The Awakening - Chapter 5

The old woman moved with a vibrant youthfulness to bind the dazed Tzarian.  She wrapped his hands with thick vines that had been weaved into rope and bound his feet with the same length of material.  He stiffened and breathed with his mouth agape when she draped a rough rucksack bag over his head, blurring his vision in the rising sunlight.  

Atoli found his mind blocked, his hands numb and his muscles seemingly rooted to the earth; as much as he struggled, he was not able to move.  He heard Nanna's voice as though she spoke in the hollow caverns of Drak'Az, her words having a metallic ring to them, "Is it a strange feeling?"  He tried to answer but failed, "Mathias is a manipulator.  I told Sanai we couldn't just leave him there, that he wouldn't bind with the pact.  I told her but," he could hear her moving about him, rustling the woman's body, "she's as stubborn as your people.  Go figure."

Her voice was sounding more youthful than before, the lisp from the loss of teeth was no longer in her speech, her movements contained no shuffling, rather he could hear strong steps and strides.  "Get up."  He could hear Ianas groan.  "Take it from him."  

"Nanna?"

"Take it from him."

It took Ianas some time to get up and she cleared her throat as she approached.  He could feel the ring slide off his finger though his body was as resistant as stone to manipulation.  The hood was pulled off his face and the old woman hovered her face in front of his.  She snarled at him as his body regained its free will, "Don't ask for it, you'll never get it back."

He struggled to quell the anger that tried to rise within him and diverted his attention to the goddess Nanna had spoken of, "How did you speak with my Goddess.  What do you mean 'leave him there?'  Leave him where?"  He stood slowly, finding no bindings though the old woman had not removed any, his hand throbbing almost as though suffering withdrawl without the ring.  

Ianas looked at Nanna, "What did you say to him?"

"Nothing.  That Highborne is delusional.  He just got hit in the head."  As Ianas continued to question her she was waved off and the old woman teetered back towards her home, "If he hurts you again, I'm not bailing you out," she called back.

Atoli looked at the strawberry woman before him; her neck was bright red.  "Nanna is an Archivist.  There has never been a symbol she couldn't understand, never a spell she couldn't cast."  As he felt his cut hand he looked down at the empty graves around him.  "The ring is a symbol of the Legion, and you won't find it.  Nanna has banished it away from you, to save you.  We know all about you, Atoli.  Whatever Mathias has told you, whatever he has manipulated you into doing, re-think his motives; he has lied to you."

The Tzarian was confused by the information the women knew: his name, about Mathias, about his goddess.  "Why are you privy to this knowledge?  Where do you get it from?"

"It's the curse of having an Archivist for a Grandmother; very little is left untold."  She reached out to touch his face but pulled her hand away before ever feeling his flesh.  "Some things just have to be the way they are, others have different paths.  Nanna warned me this day would come.  I have been training Arnak swordsmen for the day of The Awakening."

"The Awakening?"

"The fate of Caelar is in your hands; you choose its future be it dark, light or grey."  She stared at him, waiting for him to press for more information, though he didn't.  "There are seven-hundred men and women at the ready.  With the technology from the Kinder, your war, whichever one you're fighting, may have the upper hand.  They will go when you are ready.  You can find them at the barracks."  Turning to walk away from the man she rubbed her throat and called back, "Good luck, Highborne."

Atoli gritted his teeth as he watched her leave, fighting an anger inside him that he couldn't pinpoint.  There was something familiar about Ianas, but he found himself overwhelmed by the thought of the jewel now missing on Caelar and his agitation at the very fact; he walked to extinguish his mind.