rizzo grew suddenly bold, sliding a pouch out of the other's belt. But when he pulled the pouch open, it was empty. Where was the one-eyed raven drawing his coins from?
"I'll take that, thank you," muttered Old Rizzo suddenly, extending his hand towards the raven without turning his head.
The raven froze.
Sighing, Old Rizzo took the pouch for himself and returned it to his belt.
Belatedly, the raven sputtered, "I—I didn't—" but Old Rizzo silenced him with a glance.
*
The double-doors burst open then, and Ridil stepped out. "There you go," he said, setting a steaming plate of cakes on a table near Old Rizzo, along with a wooden mug of cider.
Then, after several moments of listening to the whispered conversations, "I hope no one's bothering you."
"No, no, everything is fine," said Old Rizzo. He inclined his head towards the wooden mug, and when he lifted it up, there was another coin underneath. More quickly this time, Ridil slipped it away into a pouch.
Old Rizzo set the mug back down and took a bite out of a cake. The owner waited patiently until Old Rizzo had finished it. ". . . Well?"
"Very good. After a fashion."
Ridil hesitated, then decided it was a compliment. "You were going to ask me something when you came in . . . ?"
"I was," said Old Rizzo shortly. "But would you mind telling me your name first?"
The innkeeper had rather thought that all ravens knew his name, his inn being the busiest in the village. But then, this was Old Rizzo.
"Ridil. I've been working here since I was shorter than the counter." There was a hidden accusation here, but Old Rizzo didn't seem to pick up on it.
He simply nodded. "Rizzo Mosqa'relo at your service. I'm looking for work myself."
Ridil the innkeeper swallowed. "Would that be paying work?"
"Not necessarily. I would work without pay, if the other way pains you so."
Ridil narrowed his eyes, both relieved and suspicious. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Why go looking for work if there's no pay? It's not . . . well. It doesn’t make sense. Especially for a raven.”
Old Rizzo stared back, the depth of his one eye becoming unsettling.
Ridil backed away and nodded sharply. "Right. So . . . do you play the harpsichord?" He gestured to an old, dusty one in a corner of the building.
Old Rizzo looked at it for so long without responding that Ridil grew concerned. Then he finally nodded his scarred head.
Ridil raised an eyebrow. "Ahem! Well then. We haven't had someone to play it in a long time. Should drum up a little more business . . . yes. We'll start with that."
Old Rizzo shook hands with Ridil, then ate another cake.
"You can start at noon tomorrow," said the innkeeper. "Would you like a room here . . . ?"
"I can walk from my house."
"Oh . . . that's fine too. Well, then, see you tomorrow."
"Likewise."
*
And as Old Rizzo turned to leave, he glanced at the raven beside him and said, "Keep it." The raven blinked down at the second empty pouch he had taken, and when he looked up again, Old Rizzo had gone.
When at last Loradus could feel again, he bolted up to a sitting position and retched. He swayed, trying to bring his vision into focus. His throat ached. His hand throbbed.
"Loradus!" a voice called.
Loradus blinked his eye sluggishly. Everything around him was shrouded in mist.
Then, from out of the mist, a lion rushed to his side.
She wore a grey cloak like Loradus’s over her tunic and leggings, and it swept about her tall form as she knelt. Also like Loradus, she was nearing the end of her youth, and though her eyes still shone with energy, it was a grim energy: the kind fueled by hardship early in life.
"Having post-Travel dreams again?" she asked, looking him over.
Loradus nodded, then grimaced, clutching his throat.
The other blinked, pulling the hand away from the throat and examining it. "Loradus, what happened?" she breathed, running a finger over his slit palm.
Loradus waved his other hand dismissively, wincing. "I cut myself," he croaked, "but it's nothing."
She raised an eyebrow, but Loradus shook his head at her and went on: "They were there, Lyryssa. At the Arena. They began the changing of the season."
"Several of them. And it won't be long before all of Chima feels the effects of what they have done."
Fear flashed in Lyryssa's eyes. "You're sure?"
Loradus nodded.
"Right," said Lyryssa, taking a breath. "Let's get that hand cleaned up. Can you stand, or . . . ?"
Loradus pulled himself to his feet and dusted himself off. He felt his legs wobble unconvincingly. Then he stumbled and almost fell.
Lyryssa rushed to support him. "Take your time," she muttered. "You don't want to overtax yourself."
Loradus glared at her, coughing. "I could escape a dozen more Shadeservants and not overtax myself, thank you."
"Right now?" returned Lyryssa. "After narrowly escaping 'several'? Unlikely."
Loradus's knees quivered again. Then he closed his eye and bowed his head. "You're right. Insulting, but right. It's the dreams . . ."
Lyryssa blinked.
A grimace twisted Loradus’s jaw. She wasn’t accustomed to seeing him so weak. Come to think of it, he wasn’t accustomed to being weak. Or, at least, feeling weak.
". . . It's all right," she said, though it obviously wasn't. "The hut's not far . . . come on."
Loradus pulled away from her and stumbled off into the mist. He heard Lyryssa sighing, and he looked over his shoulder. The mists obscured her completely, but after several moments he could hear her following after.
At last he reached the door of a frail old hut, stooped as if it would collapse into a pile of twigs at any moment. The door was locked, unfortunately. Muttering another oath, he twisted his arm backward. He felt along the air, through the cracks at the edges of the door, then forced the crossbar up and out of the way.
There was a clunk and the door creaked open; the whole structure shivered disagreeably.
Lyryssa stepped to Loradus's side as he ground his teeth. "No sorcery," said Lyryssa irritably. "Not when you're . . . like this."
"I believe I told you," returned Loradus, wincing, "I'm fine—"
"Save it for the Enemy," snapped Lyryssa.
Loradus froze. Then he slowly turned to look her in the eye.
Lyryssa swallowed, obviously realizing what she'd said. "I'm sorry. I know you just—you just came back—"
Loradus grabbed her wrist, mouth twitching. "You know nothing of the Enemy," he said. "Fear and fireside stories do not give you leave to speak of them so carelessly."
Lyryssa nodded shakily.
For several moments more Loradus stared into her eyes, searching, though for what, he wasn’t exactly sure. His throat tightened. You’ve only got yourself to blame for this . . . .
Then Lyryssa pulled away and strode into the one-room hut, her cloak billowing out behind her.
Loradus paused on the threshold, a hand to his head, ragged breath drawing mist into his lungs. He thought he felt someone watching him, now he was alone and could focus more on such things. He twisted his arm again to probe the air behind him.
There was someone there—standing stock-still, arms at sides. Loradus reset his arm and nodded without turning to look. For the moment, it was probably better to leave him alone, to let him keep thinking he’d escaped detection.
Still Loradus checked his belt, making sure that the dagger was in its place. Perhaps after I’ve rested . . . .
Inside, Lyryssa was fussing over a cauldron, the contents of which were steaming.
Loradus sighed and limped across to her. "You appear to be having a problem."
Lyryssa's mouth tightened in concentration. "I . . . can't do the necessary spell . . . ."
Loradus shuddered, feeling nauseated again. He held a hand to his stomach until the turmoil within died down. "For a potion?"
"It's for a poultice."
"Potion or poultice, no spell exists that I know of to help you."
Lyryssa shrugged.
"You don't need to use a poultice, you know," said Loradus.
Lyryssa shook her head. "I do."
Loradus stared at her coldly for a few moments. Then he located the small cot in a corner and made for it. Slowly, he sat himself down.
Lyryssa exhaled sharply. "Look, what do you want me to do?"
Loradus pretended to consider this, eventually pointing to the wall behind her with a sarcastic glare. Lyryssa wouldn’t even have to look; she knew what the narrow shelf on the wall held. "No," she said. "You were the one who wanted to ban its use—and you still haven't told me why."
"It doesn't matter right now."
"Seems like it never does. Didn't you say you wanted a potion?"
Loradus bowed his head. "I don’t recall saying that. The Tears work better, anyway, and I'd rather not waste time healing."
"Can't you just . . . I don't know, make more time?"
"I manage time. There's a difference."
Lyryssa closed her eyes momentarily. "You spent the past moon arguing against the Tears. And now you'll use them just because it's convenient for you?"
"Hypocrisy is something I’ve learned to live with."
"Obviously."
Loradus's hand flared with pain. His mind clouded with an irrational rage. Insolent—
The bolt of violet lightning left his palm before he knew what he was doing. Lyryssa twisted to one side, and the bolt crackled past, burning the edge of her cloak to frayed ribbons. Then the energy sputtered and dispersed into the surrounding air.
Sazh, Loradus cursed to himself as consciousness fled.
When at last Loradus could feel again, he bolted up to a sitting position and retched. He swayed, trying to bring his vision into focus. His throat ached. His hand throbbed.
"Loradus!" a voice called.
Loradus blinked his eye sluggishly. Everything around him was shrouded in mist.
Then, from out of the mist, a lion rushed to his side.
She wore a grey cloak like Loradus’s over her tunic and leggings, and it swept about her tall form as she knelt. Also like Loradus, she was nearing the end of her youth, and though her eyes still shone with energy, it was a grim energy: the kind fueled by hardship early in life.
"Having post-Travel dreams again?" she asked, looking him over.
Loradus nodded, then grimaced, clutching his throat.
The other blinked, pulling the hand away from the throat and examining it. "Loradus, what happened?" she breathed, running a finger over his slit palm.
Loradus waved his other hand dismissively, wincing. "I cut myself," he croaked, "but it's nothing."
She raised an eyebrow, but Loradus shook his head at her and went on: "They were there, Lyryssa. At the Arena. They began the changing of the season."
"Several of them. And it won't be long before all of Chima feels the effects of what they have done."
Fear flashed in Lyryssa's eyes. "You're sure?"
Loradus nodded.
"Right," said Lyryssa, taking a breath. "Let's get that hand cleaned up. Can you stand, or . . . ?"
Loradus pulled himself to his feet and dusted himself off. He felt his legs wobble unconvincingly. Then he stumbled and almost fell.
Lyryssa rushed to support him. "Take your time," she muttered. "You don't want to overtax yourself."
Loradus glared at her, coughing. "I could escape a dozen more Shadeservants and not overtax myself, thank you."
"Right now?" returned Lyryssa. "After narrowly escaping 'several'? Unlikely."
Loradus's knees quivered again. Then he closed his eye and bowed his head. "You're right. Insulting, but right. It's the dreams . . ."
Lyryssa blinked.
A grimace twisted Loradus’s jaw. She wasn’t accustomed to seeing him so weak. Come to think of it, he wasn’t accustomed to being weak. Or, at least, feeling weak.
". . . It's all right," she said, though it obviously wasn't. "The hut's not far . . . come on."
Loradus pulled away from her and stumbled off into the mist. He heard Lyryssa sighing, and he looked over his shoulder. The mists obscured her completely, but after several moments he could hear her following after.
At last he reached the door of a frail old hut, stooped as if it would collapse into a pile of twigs at any moment. The door was locked, unfortunately. Muttering another oath, he twisted his arm backward. He felt along the air, through the cracks at the edges of the door, then forced the crossbar up and out of the way.
There was a clunk and the door creaked open; the whole structure shivered disagreeably.
Lyryssa stepped to Loradus's side as he ground his teeth. "No sorcery," said Lyryssa irritably. "Not when you're . . . like this."
"I believe I told you," returned Loradus, wincing, "I'm fine—"
"Save it for the Enemy," snapped Lyryssa.
Loradus froze. Then he slowly turned to look her in the eye.
Lyryssa swallowed, obviously realizing what she'd said. "I'm sorry. I know you just—you just came back—"
Loradus grabbed her wrist, mouth twitching. "You know nothing of the Enemy," he said. "Fear and fireside stories do not give you leave to speak of them so carelessly."
Lyryssa nodded shakily.
For several moments more Loradus stared into her eyes, searching, though for what, he wasn’t exactly sure. His throat tightened. You’ve only got yourself to blame for this . . . .
Then Lyryssa pulled away and strode into the one-room hut, her cloak billowing out behind her.
Loradus paused on the threshold, a hand to his head, ragged breath drawing mist into his lungs. He thought he felt someone watching him, now he was alone and could focus more on such things. He twisted his arm again to probe the air behind him.
There was someone there—standing stock-still, arms at sides. Loradus reset his arm and nodded without turning to look. For the moment, it was probably better to leave him alone, to let him keep thinking he’d escaped detection.
Still Loradus checked his belt, making sure that the dagger was in its place. Perhaps after I’ve rested . . . .
Inside, Lyryssa was fussing over a cauldron, the contents of which were steaming.
Loradus sighed and limped across to her. "You appear to be having a problem."
Lyryssa's mouth tightened in concentration. "I . . . can't do the necessary spell . . . ."
Loradus shuddered, feeling nauseated again. He held a hand to his stomach until the turmoil within died down. "For a potion?"
"It's for a poultice."
"Potion or poultice, no spell exists that I know of to help you."
Lyryssa shrugged.
"You don't need to use a poultice, you know," said Loradus.
Lyryssa shook her head. "I do."
Loradus stared at her coldly for a few moments. Then he located the small cot in a corner and made for it. Slowly, he sat himself down.
Lyryssa exhaled sharply. "Look, what do you want me to do?"
Loradus pretended to consider this, eventually pointing to the wall behind her with a sarcastic glare. Lyryssa wouldn’t even have to look; she knew what the narrow shelf on the wall held. "No," she said. "You were the one who wanted to ban its use—and you still haven't told me why."
"It doesn't matter right now."
"Seems like it never does. Didn't you say you wanted a potion?"
Loradus bowed his head. "I don’t recall saying that. The Tears work better, anyway, and I'd rather not waste time healing."
"Can't you just . . . I don't know, make more time?"
"I manage time. There's a difference."
Lyryssa closed her eyes momentarily. "You spent the past moon arguing against the Tears. And now you'll use them just because it's convenient for you?"
"Hypocrisy is something I’ve learned to live with."
"Obviously."
Loradus's hand flared with pain. His mind clouded with an irrational rage. Insolent—
The bolt of violet lightning left his palm before he knew what he was doing. Lyryssa twisted to one side, and the bolt crackled past, burning the edge of her cloak to frayed ribbons. Then the energy sputtered and dispersed into the surrounding air.
Sazh, Loradus cursed to himself as consciousness fled.
Chapter 3 "Loradus!" muttered Lyryssa, hurrying toward him as he slumped onto his side. His fingers sparked. This was the first time she had ever seen him collapse from exhaustion, and it was . . . unnerving, to say the least. It would have taken a tremendous amount of stress and weariness to knock him out. He could create lightning effortlessly, and yet the one spiteful burst he had conjured now had been too much to handle. It made her wonder if he would speak fluently and cast spells to his last breath. Ah, don't think about that now, she thought, leaning over him. His eye was closed and twitching, as if he was having one of those dreams. She took another look at his hand and reluctantly decided that he had been right. A potion or poultice would take too long. She turned towards the shelf on the wall behind the cauldron. On it sat four glass jars, each of which contained a blue crystal form in the shape of a teardrop. Lyryssa crossed the room and pulled a jar from the shelf. Inside, the Tear seemed to wink at her, as if it knew whatever dangerous secret Loradus was keeping from her. She put out the fire underneath the cauldron and knelt near the unconscious Loradus. For a moment, she simply stared into the jar, into the depths of the Tear. Then, removing the lid, she lifted the Tear out, its soft blue glow spilling over her fingers. She held it over Loradus's injured hand, and tightened her grip until it shattered.
The crystal shards melted into the air, leaving behind an intangible drop of pulsing energy. Lyryssa spread the fingers of one hand, mentally pushing the energy down. It sank into Loradus's skin. Almost immediately, the wound on his hand closed up. Several miniscule scratches across his face and arms faded as well. His eye grew still. His breathing became steadier.
The scars over the sealed lid of his missing eye remained. Lyryssa wondered vaguely what had taken the eye, and why the Tears were unable to heal it.
She moved Loradus into a more comfortable position on the cot and looked him over one last time.
Then she sat in a corner, gathered her cloak around herself, and closed her eyes. Within moments, she was asleep.
When she awoke, it was to find Loradus sitting on the floor with his back to her, a lantern to either side. Lyryssa blinked sleepily, glancing at the pegs on the walls where the lanterns usually hung. She stretched, interlacing her fingers and raising them above her head. Loradus stirred then, and without turning, he whispered something unintelligible. Lyryssa blinked again, unsure whether he was addressing her or not. He bowed his head, and for a moment it looked eerily as though it were missing from his shoulders. "Um . . . Loradus?" she said softly.
He shifted again. Finally, he turned around to face her. "What is it?"
He seemed much calmer now, she thought; but even still, she hesitated in replying. "What . . . what were you doing?"
Loradus tilted his head. "Measuring change."
Lyryssa tightened her mouth. Then, unable to contain herself any longer, she burst out, "Loradus, what does it mean? You're having these—dreams, and you're talking about weather changing and Shadows lengthening and you haven't told me—"
“Please, please,” said Loradus. “Calm yourself. There will come a time when I tell you everything I know about what’s coming.”
"If things are changing so fast, wouldn't it be better to tell me now . . . ?"
"I'll tell you when I can. But for now—" Loradus shuddered, exhaling, his eye flickering like a guttering candle. He bowed his head again.
Lyryssa slid herself forwards, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You OK?" Loradus traced the outline of his scarred eyelid with a finger. " . . . I will be. Shadows are within me still . . . ." He paused. "You did use a Tear after all?" Lyryssa brought her eyebrows together. "Well . . . yes." When Loradus kept silent for several moments more, she prompted, "You were saying . . . ?"
