Through the Eyes of the Dead 2 (standard:fantasy, 3618 words) [2/3] show all parts
Author: kissofthehungry	Added: Jun 26 2004	Views/Reads: 2638/2047	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
King Brenton commands Cavara to use her powers on her home village, but upon encountering the slaughter of her people, she realizes that King Brenton's intentions are not as pure as he claims. Escaping, she comes into the aid of Klien, a Time Watcher.

As the treaty was drawn up, she sat alone, thinking of what had just
happened. Because of her, a man was dead, his soul stolen into the land 
of the Underworld. Overwhelming guilt built within her, he hadn't 
deserved to die for simply insulting King Brenton, for she would not 
lie to herself. That was exactly why he had died. For the first time, 
she truly questioned her loyalties. What kind of man killed because his 
pride had been wounded? Her eyes wandered over to the squat man who 
stood with his arms crossed, overlooking the process of the treaty. 

As the day dragged on, it became obvious they were going to have to stay
the night. So, the leaders, now subdued and quiet, had the servants 
show them to the wing of the castle where they could stay. The 
servants, who as White Castle dwellers, should have been bustling with 
enthusiastic tongues wagging on about gossip that meant nothing, were 
silent and their eyes bore a deep grief towards everyone in King 
Brenton's little cluster. Their expressions were like daggers to 
Cavara's heart, this was not why she had sworn her services to the 
king. She did not want to see people who were so full of life be 
broken, and yet here she was, partaking in the breaking. 

Once in her room, she lay in the bed, the flicker of candlelight casting
shadows about her. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, for the 
shadows reminded her of the great one that had stolen the leader's 
soul. She had called for it and it had came, and now it lurked in the 
corners of her mind, haunting her hopes for sleep. Sometime during the 
night, she drifted to sleep and was immediately drawn into the land of 
the Underworld. The bent, deformed bodies of dead trees gnarled the 
outline of the horizon against a gray sky, where no sunlight could 
begin to penetrate. Hanging from the twisted limbs were bodies of those 
doomed to forever experience their last breath repeatedly as they had 
taken it in life. Slowly, she walked onward, dreading where her feet 
were carrying her but unable to do anything about it. The wind carried 
the hollow moans of the deceased, whipping her hair around her face and 
her cloak around her feet. Chills rippled across her body as she 
approached the back of a throne made of bones. Sharp shrieks were 
issuing from the other side and she loathed to see what it bore. Yet 
her feet carried her on, giving her no choice. 

Once around the other side, she strived to keep from screaming, wanting
to run but seemingly glued to the spot. The shadow sat upon the throne, 
his red eyes gleaming with a wicked mirth that killed any joy within 
her. Beneath him on the ground, writhed the spirit of the leader, 
crying out as the shadow poked and prodded him. The shadow seemed to be 
absorbing his agony, feeding upon his fear, and the whole scene made 
her swallow the bile that had risen in her throat. This was her fault, 
she was why this poor soul was being put through this torture. Then the 
shadow looked at her, and the expression terrified her, for it was of 
compassion and even worse, lust. Now her feet worked and she stepped 
back, as at the same time, it rose to what could be called feet. The 
soul lay at his feet, enjoying it's moments of relief as it's torturer 
had forgotten about him. 

'Cavara,' the voice was warm, fatherly, and full of love, 'My bride,
come join me.' He reached for her and she shrieked, turning to run, but 
finding herself in her bed once more. Her skin was soaked with cold, 
clammy sweat, and her heart was racing as if she had been running for 
miles. The terror of what had been revealed to her made her clamber to 
light her candle but it had been burned itself out into a useless nub. 
So there she sat, alone in the dark, screams building within her, but 
somehow she kept them silent. What was she doing with King Brenton? 

The next day, King Brenton pulled her aside and calmly whispered, 'My
Advisor has told me about Blackwood Unit and their reaction to your 
loyalties. We feel it's best that we advance there next.' She didn't 
respond, she was unable to speak, for her tongue had gone mysteriously 
dry and now clung to the roof of her mouth. The Advisor had told him 
about Blackwood Unit, he'd been the one to direct them, not King 
Brenton. A black thought suddenly occurred to her as she contemplated 
that information, perhaps King Brendan was being manipulated by the 
Advisor. An even darker thought occurred to her, perhaps that wasn't 
the issue at all, what if their intent was not as pure as she saw it? 
To unite everyone sounded so good, truthfully what they needed, but 
King Brenton had aquired the powers of all the Markers by chaining 
their loyalties. Nobody would be able to stand up to him and walk away 
from the ordeal, as proven by yesterday. What if the Units were only 


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