I could neither see nor hear for some time, and in the complete darkness and silence, I fell asleep. I can only say this for certain because I do know that I woke up with the ability to see and hear again, and predictably, Ivan was only a short distance away. Finding myself sitting at the foot of a tree, I got up to walk toward him.
But then, in the not-quite-risen sun's pale light, I got a look at precisely where I was.
Rows and rows of small stone markers stretched around me, and seemingly into the horizon itself. A few flowers here, a saucer of some long-dried substance there, a cup full of old honey and dead ants. And in the center of this swath of land sat Ivan, the fog of the very early morning pulling away from his warm body and contenting itself with the chilly stones that stretched away from him in all directions. His back was to me, and he was very still. I would have called his name, but the strange silence and sacredness of the place stole my voice. I could only walk up behind him and lay a hand on his shoulder.
"It was the first place I could think of," he offered brokenly, as though finishing an apology.
I only nodded.
"I killed all these people," he sighed. "Those who touched me had their lives almost sucked from them. Those who looked at me either vomited immediately or simply collapsed to the ground. Whoever dared to follow me, dared to speak to me, suffered greatly. At first there was a cloud that ate into the flesh, then there was fire that rolled with me like a storm- I-"
"You are a conjurer. A gifted conjurer and necromancer at nothing more than 8 or 9 years old. All of this was long ago. You're older now. Why are you so upset about it now?" I whispered quietly, not wanting to disturb the chill silence of the ground. "You can look at me, you know."
"No, I- I must remind myself- I- I must-" Ivan stammered out in protest.
And beneath us, the ground seemed to tremble.
"No!" he whispered fiercely, clearly more to himself than to anyone or anything else. "No- be at rest- at peace- stay-"
"Why? Why must they? And why must you?" I hissed urgently. "Out of respect for them? They didn't respect you. They feared you, and you hated them. They bobbed your tail, supposedly to save your soul."
It seemed as though he contracted into himself somehow. "Stop-"
I leaned into him, trying to get him to look at me. "They took your horns to 'cut off your connection to the demons.' They changed your name. They foisted their gods upon you- gods that never spoke to you or cared about you at all. Gods that barely care about them."
"But, I-" barely managed from a choked throat.
And there was a definite tremor in the ground. A few of the stones closest to Ivan began to lift up as though someone was pushing them from underneath.
"Yes, they did, you know they did. You were a child, with vast power and a good reason to be angry- to feel betrayed and lost. And maybe these nutcases gave you the time, the discipline and the space you needed to grow up a little. Yes, you killed all these people. But you helped the Shadar-Kai- not Bahamut, not Tiamat, not anyone else. And you could raise an army out of this graveyard- it's up to you whether you admit that and do it because you want to, or you keep trying to lock that part of you away, only for it to break out and do even more damage. All your mother wanted was for you to control your power, not to outright deny yourself. You're practically a natural master, way beyond what you were as a child, but you can't possibly control who you are if you won't admit to most of it."
For a few moments, I watched visible cracks split some of the small mounds around us. A strange and sick acrid smell began to arise, and I could feel my skin begin to get irritated.
"See? Look at what you can do. Open your eyes and look, before you desecrate the place for no reason."
Two golden orbs slowly opened and focused. I got up and stood back so that he could look around himself and really understand just how many graves were reacting to his repressed abilities. And eventually, the cracks in the ground stopped growing. A few minutes passed, and my skin no longer prickled- the fog had begun to disperse. Ivan sighed deeply, allowing the breath to straighten his crumpled frame up a bit.
"I- thank you," he breathed. It was a deep release, as though he was grateful to have air after having been held underwater for some time. "When did you become so wise, little cousin?"
"I'm not wise," I shrugged. "Just observant. I have to be. Perhaps that priest of Bahamut would have said the same thing, had he survived his own spell."
"Ah, yes, Clan-father Deitav. He's buried just over there," Ivan nodded, indicating one of the larger stone markers with a steady hand. Oddly enough, while some markers had been pushed almost all the way out of the ground, his had not moved an inch. "I have sat on that grave many times, spoken with that spirit many times since. He had indeed counseled me in that manner many times, but I cannot say that I got his meaning clearly."
"I would imagine that the fact that he's dead didn't help matters."
And beyond us, I could finally make out a few screams, shouts and cries of battle.
"That racket doesn't seem to fit, here," I noted, turning my head to look out at all the stone markers. "How far are we?"
"Not very. Perhaps a mile, maybe a little more. At the time this place was made, the stink of some of the bodies was so bad that they couldn't bear to have buried them any closer to the camp. Those were the ones that vomited themselves to death, mostly, although a few had terrible acid sores all over their bodies."
I must have given him a face.
"I exhumed them, some of them, when I had recovered myself. I studied what I had done- I always was that type of person. I wanted so badly to figure it out- to figure myself out." There was something about the way he said it that reminded me of another scholar of sorts.
"Did you ever get someone very close to death, and feel as though you just had to, I don't know, finish the job, somehow?"
Ivan looked directly at me, which I had to smile at. "Yes. I couldn't really put my finger on it, and I accepted it when I was told that the demons had spurred me on, but-"
"It's a magical reaction in our blood," I explained simply. "Once we get something down to the doors of death, we just have to push them in. The demons, or whoever, don't have to spur you if your blood will naturally do it for them."
"Really? Is that so?" Ivan marveled, leaning his head back slightly as though he were looking at the tops of the trees beyond me. "A very interesting theory. If this is caused by our- unique heritage- I wonder if there are other innate strengths and weaknesses passed on by our ancestors. It would be just as my father had said to those people, so many years ago."
"I bet there are," I encouraged. "There was an Avariel who performed a test on me; that's how I knew about the magical reaction. He says that there is literally magic in the blood that gets it all excited, or something like that. Maybe that's what drove you. Maybe demons have never spoken to you at all."
Ivan gave a bit of a half smirk as he truly pondered the idea. "Intriguing. Magic in our very blood. If that were to be so, it'd be a wonder that more of us aren't blood-crazed warlocks."
"Maybe some of them are scared," I said meaningfully. Dark Humans, indeed.
We sat for few moments in silence, just listening to the screams of those being slaughtered in the camp.
"Take your time," I said calmly. "The Hall of Horns will still be there tomorrow."
"But none of the cultists will be," Ivan scoffed, closing his eyes.
"Good. Let them get torn apart. Let them call to their useless gods, only to have their prayers fall on deaf ears, because they haven't got the gold to pay for their services." I sat down and lay back on the chilly ground. Morning had fully broken, and the sky was glorious with various orangy red streaks.
"You don't revere any gods, do you, Mi'ishaen? Nothing is holy to you."
"There's no such thing as holy, Ivan. Nothing, and no one's worthy to be worshiped."
"Not even Asmodeus?"
"He's to be feared, like a furious mage or a rampaging warrior, perhaps avoided on a bad day, but I wouldn't fall down prostrate before his image or token and swear undying fealty like those idiots. If you're looking for belief, then I believe in greed, hate, war, and death. Those all exist. People have felt them. No one that I have ever known has ever felt the touch of a god."
"Seyashen," he corrected, closing his eyes. "I am Seyashen. And add love to your list. I've felt love."
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