A Dead God's Tear(21)

"Now. . . " The familiar faded out, seemingly into thin air, Antaigne clapped his hands together for emphasis. "Get ter training." He flopped down, covering his eyes with his green wizard hat. He crossed his hands on his chest, already snoring.

"Wait, how can I train when you didn't tell me what to do?!" Marcius exclaimed, annoyed at the abrupt ending to the session. The dwarf seemingly had already drifted off to sleep, and Marcius knew better than to disturb a sleeping dwarf.

He sighed, dusting himself off, he picked up Faerril. Ignoring the chirp of displeasure the familiar gave him at being disturbed, he set off a bit to try to do whatever it was that Antaigne had told him to do. He felt very confused, but he figured it was one of the dwarf's inane training methods at work. Antaigne always preferred to teach by practical example, not by book or theory.



Antaigne watched from the bottom of his hat. All in all, he felt a bit in the wrong at having to do it this way. But the best way for an apprentice to learn how to tap into nether sight was sheer frustration or a similar strong emotion. He figured with how stubborn the boy was, it would be a while before it got to the point where it just "clicked."

With an inaudible sigh, he shifted into a more comfortable position. He might as well use the time to get a bit of rest. Once the boy discovered how to tap into the powers the familiar granted him, the real training would begin, and Antaigne would get very little time to sit back and relax. Antaigne went through the very same training his apprentice was now doing.

Fortunately, Marcius didn't know that and the dwarf was in no hurry to tell him.



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To say Marcius was aggravated would have been putting it mildly. It had been five days since Antaigne had given him the leeway to learn nether sight by himself and he had made little to no tangible progress. He still sat on the big rock behind the dwarf's cabin, grasping for things he wasn't sure existed.

Marcius reached up to brush away a strand of wet hair out of his eyes; throwing a derisive glance over at the dwarf who was safely out of the rain. A little water wasn‘t going to stop him, but he couldn't help but grumble at the fact that Antaigne got to take refuge from the rain from the safety of a stout oak tree, not to mention that it was still early in the morning.

Why the dwarf forced him to train outside in the current weather conditions he would never know. He gave another small sigh as he closed his eyes, willing away the chill of the morning rain, searching for whatever it was he was supposed to be looking for. Faerril was next to him, the icy cold didn't seem to affect him at all. Marcius could feel the confusion of the familiar in the back of his head.

Relax Marcius, don't let it get to you. It was the mantra that had kept him sane the past couple days. He ignored the droplets running off his nose, down the locks of hair, the gentle dissonance of the storm in the background threatening to distract him. He searched his mind, looking for the secret he didn't know was there, or if it even existed. He had done it a million times over the past days, staying up from dawn till dusk. This time wasn't any different. He still found nothing.

He hated the rain, it smothered his senses and made everything seem a dull gray color. He hated Antaigne for making him go through all this, and he hated the fact that he was stagnating here for the past couple days. Right now, he found that he hated a lot of things. His indignation settled on the only thing that he could take it out on. His familiar.

Come on you damn lizard, do something! Marcius made sure to impart all his agitation and discomfort into the message. He imagined it as a tightly packaged ball which was forcibly shoved into the wyvrr's consciousness. It had the anticipated effect, a feeling of surprise then distress came back to him from the diminutive creature, although a chirp of alarm was the only material physical effect Faerril displayed.

Marcius felt a morbid sense of pleasure at the sight, misery loves company after all. He was aware of the familiar's desire to help in the back of his head. Already starting to feel bad for taking it out on the wyvrr, he reached over to gently stroke Faerril's eye ridges. The wyvrr sighed, arching his back like a cat at Marcius's ministrations. If only you could speak Faerril. . .

Suddenly Marcius's eyes lost their vision, causing him to stagger a bit. His mind's eye overlapped his physical one, and he saw an image of himself as seen by Faerril. It was as if he was looking out of the familiar's eyes. He could feel acutely how much the familiar wished to help him.

He watched himself struggle with the task the dwarf gave him. He had a tired haggard look in his sunken eyes and his shoulders were set in a detached, defeated manner. The normally defiant brown hair of his was matted thickly to his head by the rain, making him look like some wet animal. It was surreal and Marcius felt embarrassed looking at himself in that condition. Suddenly it hit Marcius; he was going about this all wrong!

Faerril thinks in images! Grinning, he pictured himself casting a spell, he wrapped up the thought with a sense of pleading and plunged it into Faerril's mind, it was a bit rougher than he intended. Uncertainty answered him back and, just for a second, Marcius thought perhaps his idea had failed.

Something in his head snapped at that moment, causing Marcius to wince in pain, and then his vision was flooded with colors. It was if he was viewing the world from the bottom of a lake, except this water was practically awash with pulsing energy. Every strand of grass, pebble, and tree was saturated in it, a stark relief in his mind. He could see it flowing around objects, ebbing, surging, and then receding. Green, purple, red, among countless other variations filled his eyes.

Is this the nether?

It was then Marcius realized he had fallen to his knees from shock, his pants were wet, making them uncomfortable, and he was resting his forehead on the cold grassy ground. It was a sensory overload.

Marcius looked up and practically swooned for his effort. The energy was particularly strong around the dwarf wizard, wrapping around him, swirling lovingly. Each ring that adorned his finger was a bright pinprick of color, as well as the staff the dwarf always carried. He could see every individual rain drop. A ruthless explosion in his mind's eye when they hit the ground, it was like being smacked repetitively.

Marcius had collapsed once again, his world was spinning, and he found himself staring at the ground. Somehow he must have cut his head. Blood was trickling from his brow into the corner of his mouth, giving it a coppery aftertaste. Marcius panicked, his body was betraying him. It took all his deliberation to focus his thoughts.

"Master. . . h-help!" he managed to shriek, between forceful gasps as the world spun around him. His eyes were shut, unable to handle the sheer amount of images bombarding his mind. He was aware of the wyvrr right next to him, letting loose a high pitched call of distress. Faerril kept trying to convey soothing images in an attempt to calm him, but Marcius's terror stricken mind just cast them away.

Strong hands gripped his shoulders, forcing him up to his feet. His body convulsed but the hands held him steadfast, unwavering, despite Marcius's efforts. "Lad, think fer a moment! Calm down! Breathe! Breathe. . . " Antaigne's voice penetrated the haze, and Marcius grabbed onto it.

Using it to regain control, he focused on the slow calm measured tones of the dwarf, and slowly his breathing returned to normal. Marcius kept his eyes closed, wary of what would happen if he opened them again. He could feel his heartbeat throbbing in his ears.

"Marcius, dismiss yer nether sight," Antaigne said simply. Marcius's hands still held the dwarf's own arms in a steely grip.

"H-h-how?" Marcius's voice sounded muffled in his head.

"Ask Faerril," came the dwarf's brusque reply.

Nodding, it should have been obvious, Marcius imparted an image of himself, sitting down, resting to Faerril. He encased it with the same sense of urgency he used to unlock the nether sight, though it was difficult, his mind still swirled with the influx of data. Thankfully, the little wyvrr understood immediately, and Marcius felt what seemed to be a wet rag being removed from his face.
     
 

     

Slowly, tentatively, he opened his eyes to the large concerned brown orbs and nose of Master Antaigne. His sight normal again, Marcius let out a sigh of relief and would have collapsed had it not been for the support of the dwarf.

"The first time is always te worst, lad," Antaigne apologized, disentangling Marcius's hands from his arms. "Best way ter unlock nether sight is frustration. Which is why I made ye come out an' practice despite ter rain." The dwarf turned around to gaze off into the murky gray distance. Marcius could see deep rips running down the sleeves of the robes where he had gripped them. There was a crimson stain running the length of it, causing Marcius to dip his head in shame.

"Come lad, we be done fer today. Now that've ye have tapped into it, it'll be much easier ter access. Let's get out'tve this rain, eh?" The dwarf seemed oblivious to the blood staining his robes, concerned only for Marcius. "Tomorrow I'll start teachin' ye ter control that sight. Ye did well today."

Marcius nodded numbly, the words he had wanted to say having failed in his throat. He was soaked as he followed the dwarf back to the cabin. His hair was matted to the side of his face and his wet clothing stuck uncomfortably around the contours of his body. Faerril followed, concern framing every diminutive step. As Marcius considered what had just happened, a deep chill, that had little to do with the coldness of the rain, ran its course up his spine.