A Claiming Cold

My eyes were shut tight, making the world around me dark. Yet I could feel the cool, dew-laden grass through my toes, I could feel the warm sun beating down on my face, and the presence of the imposing rocks around me made me feel protected.

I concentrated harder, sweat beginning to bead at my temples, making the blond tresses that normally flowed gently around my head stick to my face. I thought of all that I had been thought by my teacher.

My teacher… so old, so wise. So naïve too.

The cold, creeping feeling came easy, thanks to years of rigorous training in these sacred arts. I could hear that which I sought. They were mere whispers, but I was sure that I had succeeded.

I sifted through the sentences, focusing on conversations to find what I needed, but also to sate a morbid curiosity I could never seem to quench. After all, those who are gone from this world have a very different perception of the world.

Most of the words I heard were regrets, some shouted, some gasping. They were not for me to hear so I did my best to ignore them. Other words were stories, long and winding stories that very often lead to a dead-end.

The Claiming Cold that started in my feet, had moved through me, slowly approaching my heart. Fear gripped me as I felt my fingers grow numb, but then I heard him, a low rumbling voice I recognized immediately.

“My foolish student. The Nightstriders. Now go, avenge me.”

I opened my eyes and looked up at the sun, now setting, the ancient rocks, the spring grass. After a long moment, I got to my feet, strapped my sword to my back and went.