A Murder of Crows - Chapter 14

Heedless of Karl and Trent begging for entrance, he focuses all his mind into the magic before him. As his chanting continues, Amelia hears his voice. Yet it goes deeper than just hearing it... it seems to almost originate completely in her mind.
"Focus, lass, focus. Do not flinch, do not falter. Do not be afraid of the Power. It is YOUR Power. You are its master. Thus is your gift, and your curse. Focus, Amelia, focus on the knife."
Now let's hope that this works, I think holding the knife. She just has to focus, just a bit more... then it shall be done.
As Frank and Sarah hurry to unbar the doors and let Karl and Trent back in, the light from the candles is strong enough to completely obscure Amelia and Math within the circle. All that can be seen in the hilt of an iron knife, seemingly floating in the air

Trent quickly steps inside, Karl over one shoulder, as Frank finaly opens the door.
"You took your time, lucky there was no emergency, still..."
He turns round alfter placing Karl on a bench to look at Math and Amelia.
He lowers his voice.
"What's going on?"
He stands for a moment, torn between what to do.
"How long have Claude and Weasel been gone?"
His mind races. Karl just needs rest, I think. Should I go after Claude and Weasel, I might not find them easily, but what is happening here!"
He looks around the room.
"Damn!"
He checks that Karl is all right, as far as he can tell. Tehn he slumps onto a nearby bench.
"Half-cock antics are beneth you." He mutters.
He leans back and lets his body relax while watching Math and Amelia as best he can.

Breathing deeply, Amelia mustered what strength she had left and shut out all other outside distractions. Math's voice in her mind fell silent, and the chant faded as she focused. The image of the dagger burned clearly in her mind's eye, even as the weapon itself burned her hands with its intensity.
I trust you, she thought, knowing that somehow he would hear her. I hope you're right.
She let go the last of her resistance, and let the power come to the surface.

Feeling Amelia's full magic, I bring by chant to its finale. Knowing that her sheer magical prowess must be kept in check, I focus my power around hers, keeping it in the blade. With one final shout, I stab the cold iron knife down into the dead center of the circle of light.
In the chapel, the candles flare, then go out... with myself and Amelia gone.
To myself and Amelia, the chapel has changed.

"Whoa!"
He glances around the room.
"I hope that was ment to happen!"
He turns to check on Karl. Every instinct tells him to wake Karl, but he does not.
"There's no real alarm yet, and he could use the sleep". He thinks to himself.
He looks around again, as if for some sort of sign. He subconciously replaces the two spent orichalchum bullets with normal ones. He then moves to the barred door. Pauses. And then opens it slightly and looks out down the corridor. A sudden urge takes Trent, as if a wave suddenly crashed on the beach of his mind. He turns back to Frank.
"Keep this place safe, I'll be back shortly."
Gun in hand he opens the door wider and takes a half step through it.
"Where am I going? I don't want to..."
His mind becomes foggy as he starts to take another step forward.

Amelia felt her stomach lurch as the knife stabbed downward. It was as if the world had suddenly been swept out from under her. The sense of in-between was abruptly gone, but instead of being relieved, she felt the unfamiliarity of their surroundings.
Where are we now? she wondered.

Leaving the knife stuck into the floor of the chapel, I open my eyes and look about quietly. The chapel seems to be darker, more sinister. Shadows seem alive, and even the light provided by the lanterns in the room seem to barely cast any light. I note that Trent and Karl have returned and breathe an internal sigh of relief.
"Amelia," I begin quietly, "you can open your eyes now."
All the colors of the room are subdued, and seem distant. There is a sense about the room, the sense of unreality. To Amelia, it feels almost as if we have left Earth and stepped into a novel in its sense of reality. To me, it is an old sight for old eyes.
"This is the border between reality, and what lies beyond. Forget what you accept to be real, and focus on what you want to be real. Though we are not fully in the realms of dreams, were are near it. Desire, emotion, thought, these have power here. Do not forget that, Amelia."

Amelia opened her eyes and released the knife. The pain was gone, leaving an awareness that set her senses on edge. It hadn't been a dream; she'd felt the magic and felt it still, but this time she did not shy away. She could not, it was indeed a part of her.
Taking in their altered surroundings, she felt also that the House was striking at them fully. The danger had closed in around the others. Amelia looked at Math. Desire...emotion...thought...she knew the power of dreams. They were a part of her too.
"I will remember," she said. "Let us finish what we've begun, then. We haven't much time left."

I nod determinedly. As I turn, my image appears to shimmer. Letting slip the illusion of Mr. Briefcase, I shake off the black business suit like water. As my former appearance slips away, my true face shows.
With grey hair left long, and tied into several braids, my face is framed by a thick, grey beard as well. A timelessness can be seen upon my features, and a distinct sense of mourning can be seen in my vibrant, green eyes. I wear a simple, brown robe. I sling a satchel over my shoulder, and it rests on him hip. I turn back to Amelia, my face quiet.
"Amelia, the time has come for you to fufill the destiny that has been two millenia in coming. This is how you will begin."

Amelia watched Math's transformation and then recognized the figure that now stood in front of her. She didn't know what he intended to do, but she nodded and prepared to follow his lead.
"I know little of destiny, Math, but if it's within my power, then I will do what I must to help you," she said simply.

Standing strong, I nod to Amelia, opening my satchel. I pull out a single, slender dagger. It glints in darkness, off of a light that doesn't even seem to exist. The blade is finely wrought, and ever so slightly wavey. Smiling faintly, I speak, without even hearing my own words.
"It's been a long time, hasn't it? A very, very long time... You remember the dreams of sunlight, don't you? You remember the days that had no nights? Or the nights that had no days? The time when summer was absolute, or winter was so cold that it's touch was death?"
Sighing deeply, I take a firm hold of the blade, looking up to Amelia.
"Remember that knife I gave you? You're going to need it soon. Remember, this is not real. Whatever finds us here cannot hurt us. It is our souls that are in peril, not our bodies. The madness of this world is dangerous, and I pray you are strong enough."
Somewhere, removed from me, a chime strikes the hour. Distorted, it is impossible to count, yet the point is obvious. One more House of Night has been enterred.
So the time has come... and may the forgotten gods carry us home, I think.

"Then we seem to be in even greater danger, with our souls imperiled here, and the forces of the House out to claim the rest. Neither choice sounds very appealing." Amelia drew out the orichalcum dagger he'd given her. "I suppose we'll soon know if I'm strong enough to avoid both."
She considered what he'd said as he'd drawn his own blade, and wondered at the way his mind seemed ever-shifting between past and present. What if you're wrong? she thought. I've never believed in fate. The irony of it made her want to laugh.
Then she felt it. Like a fist to her midsection, it drove the breath from her lungs. So strong...and very evil, this power.
"Math," she said, "Do you feel that? Is that what you were expecting?"

If I hear Amelia's words, I don't show it. My gaze is elsewhere, off into the depth of the darkness. At first barely audible, then growing ever so slowly, a voice echoes within the walls of the chapel, heard only by those in the shadows of imagination. The sound is hollow, and sing-song.
The voice sounds almost soothing, if it wasn't for the sinister edge to it.
I stand, watching the heart of the shadows, the altar of the chapel, quietly. A look of faint recognition forms as the words begin to become distinct. Though no language of humans was it in, I seem to understand. Closing my eyes, I suddenly seem very very old, as I begin to speak, in time with the song.

"Sleep, child, rest down deep
Fear not the night, the cold, the sleep
Sleep, child, and dream not of night,
Dream of happiness, laughter, and light"

Remember what is real and what is not, Amelia told herself as she looked into the shadowy face of the being from her dreams. With a terrible beauty, the predatory eyes bored into hers. Surely, this was not the same companion Math remembered from his long ago childhood...no eyes should bear such malice.
"Cuthien," she whispered, trying not to show her fear, "listen to Math. We are here to help you." Amelia started to take a cautious step back, wary of the expression on the creature's face. She cried out in surprised pain as one of the shadows grabbed a fistful of her hair, holding her in place. They were swarming the room now like playful children.
It can't be real, she thought. "Why play these games!" she shouted at him. "You are just as much a prisoner here as we, so why fight us? Do you let your master control you so thoroughly that you would try to harm one who cares about you?"
She lost sight of Math for a moment as the shadows continued to mass around them, making it difficult to see anything for what it truly was.

Trent's slow steps take him but a few meters from the chapel door, but to him the world has become foggy, cloying and very small. The chapel itself is but a distant memory, somewhere from his distant past. He wanders onwards into the daze of his mind.
If in the past he had wronged, why should that not be the same now?
The Trophy Room Heads, open plains, blood on his sabre, the smell of cordite, lost friends, shades, Discord, the taste of whiskey, the love of a woman, disgrace, fear, blood as he held a dying soldier, freedom, killing, the heat of the sun, blood, his blood...
All whirled around in his mind, spinning like a wheel. No longer was he fighting it.

"Danger, danger, danger coming. Coming on wind... Danger on wind coming tonight..." The first words Karl had said since his "accident" in the trophy room, and they didn't sound good. He was still rocking back and forth, looking as if he hadn't really gotten any better - but at least he had spoken.

Trent stands motionless. His eyes glazed over. His mind was free. Free to rest as it had never rested before. It was almost as though his mind and body were hardly connected at all. The peacefulness of blissful calm. It was almost euphoric, if it was not so relaxing. His mind slept on a pillow of air, unasaulted by worldly concerns.
He had no idea that in reality he was standing in the library, with a sabre in one hand and a wicked grin on his face.
The gentle dreams of bliss were far to enticing to be fought, even to consider such a thing was beyond him. He had come to terms with his past, and now he had found peace.
He turned slowly and walked back toward the stairs.