to lay there until he either wasted away or found the inspiration to move, and he was frankly too miserable to care if the first happened and had no faith the second ever would.
Unfortunately, it quickly became clear that sleep wouldn’t have him back. His ribs were raking at his chest again and his bed was as hard and unyielding as granite.
Certain that any further attempt at sleep was now a lost cause, he opened his eyes. He was surprised to find it still dark. How long had he been sleeping? It seemed like years. He carefully rolled up onto his side. Once stable, he reached for the poultice covering his bad eye, but it was gone. His vision wasn’t obscured by any covering. Rather, the cave was simply pitch black, leaving him wondering if it was still the middle of the night or if he’d somehow gone blind while he slept.
He braced his side and winced his way into a sitting position. He waved his hand before his face but saw nothing. He couldn’t even see the outline of the cave’s entrance. A wave of panic washed through him. What if he really had gone blind? He’d seen people lose their sight after bad head blows. They were typically the same ones who didn’t recover. What if the damage to his head was worse than he’d feared? It’d be his death sentence!
He struggled his way to his knees. He reached out and groped at the blackness. His hand found a smooth, cold ledge beside him. A quick probe told him it was only a few feet high. He used it to climb to his feet. With one hand running the edge as a guide and the other out before him, he inched his way forward. He’d only made just a couple steps when his foot caught something hard. He stumbled forward. A sharp edge bit into his shin. He dropped onto his hands and rolled roughly down a series of ridges before landing on his hands and knees on the cold floor.
At first, he could only lay there, barely able to draw a breath for the pain. It felt like someone had beaten his shins with an iron bar and they were now kicking him in his broken ribs. Was there no end to this torture? What had he ever done to deserve so poor a treatment by whatever entities ruled this wretched universe?
The thought almost made him laugh. What had he ever done? Hilarious.
When he was finally able to sit upright, he realized he could see again. Something white was glowing in the darkness before him. It was just a small spot of light, but it was undeniably real. It must be the remnants of his fire, perhaps the last of the dying embers. He raised his hand and saw the silhouette of his fingers against the radiance.
As he watched, the light slowly intensified. It swelled out across the floor like phosphorescent water poured onto black ice. It spread quickly away from the source like a blossoming flower. It flowed beneath him, flowed up the distant walls, poured across the ceiling high above him until he could see it all: The dais, the pillars, the throne-like chair, the pagan gods cavorting across the domed ceiling.
This was the room from his dream, which meant it hadn’t been a dream at all. The only difference between the dream and now was that the light pulsing through the crystal was no longer red; it was as white as the stars. He looked back at the pillars locked at each corner of the wide dais. They were even more impressive than he remembered, rising up from the floor until they brushed the ceiling a hundred feet above him. Carved into each crystalline pillar, and standing just a few feet above the surface of the dais, were the life-sized images of a man or woman of four different races. He couldn’t remember seeing them in the dream. The front two pillars hosted the image of a Parhronii and a Vaemyn, left to right. The rear pillars held a giant Baeldon and a masked Mendophian in the same order. It was breathtaking. This room was more beautiful than any cathedral he’d ever seen.
The carving of the Vaemyn warrior standing directly above him was dressed in royal fashion like some
Unfortunately, it quickly became clear that sleep wouldn’t have him back. His ribs were raking at his chest again and his bed was as hard and unyielding as granite.
Certain that any further attempt at sleep was now a lost cause, he opened his eyes. He was surprised to find it still dark. How long had he been sleeping? It seemed like years. He carefully rolled up onto his side. Once stable, he reached for the poultice covering his bad eye, but it was gone. His vision wasn’t obscured by any covering. Rather, the cave was simply pitch black, leaving him wondering if it was still the middle of the night or if he’d somehow gone blind while he slept.
He braced his side and winced his way into a sitting position. He waved his hand before his face but saw nothing. He couldn’t even see the outline of the cave’s entrance. A wave of panic washed through him. What if he really had gone blind? He’d seen people lose their sight after bad head blows. They were typically the same ones who didn’t recover. What if the damage to his head was worse than he’d feared? It’d be his death sentence!
He struggled his way to his knees. He reached out and groped at the blackness. His hand found a smooth, cold ledge beside him. A quick probe told him it was only a few feet high. He used it to climb to his feet. With one hand running the edge as a guide and the other out before him, he inched his way forward. He’d only made just a couple steps when his foot caught something hard. He stumbled forward. A sharp edge bit into his shin. He dropped onto his hands and rolled roughly down a series of ridges before landing on his hands and knees on the cold floor.
At first, he could only lay there, barely able to draw a breath for the pain. It felt like someone had beaten his shins with an iron bar and they were now kicking him in his broken ribs. Was there no end to this torture? What had he ever done to deserve so poor a treatment by whatever entities ruled this wretched universe?
The thought almost made him laugh. What had he ever done? Hilarious.
When he was finally able to sit upright, he realized he could see again. Something white was glowing in the darkness before him. It was just a small spot of light, but it was undeniably real. It must be the remnants of his fire, perhaps the last of the dying embers. He raised his hand and saw the silhouette of his fingers against the radiance.
As he watched, the light slowly intensified. It swelled out across the floor like phosphorescent water poured onto black ice. It spread quickly away from the source like a blossoming flower. It flowed beneath him, flowed up the distant walls, poured across the ceiling high above him until he could see it all: The dais, the pillars, the throne-like chair, the pagan gods cavorting across the domed ceiling.
This was the room from his dream, which meant it hadn’t been a dream at all. The only difference between the dream and now was that the light pulsing through the crystal was no longer red; it was as white as the stars. He looked back at the pillars locked at each corner of the wide dais. They were even more impressive than he remembered, rising up from the floor until they brushed the ceiling a hundred feet above him. Carved into each crystalline pillar, and standing just a few feet above the surface of the dais, were the life-sized images of a man or woman of four different races. He couldn’t remember seeing them in the dream. The front two pillars hosted the image of a Parhronii and a Vaemyn, left to right. The rear pillars held a giant Baeldon and a masked Mendophian in the same order. It was breathtaking. This room was more beautiful than any cathedral he’d ever seen.
The carving of the Vaemyn warrior standing directly above him was dressed in royal fashion like some
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