Formless Keys [Hadrian]

[Silarial]

37th of Winter, 497 AV A three year old Silarial ambled around a small room in Zeltiva. Of course, her young mind could not yet fathom where she was and what she was doing in a place so far away from her mother’s people. But there she was playing at home and all alone, her mother outside the house with the lecherous man. She had been rapidly learning words as she listened to people talk, but she did not understand what lecherous meant. She heard her mother call him that, and he hurt her. Silarial cried, and he hurt her as well. Silarial started sobbing when she remembered the events of that night. She didn’t like that man, but her mother told her to be nice to him for he let them stay at his house, even while he was away at the university. Silarial was just glad he was away most of the time. She pushed her pale, little thumb inside her mouth and sucked fretfully, walking with small, clumsy steps towards the wooden table. She climbed onto the creaky chair with a bit of difficulty, pushing her way up the seat with a pair of wobbly legs. A smile of satisfaction spread across her features when she was finally able to sit on the wooden chair. On the table were papers strewn about messily, and there were books stacked up precariously near the edge of the table. Silarial pulled one of the books from the middle and watched in wonder as the rest of the pile toppled down to the floor. Without giving the mess a second glance, she opened the book and stared at the alien characters inscribed on its pages. She slid her fingers across the razor-thin edge of the paper and almost instantly, a tiny drop of crimson bloomed on the lower corner of the book. Another drop appeared adjacent to the first and this time, she felt an intense pain well from one of her fingers. On the tip of her ring finger was a small cut. It was not bleeding anymore, but it ached nevertheless, and so much so that she broke out crying. It would only be a few chimes before she would be punished by her mother for tampering with library property.

[Hadrian]

41st Winter, 512 A.V. Sometimes the library remaindered books, and they were often donated to the Farson Home to help Hadrian and his staff instill in the children a love of reading, the better to aid them in their education and training to become pillars of society. As ever, the young headmaster was perusing them all. One never knew when a book might be more valuable than imagined. Flipping through one, he noticed a spot of blood on the corner of a page. No particular follower of Viratas, he might have just let it pass, but he was blessed by Nysel, and recognized a key to some stranger's chavi when he saw it. Neatly excising it from the page with the point of a penknife, he rubbed his thumb over the square of paper with the circle of dark, dried red. When he fell asleep, it engaged his link to the god of dreams, his awareness sank into that blood, and into the chavena following a particular strand all the way to Avanthal. It was a girl, or a young woman. He could tell little else, but he was merging into her dreamlife.

[Silarial]

The moment she fell into a deep sleep, everything around her was engulfed in a suffocating darkness. She could not even see her own hands even though it was outstretched right in front of her eyes. There were no sounds, and the sense of touch gave her absolutely nothing. She tried calling out for help but nothing came out. Everything was still. If one could see through the all black, one would find Silarial floating inside a large chunk of ice in a flowing white dress she would never think of wearing, fear etched into her face and her amber eyes. In this dream, the ground was covered with pristine water that reached only up to one’s ankle, and above her was a cloudless, eternally blue sky that seemed to stretch on forever. The landscape would bring a peace to one’s self if only one could see it, but all of it was shrouded by encroaching shadows. Silarial’s tears streamed down her cheeks, yet that she did not feel as well. The darkness was so oppressive it was driving her mad. Robbed of all her senses, her mind was awash with a dread that seemed to creep all over her being.