Bound in Spirals Ch. 11

Major thanks to my editor Ed! He's helped me a lot with some good suggestions, along with fixing the numerous typos and grammatical errors that I tend to miss on my own. Bonus thanks to A.A.A. for the extra help they added!

Enjoy!

—————

Dettella stood over Sam as he collapsed from the devastating news. 'His friend is... dying.' She thought. Not having any connection to the man, she couldn't understand what Sam was going through. But, she did know that if he died now it might break Sam. 'I have to do something! Can I comfort him somehow? No no, I need to make sure his friend lives. If I fail in that, comforting him will be the only option, but that probably won't help much. I need to make sure his friend doesn't die.'

As she began wracking her mind for answers she noticed the elven knight, Vielchena. She was looking down at Sam. The elf looked back up, then started walking back toward the manor. 'What...? Her behavior, it's very strange...' Dettella shook her head. 'Focus. I must find an answer! An elf mage? No, none would help!' Around her, the others seemed just as unable to act as she was. Even Darrel looked uncertain as Sam started muttering something she couldn't understand, whether it was just inaudible or incomprehensible she wasn't sure.

She was still franticly trying to come up with something when Vielchena returned. Following her was another elf. This one was short. More so than most of the other elves she'd seen. '...Why did she bring a child here?' Vielchena touched Sam's trembling shoulder, and his head slowly turned up to her. Dettella nearly gasped at the look in his eyes. They held no tears, no emotion at all. It looked like he was staring at something beyond the elf.

Then the elven woman spoke, and pointed at the child. "...friend...help..." Dettella wasn't sure exactly what she was saying, but based on what she did understand, she deduced that the child must be an elven mage.

Sam's eyes seemed to refocus for a moment, shifted back, then focused again. Finally, his face showed a hint of emotion. A glimpse of hope had come, and he latched on desperately. He stood quickly, gestured for the elves to follow him and began running to the carriage, his cloak flapping behind him. The knight followed immediately, but the child hesitated a moment before following, his face showing a mixture of bewilderment and curiosity.

When Dettella broke from her reverie, she went after them quickly, holding the skirt of her dress firmly in both hands.

———

Samson sat in the room made of magic, unsure of how to respond. The man who'd made the room... The man who was the room waited silently for his answer. 'What...? What do you mean I'm a god now?'

'I mean exactly that. When you were killed and your alternate self looked at the portal page simultaneously, your spirit, soul, essence, whatever you would call it, was pulled into the magic world. Now, you are a god.' The man replied.

'I... I still don't quite understand. How does that even work? And, how does that suddenly make me a god? Do I have the ability to create, or control nature?' Samson asked. With each answer the man gave, it seemed to create more questions.

'Well, no, you do not have any powers of creation. That is the most common definition of a god, yes, but it is not the reality. The truth is that we have no such abilities, but we do have influence. By that, I mean we can connect ourselves to a living mage and communicate with them, we can even grant them some of our accumulated magic. The more malevolent of us try to control their saints, that is how we refer the mages we are connected to, rather than playing a more supportive role.'

'Wait, grant them your magic? Is that how Sam, uh, my saint became so powerful?'

'No, for some reason he is just an extraordinarily gifted mage. Some of the older of us have faint recollections of similar people in the past, but we're not sure for what reason they have so much magic, or if there is a reason at all. You see, once you become a god all memories become dull after a time, except for your own life. For the same reason, our dispositions are set in a sort of near permanent state.

'The way we were as living people is how we continue to be as gods. Those who were full of happiness in life are generally benevolent gods, those filled with hatred are those who seek to create chaos or ruin the lives of those they blame for their misfortune. That is where the current idea of a single benevolent god, and an evil opposite come from. Some of the saints in the past tried to explain the truth, but over time it became a different concept entirely.' The man told him.

'Alright... but that still doesn't explain how I suddenly became one of you. Does everyone who dies become a god?'

'No, it is quite uncommon for a new god to appear, only every hundred years or so. As for where the majority of humans go when they die, we have no idea. Most of us believe they just disappear into the void on the other side of the world of magic. It is a fairly common belief among the living as well.'

'You're still avoiding the part about how I didn't get thrown into the void, and ended up a "god" in this so called world of magic.' Samson pressed.

The man let out a sigh. 'Truthfully, we do not know exactly how it works. Again, we are not like the all powerful creator that the living think of when "god" is brought up. I don't have every answer you want, and I doubt any other god does either. So I'm afraid you will have to make due with what little information I possess.'

'...Alright, I understand. Sorry, I'm just a little uneasy with all of this, and I'm anxious because my "saint" was half dead, ahem, when I was last with him.'

'Your concern is justified, but your saint is alive and well at the moment. My own saint is with him, along with two others nearby. Though I am uncertain of the others' intentions, they don't appear to be hostile. We should make this quick though, do you have any more important questions.'

Samson had more questions than he could manage at once, but the man had said important questions. 'Well, I suppose knowing how the whole granting magic thing works would be good, and why you have all of these different colors of it.'

'Ah, well that is quite simple. To grant magic, you summon it the way you would as a living person, then push it into your saint's magic. The reason for the different colors of magic I have is because, when a saint dies the magic is taken by the god connected to them. These are the gifts left behind by the many friends I've had as a god. As you can see based on the lighter color, they are all bind magic. Whatever type of mage you were as a living person is what type of mage you can connect to.'

'Alright, I have two more questions. First, is there a limit to how many saints you can be connected to at once?'

'You can only connect to one at a time.' He replied quickly.

'Okay. And lastly, what is your name?' Samson asked.

The man laugh heartily. 'My name is Rentell. I will contact you again Samson, when the time is right.' He said. Then, the room was gone and Samson was alone.

He nearly panicked for a moment, then as he shifted he saw Sam's vast pool of magic below him. It flowed and twisted, making it look like an ocean of silver and gold, with a sky of black looming above. 'Well, that's a lot to swallow... Time to find my way back to the center then.' And with that, he began swimming through the ocean of power.

———

Sam ran to the carriage, his heart pumping. 'Hope. There's hope. Hope...' He threw open the door and looked inside. There was another person inside who tried to tell him something, but Sam didn't see them. All he could see was Theodore, and his sickly pale face. "Here, this is him." He said over his shoulder.

Vielchena silently moved to the side, allowing the small boy to pass. The young elf looked at Sam with confusion, and a little interest written over his face. Then the boy stepped into the carriage, his previous emotions vanished to be replaced by a solemn expression.

"I cannot heal him completely. It is beyond my current capabilities, but I will do what I can." The boy swept back his pure white hair, and glanced at Sam for a split second. "You are strange. I have never met an equal."

Sam did not respond, he was too focused on Theodore. For a moment, he thought his friend had stopped breathing, but it was just due how shallow it was. Each breath he took barely moved his chest at all. Sam's eyes flicked over as the elf first removed the bandages, then placed his hands on Theodore's head. His white hair seemed to lose it's weight and flowed around like a sea anemone, then began to softly glow silver.

"There are traces of slime in his bloodstream. It seems to be slowly eating away at his lungs and heart. None have reached the brain yet, else there would be no recovery." The boy said quietly. "Whoever has been treating him thus far is quite skilled for a human. He would have died days ago without the herbal medicines he's been receiving."

Suddenly, the boy's hair flicked, then brightened. His eyes were intense as he focused on Theodore. After a minute of silence, small globules of green began to ooze out from Theodore's open wounds. They dribbled down onto the bandages, followed by a flood of yellowish discharge. The swelling went down, and Theodore was almost instantly starting to look better.

"I have done what I can. He will make it to your next destination, which I assume is Geylin. You should burn those bandages before that slime spreads."

Sam almost cried in relief. He'd been on the verge of succumbing to his looming madness just minutes before in his grief. "Thank you... I-I will pay you, I have some silver!"

"No pay. I do not need it. I would not be allowed to keep it besides." The young elf replied, then left the carriage.

Dettella and Fenella looked into the carriage a minute later. Both widened their eyes at the sight of Theodore. Fenella grabbed the soiled bandages and carried them outside, while Dettella grabbed Yalene, who was fuming after being ignored and dragged her out. Sam was left alone with his friend, unable to move from his kneeling position. He did not move until Dettella guided him into the plush carriage seat, next to his friend.

It was apparently time to leave, but Sam's mind and body were so exhausted that he didn't even register it as the carriage began to move. His soul pleaded for sleep, and he was only too eager to comply. So, he slept.

———

"AAAACHAGHH!!" He clutched at his stomach, the piercing pain bringing him to a brutal awakening. He felt like someone had stabbed him with a rusty knife after heating it over a flame, then began twisting it inside him. "AAAAAAAAAH!"

It was so excruciating that for a while he couldn't remember who he was, what had happened. He couldn't even think. Copious amounts of sweat rolled off his face, chest, arms, everywhere. Time seemed to pass slowly, yet quickly at the same time.

Severed hands crawled up his bare body, caressing him, spilling blood from their shredded wrists. Some of them started snapping, others clapped each other. Some just continued gently touching him, comforting him. They started creating a rhythm, snap snap, clap, snap snap snap, clap clap, snap snap, clap, snap snap snap, clap clap.

Then the ones that were not previously occupied began tickling him all over. At first he just kept screaming, but the hands were persistent. They were not to be denied. He began laughing. He laughed and laughed, unable to control himself. The hands were just too good at tickling. He laughed so hard that he couldn't breathe. His laughter quickly became a sort of combination of screaming and laughing.

The hands were going to kill him, tickle him to death. Every movement they seemed to tickle him more, making his laughter and screams intensify. Even the endless amount of crimson blood that spilled over him tickled his skin. With each laugh, each scream, the pain got worse. He tried to shirk away the hands, tried to get them away. Fear filled him. The warm blood was everywhere.

Hands filled the small room. They tickled, snapped, clapped, caressed, bled. Then, one of them tickled his stomach, and his laughter ceased completely. He just screamed, and clawed at his face. His own blood mixed with that of the hands, followed soon after by tears. The overflowing liquid slowly rose up in the small room, filling it. Soon, the hands on the floor were consumed by it.

The red fluid reached the bottom of his feather mattress, then rose above, joining the blood, sweat and tears that already pooled around him. It climbed further, enveloping him. It went up his nose, in his ears, down his throat, yet he still managed to scream. His vision went red, then black. The hands were gone, the blood was gone, but he still screamed.

He fell through an endless blackness, finding no floor to cease his suffering. In the back recesses of his mind, the part that still could form something resembling a thought, Hennel prayed for death. Then, he woke.

"AAAACHAGHH!!" He clutched at his stomach, the piercing pain bringing him to a brutal awakening. He felt like someone had stabbed him with a rusty knife after heating it over a flame, then began twisting it inside him. "AAAAAAAAAH!"

Then, it began again.

———

Dettella let out a sigh. They were finally out of that blighted city and they'd managed to do so without being attacked. All of the days occurrences seemed to slam into her at once. Kissing Sam, her admission of attraction to him, the governor attempting to have them killed, Sam losing his control again, him kissing her, Vielchena joining them for some reason, and Sam's friend nearly succumbing to his ailments. If it had been stressful for her, she couldn't imagine the toll it had taken on Sam.

She tried to be worried for his sake, but she was still too gleeful over his requital of her feelings. It felt like she was in one of those saccharine romance novels, the ones about love at first sight. And as much as she didn't particularly enjoy it in the books, she was finding it to be quite thrilling in reality. 'I am being far too naive about this. True romance is not perfect... but I can fret over that later. I can pretend it is for a while at least. Who knows, maybe this will turn out to be the exception to the rule.'

Dettella doubted the thought already, but she couldn't help hoping for it. 'When did I become a starry-eyed maiden, wishing for a sweet romance?' She shook her head. 'I really should get these thoughts out of my head. Such distractions could get us killed, or worse, get us captured by Tenall. I've already made the mistake once, and was barely saved by Samson, who was in turn aided by luck.'

"Milady," Giela broke her from her rambling thoughts, "I... I feel that I must ask, why did you hire me? And, right after I insulted you. On top of that... I mean, I'm an elf. Why would a human want me as a personal handmaiden?"

Dettella looked at her new handmaiden, who now sat where Yalene would have. For a moment, she recalled the looked of utter horror on her ex-servant's face when she handed her the five gold chips and told her she was relieved of service. It had been somewhat satisfying for a moment, then she'd felt guilty for delighting in another's distress. She was then almost immediately relieved of her guilt by the look of absolute hatred Yalene shot at Sam, who had still been kneeling in the carriage at the time.

She shook her head again, and looked at Giela's worried hazel eyes. "Now, I don't mean to sound too pretentious when I say this, but I am not the average human. I try hard to judge intelligent creatures by their actions, not by trivialities such as race, wealth, and sex. That said, I am not perfect and some prejudices are so deeply ingrained that I cannot help thinking certain ways. Sorry, I'm beginning to ramble. What I mean is that I don't care what race you are, as long as you're competent and treat others fairly.

"When I first saw you, your expression held none of the resentment or disgust that is common when one when one sees someone of another race. You also seemed relatively intelligent, though I suppose that wouldn't be saying much considering my last handmaiden. Honestly, I just needed to get rid of her quickly, I was afraid she might end up killing Samson if she was around much longer. Ah! I'm rambling again," Dettella closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, "I tend to talk too much when I get tired."

"It is alright, milady. I think I enjoy conversing with you." Giela said, giving her a tentative smile.

Dettella smiled tiredly in response. "That is good. Well, I think I should sleep a little before we catch up to Letta."

"Letta? Who is that?" Giela asked, but Dettella was already fading into sleep.

———

Hennel woke screaming, again. His body trembled and his stomach seared with pain. He waited for the hands to come again, to torture him with their ceaseless clapping, snapping, and tickling, then for them to drown him in blood... They didn't come. He managed to shift his head enough to look to his left, biting back his screams.

The room was lit only by a flickering candle on the side table, casting dancing shadows across the white walls. He assumed he must have vomited in his sleep, likely urinated as well, due to the smell. He saw the shadow of a hand silhouetted against the wall and he whimpered pitifully. Then he realized it was just an illusion, it had only been the vase of wilting flowers. Hennel let out a hoarse laugh, delighting in his freedom from the torturous dreams. He wanted to continue laughing, continue reveling in the silliness of his situation, but his gut protested.

Somehow, it seemed the pain had spread further out from the initial wound. It wasn't just the small area now, but nearly the whole of his stomach area. He felt tears fall unbidden from his eyes. 'Damn you! How long will this last?!' Hennel wanted to wipe away the tears, but his body was protesting his every movement. He felt exhausted already, and he'd only been awake for a few minutes.

'No... No, please... No I can't fall asleep, I can't take any more of the nightmares. No more.' He forced himself to move, and his arm came up. Then it fell limply to his stomach. He howled in pain, trying to yank his arm away but it was slow, lethargic. He began to weep and laugh at how pathetic he was. 'I want to die. Nothing could be worse than this. Someone kill me, please. I-I don't... No. I want to live, but this pain, it's too much... Just put me out of my misery... Ah-I'm such a disgrace, even my crying is pathetic.'

The door to his room opened and light spilled in, illuminating the messy room. Someone stood in the doorway. 'My... savior? Will you kill me?'

A woman's voice spoke back out into the hall, "Please, let me have some time with my brother. I wish to be alone with him for a while."

'Tenall...' Something worse had just arrived. She strode in, closing the door behind her. In her left hand she carried a crystal that glowed an intense white.

Tenall noticed that he was awake and cooed gleefully, "Oooh, you're awake." She grinned maliciously. "Ah, but unfortunately I plan to save you for later. You will be my appetizer before Dettella." Hennel hardly heard her words, he was staring intently at the odd crystal in her gloved hand. "Oh, this? This is a crystal named quartz, it produces such a brilliant light when imbued with binding magic. It was only discovered recently, and it is in high demand. Even for such a small piece I had to pay an exorbitant price. Not that it really matters now that I am queen, I have plenty of riches for now."