Marlassors batlle chapter 3

3.

         Behind closed lids Marlassor growled a concentration glamour, chanting it in time with his footfalls, it helped him as he progressed deeper down the stairwell. The shades of the glass veins grew brighter with every step, they penetrated his eyelids and disrupted his focus. Stumbling over the runic words of his chant he lost his tempo, shook his head, grunted and started the chant again. With eyes squeezed shut as hard as he could Marlassor plodded forward, but the shades from the wall invaded his thoughts and interrupted the rhythm of the spell. He bit down onto his lip to try and regain clarification. All of his focus was lost when his mothers voice breathed not inches from his face.

         “Come on my dear, you’ll only hurt yourself doing that now.” He remembered her voice instantly, a soft, relaxed lilt with hardly any effort in it. ”But that was always your style wasn’t it, determined to get your own way,” the statement was sighed with good humour, no intention to hurt.

         He kept his eyes closed and clamped down quickly on his shock before it controlled him, he was nearly taken in, but he recognised this for what it was. This was how the tomb defended itself. He could have easily followed the sound of his mothers voice and fell to his death, it was using his own past to attack himself.

         He dragged his hand against the wall with enough pressure that he could feel the gritty surface bite into his skin and scrape his palm, he used the resulting pain to keep himself focused. With motivation regained he strode purposely forward, his determination increasing with every step. When she - or her memory - spoke again he was more than ready for it.

         "I loved you." He knew that was coming, whatever defences this tomb held were trying the sentimental route to try to distract him. It wouldn't work. Marlassor had fought through a lot of emotions in his life, but his heart didn't hold one scrap of sentimentality. He expected the defences would try another route to get through his armour.

         "I still love you," he gave this statement a derogatory snort, his heart strings were not going to be plucked by this phantom, "even after you abandoned me." A small lull in the speed of his stride greeted this accusation. He blew out his breath, caught his rhythm again and headed down through the mist.

         A form solidified in front of him, paying no heed to his closed lids. It drifted nearer. The details of it clarified with the closing distance, he turned his head to be rid of the spectre, but it stayed central to his vision. His mother walked up the walkway and out of the mist towards him, a gentle, rueful smile occupying her face. She stopped and stared at his clenched, concentrated form which had now stopped its momentum. He opened his eyes - there was no purpose in keeping them shut he could see her clearly no matter where he aimed his sight - and unable to go on and walk past her he looked directly into her face.

         "Your form is not real," concentrated defiance was etched into his face," and I know that by addressing you I give your existence credibility. Therefore I will tell you this, if you do not let me pass or if you further hinder my progress towards my goal I shall call the magic I nurture inside me and obliterate you from this place, whatever form you may take." 

         “Ah, you think that I am not what I appear to be, that I am some sort of sham, an illusion? Would a falsity such as I know the fact that when your initiation into the apprenticeship of sorcery had ended you were so exhausted that it took two days for you to recover?” 

         “You are not real.”

         “And that when you did regain your strength and awoke I was the first one you saw?”

         “You are not real.”

         “Your first words to me expressed your fear that you were not capable of the task you had been given.”

         “YOU ARE NOT REAL.”

         “LOOK AT ME." The desperation that shot through her voice was met by Marlassors rejection as he glared at the floor." Very well then my son, I can give you no further warning but from this: do not enter the tomb. If you value your life do not go in there." As the spectral form and its words faded Marlassor felt gossamer lips touch the side of his cheek and then once again he was alone. 

         A deep breath and the repetition of a runic chant quickly made his senses sharp again. He ignored the penetrating lights that buzzed into his head and with each footstep he felt the floor of the tomb approach. No other obstacle hindered his progress downwards. After two hours of fierce concentration and stubborn perseverance, he reached the end of the ramp.

         The ramp had fed him down to a large flat area, the ends of which were hidden in clinging mist. The pulsing, fused tube entered the floor of this area and split into tiny fractured veins that fanned out until they faded in the fog. The light made the mist glow around his feet and allowed him to see only a small distance ahead; for once his way seemed unclear. He cast his senses outward and tried to feel the way to the tomb. His senses were prickled by a sound slicing through the mist. Someone was clapping, it was not  a happy sound, rather a slow, sarcastic applause. The sound was joined with a deep, humourless chuckle.

         “Well done, little one,” the voice was instantaneously recognisable, as was the form it came from.

         The advancing figure lowered his hands and approached Marlassor until they were nearly stood face to face. “I can see you have made it here then…eventually. I didn’t think you had the guts for this, but you’ve proved me wrong. First time for everything eh?” His fathers voice still carried the sardonic lilt that marlassor had hated throughout his childhood and although he was trying to remain calm he felt his emotions rising.

         “You..” Marlassor started.

         “Are not real.” His father finished for him. “Believe what you want Mar, I don’t really care if you do or don’t. I’m not here to waste my time so you’re going to have to shut up and listen.”

         The mention of his childhood moniker and his fathers chiding made Marlassor feel small and young again. He remembered how afraid of his father he used to be and that fear came crawling back into him. The taste of fear in the back of his throat rekindled his bravery and replaced the child in his mind with his present day personality.
         
         “Impersonate my father all you want spirit, you shall not fool me. I know what you are, and that is a defensive mechanism; a ploy from keeping me acquiring what is mine. I have fought decades for what resides in that tomb and neither you nor any other pathetic deception is going to stop me claiming it.”

         His fathers face creased with a grin and the off-colour radiance of the mist lit up his old scars. “Ha ha, very good little one you have acquired the balls of a bull, you never had the strength to stand up to me when I was alive. The trouble is you never had too much sense. Now I can see myself in you, I too was arrogant and self righteous. You think I am some sort of 
defence for this place do you?”

         “Yes, you are that and nothing else.” Marlassor decided to endure no more of this hindrance of his plans and walked toward and then through his fathers likeness.

         Through the now distorted image his fathers voice called to Marlassors departing back.
“I’m not here to stop you Mar, I’m here to congratulate you. You have achieved more in your life than I ever did in mine, but I’m not envious of you. You have sacrificed everything you once held dear for what is in that tomb and you deserve its contents. The path of your life and the choices you made along the way leads you to your rewards hidden in there. Once again congratulations.” His father disappeared the same way he came, surrounded with mocking applause.

         Marlassor stomped purposely through the swirling fog, his footfalls fell into the distance and returned no echoes. The fact he had no point of reference, no geographical structure that could guide him didn’t stop him, he still he kept on walking. He knew he was lost, but he could not stop his motion. He had to get away from the ghosts of his past before he was driven to question his quest.

         Why did his father give him encouragement? From the earliest he could remember his father had hated him and took joy from putting him down and belittling his achievements. Even when he had eventually surpassed his fathers standing in the sorcerers guild his efforts were contributed to luck and not to skill. How could his mother warn him away from his goal? She of all people knew the effort and sacrifice he had made to get here. He had left her to fend for herself while he had travelled the seven fields trying to locate this tomb. He wasn’t there when she died, but she must have understood how important this was to him…..Damn!!

         He stopped slapping his feet angrily on the floor…Damn! He had nearly fallen for it, nearly got swallowed up in his emotions. The defensive spells upon this place had almost entrapped him in their glamour. If he hadn’t come to his senses he could still be wandering around arguing with ghosts from his past. In the trance he was in who knows what would have happened, he could have stumbled over a hidden edge or walked blindly into a snare and his quest would then be finished, as would himself. He scolded himself for being gullible enough to let his feelings override him, if he hadn't broken his reverie he would have been joining the ghosts as an equal.

         He was surprised to find he was exhausted. A spell to absorb some of the energy from this place and thread it into his veins would be a good way of replenishing himself. He sat down crossed legged and began the spell. With the mist lapping around his waist he recalled how long this quest had been and what it had cost him.