Souls Adrift, Part 1

  Reality slowly came into focus, the grey nothingness of transition fading as the enchantress Gwendalynn once again became aware she had been transported. As always, there had been no warning. There was only the knowledge that, should she investigate, she would find that she had never before encountered this realm. She allowed the momentary disorientation to pass, as she knew it would.


  Once her senses were fully under her command she raised her hands before her in order to discover what form the fates had determined her existence would take for the duration of this sojourn. She found them to be delicately formed and fair of complexion, with a spill of finely embroidered lace falling from her wrists. Her gown, she discovered when her gaze fell, was of the same fine lace, silk, and of a hue so pure as to make freshly fallen snow seem soiled. As she studied her slender frame she marveled at the hazy glow which seemed to suffuse her form. It contrasted sharply with the dark grey stone beneath her tiny, slippered feet.

Casting her glance around her she found that she stood in a narrow valley, steeply sloped and composed of the same dark stone--blemished only by lonely patches of darkest green moss. Where she sought to find the peaks, some defining line between earth and sky, there was only a smeared tangle of grey shades; as though an artist's brush had distorted this reality. In the far distance lie a solitary tree, almost pure black and bare. It's twisted limbs angled towards the sky as though trying the slide into the grooves between the strands of tortured clouds above. Despite it's severity, the scene seemed to possess an austere beauty, enhanced by the slightly out-of-focus quality of her vision; as though she viewed her surroundings through an unseen mist.


  Curious to discover her purpose here and sensing no immediate danger, she began walking along the floor of the valley, skirting obstacles in her path. Rounding a large boulder, she came upon a small, shallow pool of still water; dark and reflecting the tortured skies above.


  She approached the pool's edge and looked into it's depths, unsure of who would appear in it's reflection. She found her own face, yet somehow a more perfect version. The same elfin features, high cheekbones, purest grey eyes, sensual lips whose blush enhanced the porcelain of her skin. Her silky hair was of the richest brown, lustrous and elaborately arranged upon her head--leaving the barest wisps to frame her face beautifully. The same effect she'd noticed earlier created an impression of her inner beauty shining through, leaving her glowing with some hidden light.


  Although confident that whatever task lie before her was not beyond the scope of her intellect and magical abilities, nevertheless she found herself confused as to how this physical manifestation related to the environment in which she found herself. She felt some clue was left to be deciphered.


  Looking up from the pool at whose edge she knelt, her attention was caught by the sight of the same tree she'd noticed upon arrival. Seeing its twisted limbs silhouetted against the grey of the sky, the realization that her goal, her purpose, lie there became undeniable. Drawn forward by her certainty, she strode forth to discover what destiny lie in store.


  Summoning an aura of calm about herself, she recited the most powerful of her incarnations silently; ensuring they were fresh in her mind. Those words, although integral to her magic, in actuality were only a means of focusing the forces of her mind--the true source of her power. She had only to imagine the effect she desired, wield the words to define the idea and unleash the power of her thoughts.


  Nearing her goal, she spied a figure beneath its branches--as yet indistinct from this distance. As she drew closer and realization grew as to what actually lie before her, her steps quickened into a run.


  Upon a low slab of the same rough stone as the ground huddled the bare figure of a man--obviously in great pain. Chains bound his hands and feet to the stone, their shackles cruelly biting into his flesh. His head bowed to his chest, she could not see his face.


  Slowing to a stop, some inner fear kept her from rushing immediately to his side. From whence it came she had no clue. All she could be sure of was the need for her to act with the utmost caution.


  Gwendalynn studied the figure of the man before her, her gaze traveling across his body and soaking in every detail. His was that of a warrior, once powerful yet obviously ravaged by his ordeal; a shadow of its former self. She could point to the scars of former battles upon his flesh; what story did they tell? She could see where he'd struggled against his bonds, causing them to gouge deeply into his wrists and ankles; the blood there was long dry, and black. There were long patches of raw skin as though struggling for purchase against the stone had torn strips of it away. His dark hair lay curled with sweat, his breathing labored, yet she could not tell whether he was conscious.


  Despite her fears she felt drawn to him; wanting to use her abilities to ease his obvious suffering. By whom had he been imprisoned, and for what? Surely nothing deserved so cruel a fate as this?


  She drew near to him and reached out a hand, yet some unknown force stopped her touch a hair's breadth from his skin. She wanted to touch him, needed to, with a desire that had become almost tangible...but she could not. She battled with her will, forcing herself at last to lay her fingertips on his arm with the lightest of touches.


  Despite the gentleness of her touch, a shudder passed through his body as though from a lover's caress. A low moan escaped his lips and his head shifted slightly, though his eyes remained closed.


  Looking at his face for the first time, she saw the signs of some inner turmoil played out across his features, as if he lay not merely unconscious, but trapped within himself somehow.


  Gently smoothing his hair from his brow, she carefully lifted one eyelid. His eyes were dark and deep--and yet empty, giving no clue as to what lie behind them. They remained unfocused, unseeing, as though they looked upon some image in the infinite distance.


  Realizing no answer was to be found in his physical appearance, she summoned her strength and reached out with her mind, searching for the essence of his spirit. She extended her senses, searching for that central element of psyche that defined his self. She soon felt him somewhere in the distance and sent her mind in pursuit.


  Without realizing it, her own eyes had closed and she voyaged on a journey that was entirely of the mind.


  When at last she made contact with his spirit the shock of what she felt made her gasp for breath and almost fall forward before catching herself. His was a spirit in such profound struggle as to almost be torn apart in the midst of its battle. After recoiling and approaching more cautiously, she was able to sense more clearly the nature of the war being waged. Anger, frustration, and regret battled with tenderness, caring, and love. Bitterness sought to consume compassion, despair to extinguish hope.


  As she watched, each side gained momentary advantage before the other rebounded, yet with each cycle the dark gained strength over the light. Entwined throughout the whole was a deep longing, a desire for something she was unable to define.


  What became clear was that if she didn't act soon the struggle would reach its conclusion at any moment.


  Summoning the power of her magic to her--wrapping it about herself like a mantle--she reached forth with her mind to join forces with this man who so captivated her against that which tormented him.


  Her spirit made contact with his, attempted to establish a connection so that they might work in concert. Instead, his spirit-mind recoiled in surprise. She sensed bewilderment, confusion, as though he could not believe he was not alone in this void; could not fathom why anyone would willingly enter into this fray. His confusion caused him to shift his attention from the struggle before him, unwittingly allowing the darkness to gain in strength and momentum.


  Realizing she must overcome his unconscious fear of her if she was to be successful, she once again made contact using the lightest and most gentle touch. When he pushed back against her she gave way, meeting his strength with softness, his frantic struggles with calm.


  He slowly seemed aware of the feminine aspect of her spirit, her touch, so slowly, in fact, that it became obvious that he was long unaccustomed to such contact.


  Once knowledge of the nature of her identity and the gradual acceptance that she intended no harm became fully realized, the change in him was immediate and complete. Where before he'd sought to push her away, to repel her, he now reached forth with seemingly desperate need; seeking to draw her spirit to him in an unrelenting embrace.


  Surprised by the sudden change in the nature of his actions, and, in truth, fearful of the depth of need she now witnessed, she attempted to raise her magical wards; protecting her spirit from being consumed within his.


  Alas, the flood of pain and confusion she felt from his spirit in response to her barrier against him brought the realization that she could not seek to fulfill her quest without leaving herself open to some harm. Was she certain of the nature of this man? She felt she had touched his spirit, and knew him. Still, she could not quiet the fear that some shadow lie hidden beneath the surface. Her only defeats of the past had come from allowing her defenses to fall, however briefly, and instinctively guarded against making the same mistake again. Could she allow this opportunity to pass, perhaps never to present itself again? Though she knew not what consequences might come as a result, she felt she could not.


  Bravely resigning herself to whatever fate destiny had determined was hers, she let her wards dissipate; steeling her mind against the rush of raw need she anticipated. Instead of the expected reaction, what she felt was more of the same hurt and anger she'd encountered originally, yet seemingly more intense. Guilt washed over her with the realization that her own withdrawal after initiating contact with him had served to strengthen his pain and suspicion. Had she waited too long? Had he reached the point at which his spirit was beyond being reached by that of another?


  Rather than the gentle, soothing, approach she'd used before, she quickly moved to embrace his essence fully--while at the same time striving to project a sense of her own fear, an understanding of the reason for her earlier rejection. Initially, he struggled mightily, attempting to free himself yet so weakened by the unceasing need to battle the demons that already tormented him that he was unable to force her to relinquish her hold on him.


  Calling upon the effects of her inherent magical abilities to enhance her effort to project the intent of her spirit to his, she was able to at last calm his attempts to win his freedom from her. It was bitterly ironic that he sought the freedom to return to the captivity of his original fight.


  With the remote portion of her consciousness still connected to her physical being she felt the strength ebbing from his body.


  Fearing that it may already be too late, she strove to send a message from her spirit to his--that being what she knew was the only means by which to save him: he must surrender completely to her, allow a portion of his soul to enter into her and thus be cleansed of that which had invaded it.


  Such was the strength of her determination to communicate that she quickly sensed understanding and acceptance. Along with these was a sense of anticipation, of readiness. It was as though once she had allowed something of herself to be exposed, once the touch of her spirit contained something of her true self rather than only what she wanted to be sensed, her spirit has resonated with some element within his and been recognized and accepted for her true intentions. How much misunderstanding and confusion could have been avoided had she only known? Perhaps there was yet time.


  Without true conscious effort she opened herself completely and accepted that portion of his soul necessary for the completion of her magical cleansing. This unfamiliar vulnerability she felt left her disturbed and yet strangely excited; almost as if some part of her buried deep within longed to experience true intimacy with another soul--something long unfelt in her existence.


  As she began to fully examine the sensation of possessing a piece of this man's soul within her, what she found was a complete surprise to her. Now able to sense who this man truly was, she discovered a soul that was a masculine reflection of her own. She felt her own emotions in him, recognized the same wounds and scars; things that in herself remained buried as she went about the never-ending pursuit of her responsibilities. Although often suppressed, she had always felt as though her experience were singular, that there was no one who could truly grasp the nuance and depth of who she was. She had been wrong.


  This man had experienced true loss, real pain. His soul touched some untapped response inside her, a desire to wash away all of his pain and sorrow--not only because it was her duty, but because she herself wanted it.


She wanted to know this man as he could be; as he was unburdened by the bonds he wore now.


  Gradually she was able, through mastery of every skill available to her, to wash away the darkness from his soul. It was an exhausting process, requiring patience and care; but as she made progress she felt the slow weakening of the chains binding him to the stone on which he lay. She began to think of their encounter once he awakened, what she would say to him, what she would express--and what his response might be. Rarely, when nearing completion of a task set before her, had she ever thought of the future. Always she had been content to focus on the present moment. She saw now that much of that was an unconscious desire not to focus on a future without promise.


  Silently, Gwendalynn prayed she might dream of a future for herself.


  "POSEY!! WHAT are you doing in here?!"


  A disembodied voice shattered her focus. The forces of her magical ability whipped about, dangerous and chaotic. She felt the essence of his spirit slipping away from her.


  "Get away from him! What are you doing?"


  She felt herself gripped by a powerful force and physically thrown backwards.


  "Code Red! Acute ward! All staff!"


  The scream was deafening in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sound.


  "What is she doing in here?"
  "I don't know, I just came back from break and found her kneeling over him."
  "She's obviously off her meds again!"


  Gwendalynn began to struggle against the force holding her captive.


  "Help me hold her! She's coming out of an Episode."
  "You two, help, she's really violent this time! You, go check on him!"


  Gwendalynn redoubled her efforts, opening her eyes so that she might see against what evil she struggled. Her red hair covered her eyes, blocking her vision.


  "Shit! Hold her foot!"
  "Oh my god, he's not breathing!"
  "What did she do? What did you see her doing?"
  "Nothing! I don't know! I grabbed her as soon as I saw her!"
  "Are you getting a pulse?"


  Glimpsing the demons imprisoning her, Gwendalynn tried to fight them off, but her arms had become twisted in the long sleeves of her sweatshirt.


  "No. Oh, god. No, he doesn't have a pulse."
  "Start CPR now! You, call 911!"


  Unable to overcome the dark minions she battled, gwendalynn screamed out her last defiance. "You can't have him! He's my destiny!"


  But he was gone from her forever.