From alt.pub.dragons-inn Mon Sep 4 22:44:41 1995 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:8681 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!howland.reston.ans.net!tank.news.pipex.net!pipex!in1.uu.net!caen!reeve.research.aa.wl.com!WS008013F18C2D!simonj From: simonj@rh.wl.com (Jeff Simon) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [Jake Shade] Chapter 8: A Time to Heal (Repost) Date: Sun, 3 Sep 1995 05:44:24 EDT Organization: Parke-Davis Rochester Lines: 430 Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Host: 198.205.215.16 X-Newsreader: Trumpet for Windows [Version 1.0 Rev B final beta #4] My apologies for anyone who has been following the Outlander Chronicles, also known as the Jake Shade thread. I have been distracted in great part by the Party Thread, and have been remiss in keeping the main work going. I am reposting Chapter 8 for those who might have forgotten where I am at in the story, and will post Chapter 9 on Friday Night. Thanks. J.Simon *********************************************************** What has gone before: The mysterious outlander known as Jake Shade has become embroiled in a struggle with numerous dark factions; all of them trying to seize possession of a talisman currently in the hands of a female thief by the name of Yvette Anastel. Shade has thwarted the plans of Falchion, Leader of the Thieve's Guild, one too many times. The Crime Lord orders the death of the outlander, sending a band of professional assassins and former commandos to do the job. Already weakened by a prior ambush, Shade manages to defeat the eight warriors in a bloody battle, but his injuries from that combat may prove to be fatal . . . . ************************************************************ Chapter 8: A Time to Heal The streets of Generica were quiet on this night, almost peaceful. On the Avenue of Unforgotten Heroes the light of multiple moons bathed the street in an almost Faerie-like glow. A half-starved tomcat foraged in a pile of garbage that had spilled out of a dank alleyway. The sounds of the foraging animal were magnified by the still air of the empty streets. On this night, no one was outside to hear them. Suddenly, the cat looked up. Its ears flicked rapidly as they registered the sounds of someone approaching. The cat flattened itself, every muscle tensed to run as a dark figure drew haltingly near. The man - for it was a man - paid the animal no heed as he walked past it, his gait slow and uneven, broken now and again by a stumble. The animal watched with unblinking yellow eyes as the man gradually disappeared into the distance. A tantalizing odor fell upon its nostrils, drawing it irresistibly to the middle of the street. It crouched down next to where the man had passed by and began lapping at a splash of wetness there. The small puddle gleamed in the moonlight, redly. Jake Shade forced his legs to keep moving. He walked through streets that seemed wrapped in fog, unsure whether the mists were real or an phantasm conjured by his dying senses. With each step, his body screamed in agony; but he did not stop. One of the things that Shade had learned in his long life was that pain, if it could not be ignored, could at least be overcome. But in the end, even the willpower of the immortals is finite. At last Shade could walk no further, his legs buckled and he fell against one of the statues that lined the avenue. He looked up with a painful effort and gazed into the impassive stony countenance of Mesner the Immense. It was the monument under which he had slept on his first night in the city of Generica. "Hello there, Mesner old pal," Shade gasped, collapsing at the statue's feet. He sprawled there helplessly, looking up at Mesner's remote features. The statue's face blurred as he faded into darkness . . . . *************************** After hours of prowling the streets, Yvette began to feel frustration setting in. She had awakened within her dark room at the Fastness filled with a dire certainty that the outlander who had saved her life was now in danger of losing his own. Her vision had led her to a quiet bridge spanning the Ceruputhon, the river which flows through Generica. She did not find the outlander, but she did make a disturbing discovery: a trail of blood that led back in the direction of the Mage's Academy. It was several hours after midnight by the time the raven haired thief had followed the trail back to its end - or rather, its beginning. A narrow side street leading off the main avenue led her to a small archway. That archway in turn led to a small courtyard. Yvette could smell the death within even before she walked through the arch. The stones of the courtyard had been drenched as if by a sudden red rain, and she cringed as her feet came up from the cobblestones sticky with blood that was almost, but not quite, dry. Seven bodies lay scattered about the courtyard; the light of the two moons directly overhead sufficient to reveal the terrible manner in which each had died. Arms tight with horror, Yvette forced herself to turn over each body, searching for the face that she remembered. It was not a pleasant experience. The outlander was not among the dead, and her heart skipped a beat with a sense of relief. She rubbed angrily at her eyes with the back of one wrist; at a loss to explain why she cared so deeply about the fate of a man she had met only once before. Her brother, Winder, was not one much given to emotions of a gentle sort. No doubt he would have had something fittingly sarcastic to say if he had been able to see his sister at that moment. Yvette was beyond caring. Two nights ago she had learned something important about herself. For over a year, she had been hiding a hurt within herself, afraid to dream, afraid even to hope for a better life. When Grace had accosted her for the second time, it was as if a nightmare she had long foreseen was finally coming true. But then salvation had come in the guise of a exotic outland warrior. A man without fear; a man who had done what others had feared to do. He had faced down the man from her nightmares. Somewhere within herself, hidden within a heart she had once thought desolate and barren, Yvette discovered a place still capable of hope. When that mysterious warrior had stepped in between her and the Lieutenant, she realized that her future was not set in stone. There was a hope for something better. In the secret garden of her soul, something had at long last taken root. It was a dream, the only thing of beauty that she possessed. Yvette suddenly realized that she had a hope of making a better life for herself. She could pull herself out of what had become a joyless, gray existence. That hope had begun on the night that the outlander entered her life. Somehow she knew that it might very well live or die with him. Yvette resolved to die herself before returning to that gray existence. The jingling of a small bell caught her attention. It was coming from the street just outside the courtyard. She crept to the archway with the stealth of a shadow and looked out. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darker alleyway. Up the street, in the opposite direction from the one she had taken, a massive black coach stood. Two dark figures in hooded cloaks were loading something big into the back of the evil-looking conveyance. The springs on the dark carriage creaked as one of the figures clambered aboard; next to the thing they had loaded within. The figure still standing in the street handed something up to the one inside. A gasp of horror tore itself from Yvette's throat. The object was a human head, eyes gleaming glassily as they stared into the moonlight. The sound of Yvette's involuntary intake of breath caused the hooded figure to turn in her direction. Heart hammering against her breastbone, the young woman pressed herself even further into the shadows. She breathed a silent prayer to Grauna that her white night- gown would not give her away. The Patron Saint of Thieves must have been listening to her that night; for the cloaked figure turned back and clambered aboard that evil-looking coach. Yvette let out a sigh of relief. A whip cracked and the carriage clattered away noisily. The small bell jingled over the thunder of hoofbeats as it departed, sounding curiously flat and out of tune. Yvette stayed in the shadows until the only sound she could hear was the sound of her own breathing. She stepped out into the street. A trail of blood led from the archway to the spot where the coach had been parked. The mysterious hooded figures had been loading a body into the evil-looking conveyance. She knew that it was not the body of the outlander, it had been too massive, almost ogre sized. Yvette now knew that her vision of the outlander's peril had been a true one. She knew that he had been in a terrible battle, and managed to survive. If the trail of blood was his, he was no doubt seriously injured and his life might still be in jeopardy. She wrapped her hand around the talisman she wore around her neck, and set out into the night once more. ******************************* HE REACHED FOR THE RIPPLING SILVER MOON AS HE HAD NEVER REACHED FOR ANYTHING BEFORE . . . HIS WOUNDS SCREAMED IN SAVAGE PROTEST BUT HE REFUSED TO LET THE PAIN MASTER HIM. HIS RIGHT ARM STRAINED UPWARD, UPWARD UNTIL IT REACHED THAT IVORY DISK, SHATTERING THAT WHITE IMAGE INTO SHARDS OF SILVER LIGHT. HIS HEAD BROKE THE SURFACE OF THE CERUPUTHON JUST BEHIND HIS ARM AND HE GASPED IN HUGELY. AIR! SWEET AIR! FOR AN INSTANT HE GLIMPSED A FLAT-CHEEKBONED FACE WITH DEAD GRAY EYES STARING DOWN AT HIM FROM THE BRIDGE UP ABOVE. TEETH FLASHED DIMLY IN A NASTY, MALICIOUS SMILE. THEN THE SODDEN WEIGHT OF SOAKED CLOTHING DRAGGED HIM BENEATH THE SURFACE ONCE MORE. THE COLD GRIP OF THE WATER MADE HIM FEEL WEIGHTLESS, BUT HE KNEW THE EVIL LIE THAT LAY BEYOND THAT CRUEL ILLUSION. HE WAS SINKING INEXORABLY TOWARDS THE RIVER BOTTOM. HE STRUGGLED TO TEAR OPEN THE CLASP TO HIS CLOAK, CURSING HIS USELESS LEFT ARM UNTIL FINALLY, FINALLY, THE CLOAK CAME FREE. IMMEDIATELY HIS DESCENT SUBSIDED, BUT THE SILVER SURFACE WAS SO FAR ABOVE HIM NOW. HIS LUNGS BURNED, HOW THEY BURNED! BROKEN RIBS TWITCHED AGAINST THOSE HEAVING ORGANS, SETTING THE NERVES AFLAME IN A THOUSAND DIFFERENT MESSAGES OF PAIN. HIS THROAT HITCHED, DESPERATE TO INHALE AND - What was that?!? - HE KNEW IT WOULD BE ONLY ANOTHER MOMENT OR MAYBE TWO BEFORE THE COLD RIVER WOULD POUR INTO HIS LUNGS LIKE RELENTLESS, DARK THUNDER BRINGING OBLIVION - something solid underneath the fingers of his right hand! - AND A COLD, COLD GRAVE HERE IN THIS GOD FORSAKEN LAND HE HAD NEVER HEARD OF, FAR AWAY FROM EVERYTHING THAT HE HAD EVER LOVED - It was one of the bridge supports! - AND THE GRATING VOICE OF A CENTURION WHO HE KNEW HAD BEEN DEAD FOR ALMOST A THOUSAND YEARS WAS SCREAMING IN HIS HEAD OVER THE CEASELESS POUNDING OF THE BLOOD IN HIS EARS LIKE DRUMS, SCREAMING: PULL! YOU FEEBLE BASTARD, YOU MISERABLE MAGGOT, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT, PULL! AND HE WAS PULLING BECAUSE THOSE CENTURIONS WOULD KICK YOUR ASS IF YOU WERE WEAK AND GRIN WHILE THEY WERE KICKING IT AND THE WATER WAS IN HIS NOSTRILS AND HIS THROAT HITCHED FOR THE FINAL TIME BEFORE HE INHALED GREAT LUNGFULS OF STINKING RIVER WATER AND HE KNEW IT WOULD MEAN DEATH BUT HE COULDN'T HELP IT AND THIS WAS IT AND WYNEEVE, I'M SO SORRY --- His head broke the surface once more! AND NOW THE HARDEST PART, OH JAKE ONLY ONE IN A THOUSAND MEN COULD HAVE THE GUTS, THE WILLPOWER, THE IRON CONTROL, BUT BREATHE SLOWLY, FIGHT THAT SCREAMING URGE TO GASP LOUDLY, BRING THAT AIR IN WITH A HISSING BREATH THAT WAS ALMOST A SOB AND DO IT AGAIN AND AGAIN AND KEEP IT QUIET BECAUSE ABOVE *HE* IS WAITING WITH THAT BLADE SO SHINY, SO BRIGHT, LIKE SHARDS OF SILVER LIGHT ON THE SURFACE OF THE CERUPUTHON-- Shade lurched out of unconsciousness, certain that he had heard someone approaching. He listened closely and heard the sound again. A grinding noise, coming from above him. He looked up and saw the statue of Mesner the Immense tilt its head and look down upon him. "Jake, Jake. You're not looking too good." the statue chided him somewhat sorrowfully. Shade, who did not act the least bit surprised to be addressed by a monument, said nothing for a moment. The outlander grinned up at the statue with teeth that were streaked red with blood. He had to swallow before he could answer. "I've been worse off, Mesner," Shade pointed out. His bravado sounded somewhat weak even to his own ears. The statue did not reply immediately. A light rain began to fall. Shade shivered in the cold, crying out with the pain caused by the motion. "That was far away, a long time ago, and a completely different set of circumstances." Mesner finally mentioned. This time it was Shade who did not reply for a while. When he spoke the words were halting, bitten out between bursts of pain. "I don't heal as quickly in Generica," Shade whispered. "It's like all the magic from Aurauna is unraveling as I spend more time here." It was hard to tell if the outlander's statement was an observation or a complaint. "If you hadn't left Aurauna, it wouldn't be a problem," Mesner pointed out. "I should have just melted those mercenaries into broth," Shade said in a remorseful tone of voice, dimly aware that he was changing the subject. "Or used that spell where all their major bones turn into venomous, carnivorous eels." Mesner reminisced. "That one never failed to leave them rolling in the aisles." Shade laughed weakly. "Yeah, that was always one of my favorites too." "So why didn't you do it?" Mesner wanted to know. "Why didn't you take the easy way out? Assassins deserve no more. "Those men weren't Mages," Shade answered. "Warriors are to be faced with steel, not spells." "Look what honor has gotten you," Mesner sneered nastily. "Almost killed, thrown off a bridge and almost drowned, then forced to break into a merchant's shop like a common thief in the middle of the night to steal a dry cloak. How far the mighty have fallen." Shade had no immediate answer. The beads of falling mist collected on his cloak, shining in the moonlight like tiny diamonds. The outlander watched them as they multiplied. The tourniquet he had tied around his arm had loosened, but he was too tired to fix it. "It was the big guy," Shade told Mesner at last. "The one with the sixty pound iron quarterstaff." The outlander's left arm throbbed as he recalled that fearsome weapon. "I could tell that it was killing him to sell his arm like that," Shade mused. "It was in his eyes. I don't think he liked the idea of being a hired blade. I would have hated to kill a man of honor in a dishonorable fashion." "A man of honor in a dishonorable profession," Mesner mused thoughtfully. "It doesn't sound too likely." Jake used the last of his strength to turn over onto one side. The broken ribs on that side screamed in silent protest, but there was no other way he could prevent his unpunctured lung from filling with blood. It was a few moments before he could continue the conversation. "What do you know about it, Mesner?" he asked the statue bitterly. "You've been dead for a hundred and fifty years." "You're just jealous of my unique perspective," Mesner told him. "Well, I think that I might be sharing that perspective with you before much longer," Shade admitted. "The healing hasn't started yet," Mesner observed. "Do you think that the curse has been lifted?" "Yeah. Things are getting worse. I can't feel my legs anymore." "You sound like you haven't made up your mind on how to feel about it," Mesner observed. Shade thought about the statue's last remark. His thought processes seemed to be winding down like an old clock, getting slower and slower. He wondered belatedly if the temperature outside was dropping or if it was just his body cooling down as his blood drained away. "I guess it would be a good thing," Shade said at last. "It's a funny position to be in after all this time. I'm tired of living. I'm afraid of dying." Mesner snorted in disbelief, an odd accomplishment for a monument. "I find that hard to believe, Shade. After all this time? You've had more time than any ten men. How can you say that your not prepared for death? Remember those days when you begged for your God to let you die?" "I've had enough time," Shade conceded. "It's just that if I had to pick a time to go, this wouldn't be it. I feel like I've made a new start here. Like I've got a clean slate, a chance at . . . a normal life." Mesner chuckled in the darkness above the outlander. "You can never clean a slate as dirty as yours, Shade. When a man gets that much blood on his hands, it won't wash off." Shade didn't bother to answer. Somewhere in his soul he felt anger at Mesner's last jibe, but his anger was a distant thing, not important. He had shed a lot of tears and spilled a lot of blood trying to atone for his sins. If this were the end, he would make no apologies. The tingling had left Jake's arms. Now they were as numb as his legs. The outlander floated in the fog, aware that death was not far away. At the furthest edge of his darkening vision, a figure in white drifted nearer. A woman's face bent over his, her sweet breath caressing his brow like a fluff of down borne on a summer breeze. Even near death, the beauty of her clear blue eyes moved him. "Am I redeemed?" he asked her, his voice choked with emotion. "Have you come to take me back?" The figure in white brushed black hair away from the porcelain skin of her forehead. She made no reply, just stared into his eyes. Shade felt consciousness slipping irresistibly away. "Wyneeve . . ." he breathed, and then he was gone. *************************************************************** See the second half of Chapter 8 *************************************************************** -- The opinions expressed in this message are mine alone. This message does not necessarily reflect the positions or opinions of my company or organization.