Inner Mind

[Erlind]

"There's nothing to forgive, Luna," I tell her softly.

It feels good to be holding her here in the quiet of the fireside. Crackling flames and the quiet sound of distant wind. She may be sick and the world may tug at her, but this moment feels genuinely peaceful and that feels good now and again.

 

[Erlind]

Keith Mires

Early twenties, but does not know his own age with any certainty. At five feet, eleven inches he has a lanky build, but has proven time and again he can hold his own in a fight. Wild dark hair sometimes falls over his face. He has a fierce smile, but his mischievous grin hides a sadness a person can sometimes see in his eyes.

Three years ago Kieth left the city he'd spent his life in. He'd grown up on the streets there. At times life had been brutal for the young man, but he'd always adapted and thrived. Raised in an orphanage, Kieth did his best to keep the other kids safe and keep everyone doing the right thing even if he didn't always follow his own advice.

As he grew up Keith and his his friends became a close knit group known for causing trouble. They watched out from anyone from the orphanage, but everyone with more than them thought they were nothing, but hooligans. Vandalism, theft of food and alcohol, and pranking the local authorities.

One of the secrets of the group was an extensive knowledge of the city's sewers and into which basements they dank passages could lead. Mostly the friends just used them for theft and escape, but sometimes they found it worth it to just explore. They'd found a lot of things down there, but Kieth had found the most important.

Deep in the sewers the young thief found a place where the tunnel wall had collapsed and led into caves that went further down than any in the group had been before. A natural spring fed into the grotto and there was an eery light that illuminated strange symbols carved into the walls. Kieth brought everyone down hoping one of them would know something about why it was there are what the carvings meant, but nobody did.

That night was the first time Kieth had his first real nightmare. As a kid he had bad dreams like everyone else, but these were real nightmares. The thief woke in the dead of the night in a cold sweat. He couldn't remember anything, but he hadn't been so afraid for his life since a kid twice his age beat him half to death at the orphanage. The nightmares weren't the only thing that changed though. Keith and slowly the others as well began to realize they knew things they had no way of knowing. They knew where shop keepers and even nobles kept their money at night. They knew which alley to duck down to get to dodge the guards. One of Kieth's friends went ballistic on his girl when he'd woken up and realized she'd been cheating on him. The dreams felt like death itself, but they were bringing them a gift they couldn't understand.

They all knew ...

*Will continue working on this later. I know this is extraordinarily rough, but I just wanted to get the idea down again somewhere.*

 

[Erlind]

Somewhere in the depths of what has become a quiet untouched world something new has appeared. As simple chocolate cake with simple chocolate frosting has found its way to a plate on a table somewhere in the dark. It is dimly illuminated by a single small green candle stuck in its top. The flickering flame also sheds light on a stack of colorful paper plates, a bag of plastic forks, and a large kitchen knife.

A handwritten card pronounces, "Have a piece."

 

[Erlind]

There is a quiet here that speaks of age. Silence binds the stone walkways that wind circuitously through the inky darkness. I take a step and even the sound of boot on old worked stone seems muffled and swallowed up. I look over the side of the path I'm on and spend a time looking at the latticework of like paths below, standing against the hungry dark.

It takes a while, but I decide I am better off on this crumbling defiance of architecture than what lies beneath, so I move on. All of the passageways look the same, as they always have, but I am less familiar with them now than I once was. Time is spent reacquainting myself with them before I find what I seek, a door at the end of a path standing against oblivion. I could have opened this place from anywhere, but I've always preferred a stroll through the labyrinth first, my way of earning this little safe haven. The knob twists easily though the door itself meets me with some resistance before yielding to a place I once called home.

The fire is dead and the room is dark. Oddly, no dust or cobwebs coat the bookshelves that form the inner ring of this rounded room. I could have been gone a day and it might not have looked a bit different. It is different though, because I am. I squat down and squint my eyes to see the gilded titles of some of my favorite works, but nothing appeals to me. Instead, I turn to the fire pit at the center of the room. I take a wrought iron poker and stir the ash until I find some of the coals and embers beneath that never really go out. Bit at a time I take kindling from a nearby box and add them, slowly coaxing a flame to return. An hour is spent in this way until eventually I have a happily crackling fire among the split cedar and pine logs.

The room is still dim. I could find more light, but I like it this way. Besides, light is often needed to complete a task, but I have no reason to be here. I tend the fire for the sake of the flame and lose myself in its eager hypnotic dance.