Gray : Present Three

Dawn advanced down from the throne, a hand on the pommel of his sword.

Gray stared numbly as Dawn stopped in mid-step right in front of him. Ispen made a move as if she wanted to step forward, yet it ended at a flinch. Narrowing his golden eyes, Dawn ran his gaze over Gray’s face.

“And you seem to be dead,” he finally said.

“I am,” Gray replied to him expressionlessly. “I remember that I’m dead.”

Not taking his eyes off of Gray, Dawn raised a finger to point at Ispen. “Tell me, is this Viska?” he asked. His voice was cold and low, just as Gray could somewhat recall.

“He is, your majesty,” Ispen told Dawn. “But now—“

Dawn straightened his hand in a gesture for silence. He slowly moved his gaze back and forth in-between Ispen and Gray. “Answer me. Do you remember the spell you cast in the last war?”

For a while, Gray blinked to himself, bright, painful images rushing through his head, words, sounds, screams. Finally, he looked into Dawn’s eyes. “I do,” he replied. “I remember some of it.”

“Fell told me that you were dead. I saw your corpse myself,” Dawn muttered, backing away a step. “Explain, then I’ll have you gotten rid of.”

“I don’t remember,” Gray whispered. The air around him felt cold. He grabbed onto his arms. “But Fell killed me.”

Dawn unsheathed his gold-handled sword from his waist, and pointed the end of the blade at Gray’s neck. “I had a good reason for killing you,” he stated. “And I believe I also have one right now. You’re supposed to be dead, so I’ll let you stay dead this time.”

The sword dug into Gray’s skin. A drop of black blood rolled along the flat side of the blade. Grimacing, Dawn pushed the sword forward even more. Unconsciously, Gray reached up and firmly held the sword with both of his hands. Cold blood streamed down his wrist.

“Your majesty,” Ispen finally said in protest. “At least let Fell come. Let him explain.”

Dawn glanced at Ispen out of the corners of his eyes. “And where is he now?”

Gray couldn’t decide why, yet the reliance that was audibly blended into Dawn’s voice made him grit his teeth. Swiftly, Dawn pushed the sword closer to Gray. Another flow of dead blood began.

“He’s coming. I left him with two horses. I swear that he’ll explain everything,” Ispen’s voice was emptying out of emotions, becoming dull. She took a deep breath, and glanced at the intricate doors that led into the hall. “He will come, your majesty.”

Then they waited.

While they did, Gray looked at the blood rolling down the blade, and thought about Viska. A man that only a part of himself was. It was tearing him apart every moment. The memories and spells of Viska, and the cold, dead body of Gray. Viska was someone that Dawn and Ispen knew. Gray only knew Fell. Yet, the knowing only went so far; every time he attempted to put together the images and sounds together, it crumbled apart.

The sword had moved forward a bit more when the doors opened.

With his white hair tied back neatly, Fell strolled into the hall. Dawn turned his body to face Fell. Before anyone could speak, Fell instantly knelt on one knee. “Your majesty. Let me explain this.”

Dawn’s eyes sharpened even more. “I am expecting you to.”

Fell fixated his gaze on the floor. “When Viska died for the first time, he used a spell to reanimate himself. The exact spell, I do not know of, but I am certain that it was a spell. He left the kingdom and remained on a cliff for a time.”

“How did you find him, then?” Dawn asked, the suspicion from his voice still present.

“I heard the beggars singing about a gray ghost on a cliff. Since the situation is so demanding, I thought that I could go seek it out. And Viska agreed to save the kingdom, then go back to where he had been.”

“He did?” frowning in seemingly disbelief, Dawn glanced at Viska. The sword was already off of his neck. “You did, Viska?”

Wordlessly, Gray nodded. After the confirmation, Fell continued to talk. “Despite of the past, he is one of our most powerful wizards. We should get him to the battlefield when Dowen’s dragons are at their strongest, so he can cause the most damage.”

“No,” Gray intervened. “I want to get out as soon as possible. I’ll stay where the war begins.”

Fell gave him a long, pale look, then turned his eyes away. “If you wish,” he responded.

“And,” Gray continued. “I’m not Viska. Don’t call me Viska. I’m Gray.”

Ispen made a choked sound in her throat. Dawn unhurriedly nodded, and slid his bloodied sword back into its sheath. The accusation on his face was now almost gone. “Before you go,” he said to Gray. “Cast a spell, right here. I’d like to see a proof that you still have magic.”

Gray blinked. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then fixed a weak gaze at one of the unlit candles on the wall. “‘Shall the winds’…” he began to say. Fell raised his head and stared. Gray’s body trembled, and he planted his feet firmly into the ground. “‘Shall the winds carry you across the river, to the scythe,’” he whispered.

At that precise moment, Fell’s face resembled an ice statue more than anything. He clenched his hands into fists.

The candle flew off of the wall, and hovered in the air in front of Gray for a few seconds. He stared at it in clear wonder, as if he hadn’t known his capabilities himself. Then he set the candle back to where it had been.

A new silence settled over the hall. Dawn finally spoke up. “You can leave with my army tomorrow, in the morning. Until then, stay in the palace.”

Hurriedly, Ispen bowed one last time before she began to lead Gray toward the door. “You can stay in your room,” she told him. “It should be suitable.”

While nodding, a thought jumped into Gray’s mind. He paused mid-stride, and turned. He looked intently at Fell.

“What is it?” Fell asked with a face that didn’t betray anything. Without saying anything, Gray reached out a hand. Visible confusion settled across Fell’s face, before it shifted to realization. “Right,” he muttered with a smile that looked just a little bit tired. “Here.”

He fished inside his red robe for a moment, before he brought out the wooden pipe. Without hesitation, he tossed it over to Gray, who caught it with a fumble. This time, Gray led his way out of the hall.

Once the massive doors closed behind him and Ispen, her face went slack in relaxation. Glancing at her, Gray silently held out the pipe. She frowned for a second before she put her fingers against the pipe and said, “Hecla.”

A spark of flame appeared, and the pipe began a trail of black smoke. Gray put the end of the pipe into his mouth, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply, for a moment ignoring the white and gold palace around him.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a strange, white look on Ispen’s eyes; something that stood in the middle of shock and wonder. He pulled the pipe away from his mouth. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

Ispen’s expression slowly turned into a frown. “That’s poison,” she told him. “Something that can take dozens of lives. If I weren’t used to those sort of smells, I would have very much fainted.”

Gray squinted his stiff eyes and blew out a plume of black smoke. “It feels familiar,” he murmured, half to himself. “A pipe with black smoke,” he paused, glancing at where Fell would be standing behind the closed doors.

“As if it’s a gift,” he said.