The mute child stumbled dazedly into the main hall, a deep, days-old scalp wound evidence of an encounter with Bizmar's none-too-gentle populace. Just how she had escaped with her life was a mystery, and nonetheless miraculous. A child of such innocent mein and delicate beauty fetched a high price with slavers, and the numerous gangs of thieves and cutthroats would clamber to use her as their pet. Pedophiles and classic cases of violent rape were common, but aside from the scalp wound and other varied scuffs and bashes, the child was pure. Bruises faded, hidden beneath the sullied and ragged robe she wore which once upon a time was of fine linens, and would soon be gone; the only evidence that whilst she was pure, she was no longer stranger to the brutal touch of violation.
Her eyes were ice, a tinge of light blue so faint it was almost colorless. It was akin to gazing into twin glaciers; long hair that was not blonde but truly cornsilk gold hung in unkempt tangles, matted with dirt and straw. She was terribly thin, emaciated almost, as if the poor wretch had hidden in dark comers and sewers for days before driven by hunger and thirst from the safety of her hideaway to risk running into the scum of Bizmar once again.
She had wandered, hungry, frightened, and alone, until she came to stand before the tavern door. Something urged her forward, through the heavy door, to stand in the cool darkness of the entrance. The floor beneath her bare and dirty feet was cool, and the contrast to the heat of the day, coupled with extreme relief, made her giddy. She no longer had the strength to stand, and as stars swam before her eyes, she swayed and shakily lowered herself to rest upon the nice, cool floor.
It felt so sweet to rest in comfort, without the ever-present terror of faceless, nameless brutes attacking her unawares. The past few days were a blur in her mind, a mosaic of cacophony and sensational chaos. However, that traumatizing and wretched past was all the girl had, for memories prior to that, she came up with only nothing.
The girl tumbled into the sleep of exhaustion, right where she had lain, a small sigh of relief the only sound to pass her lips.
The all-encompassing thoughts of Adriana ceased momentarily when Nicklar saw the child collapse on the floor of the inn. Something about her peaked his interest and seemed to call to him, demanding his attention. He found himself rising from his stool with an overwhelming desire to go to her aid. An emotional battle began to take place within the mage as he remembered a vow he made to himself earlier in the day. I will never allow myself to get involved with anyone ever again! The hurt Adriana caused him was still fresh, leaving him filled with bitterness, while stripping him of the desire for human contact. All he wanted was to remain alone; to return to the reclusive being he once was before he met the selkie who broke his heart and left him with nothing but feelings of inadequacy.
Nicklar's eyes strayed once again to the child upon the floor, whose beauty and innocence showed through her dirt-smudged face. There was a radiance about her that intrigued the mage, and he found himself unintentionally moving to where she lay in peaceful slumber.
Nicklar came to a stop a few feet away from the child, once again torn between compassion and disillusionment. Abruptly, he turned away and made his way into the kitchen where he knew he would find Silk, the other overseer of the inn. " A child has collapsed on the floor of the common room," he told her. "Perhaps you should take care of the matter."
Silk raised her brows at the mage. " And what will you be doing Nicklar?" she asked pointedly.
"I will be finishing my drink at the bar!" he answered somewhat angrily, before storming from the room.
Silk was aware of Nicklar's eyes upon her as she made her way to the sleeping form in the center of the common room. She knelt before the child & brushed matted strands of hair away from her face before placing a hand upon her forehead & noting a slight fever. Her eyes took in the crusted scalp injury as well as the tattered robe & bare feet of the girl. Silk rose, calling to Matrix for assistance. "Take this child up to one of the spare rooms while I seek out the healer," she instructed the barbarian.
"Room ten is unoccupied, " Matrix said, as he gently lifted the girl into his arms & made his way up the stairs. Silk glanced around the tavern in search of Valhorek. Her eyes locked with Nicklar's briefly before the mage quickly turned away to focus on consuming the remainder of his wine.
With a shake of her head Silk proceeded toward the stairway only to encounter one of the urchins, on his way to the kitchen. "Have you seen the healer?" she asked the boy.
Rooster bobbed his head up & down before replying. "He's in a room with some patients. I'm on my way to get him some tea from Chang Po."
Silk gave the boy a pleasant smile. "When you deliver the tea, would you ask Valhorek to stop in room ten when he has the time? Tell him there is a child there who needs his attention."
"Sure thing!" Rooster chirped, before running toward the kitchen.
Silk took a seat on the bed beside the girl soon after she entered the room. "Make sure we have some hot soup available for her when she wakes up," she said to the barbarian. "She looks in need of a decent meal."
Matrix nodded and headed toward the doorway only to pause when Silk spoke again. " And please keep a close watch on Nicklar since he doesn't seem to be in his right mind at the moment. See to it that his wine is watered down."
The barbarian nodded once again before leaving the room. Silk turned her attention back to the child upon the bed and tucked the covers
around her, hoping she was warm enough. "You've come to a safe place little one," she whispered, while listening to the gentle rhythm of the
child's breathing and hoping the healer would arrive soon to examine her.
Distorted images flickered through the girl's subconscious; of frightening men and dark places, of pain, degradation, and humiliation. She remembered what had happened after the brutal thieves had used and angered her so, but only in her dreams. The truth was simply too much for her young mind to endure.
They had angered her, fighting over who had first right to take her. Her flesh still crawled in vivid remembrance of their rough pawing, and she felt ashamed. Their contest over her had ignited a flash of anger, so brilliant and focused it could only have come from a child. A great white flash of brilliance, of searing heat, flew from her and engulfed the men. Then they were on fire, blazing and flailing like scarecrows in a field blaze. She had fled then, not understanding what was happening, and too young and frightened to realize it. It was put from her mind, in all but her deepest subconscious.
Whoever found those bodies would be looking for a murderer, but who would believe it was a child? No, she would never be sought out.
Then more distant, vague images swam in her dreams, of land rushing beneath her at great speed, she looking down from dizzying heights. Flashes of gold periodically caught in the periphery of her vision; gusts of wind roared in her ears; clouds sped by around, above, and beneath her. She voiced great joy in simply living, but her cry was alien to her ears.
Then the ground rushed towards her with astonishing speed, and just when she would have closed her eyes and braced for imminent death, she landed gracefully, with soft grass beneath her feet. The peculiar thing happened after landing. The world grew larger, or she shrank, and then her perspective was familiar once again.
She examined herself, and she was a little girl, same as she always had been. But not always. She didn't understand it, any of it, but she did in her dream. She was walking, approaching a city, and looked at everything curiously. And then the sharp pain in her head, blackness, and then nothing. No memories of before, no knowledge of who she was, no ability to speak.
The girl tossed and flailed in her sleep, but when she tried to cry out...silence. Even when not conscious, restrained by her reservations, fears, and vulnerability--being only four--she could not speak. However, she was remarkably clear and focused with her thoughts, those within the Tavern were to some degree exposed to her inner tumult; whether they caught images of her projected dreams, or merely had chills of discomfort from her projected emotions. Her ability was raw and concentrated enough that all shared the child's anxiety to some degree.
And yet the child never awoke...
The wine glass never made its way to Nicklar's lips. It stopped half way, as the mage was overcome with visions: pawing, eager men with evil grins on their faces; intense anger; a blazing fireball; soaring through the air majestically; changing; Pain; being consumed by darkness; fear. "No!" Nicklar cried out, drawing the attention of the barbarian.
"Did you say something Nicklar?" Matrix asked.
The mage blinked several times before his eyes were able to focus on the man before him. He lowered his wine glass and looked around him as if trying to ascertain where he was.
"Is something wrong?" the barbarian asked again. He recalled Silk telling him that Nicklar was not in his right mind at the moment and became concerned. The mage looked pale and disorientated.
"l...l'm fine," Nicklar finally managed to answer.
Matrix noticed that his hands shook slightly. "Maybe you needs to get a little rest Nicklar," the barbarian suggested.
The mage slowly nodded his head then asked his friend to bring him some tea. Matrix grinned broadly, happy to remove the wine from Nicklar who had never, until today, indulged in anything other than tea. Although Nicklar watched the barbarian make his way to the kitchen, his thoughts went over what he had just experienced, trying to make some sense of it. He had always been highly sensitive to magic and power sources, and knew he had been caught up in someone else's mental projections, which was rare indeed, unless there was another like himself present, who possessed mild psionic powers.
Nicklar glanced around the common room. He heightened his senses and did a minor mental probe on each of the patrons, to no avail. Nothing but common everyday laborers, whores, and troublemakers were present. Nicklar took a sip of the tea Matrix delivered then decided to try another tactic. He turned his stool around and faced the open room, intensely concentrating on the various auras that filled it. His mind plowed through one, then another, until he found what he sought. It was a tiny strand of residue that remained for a time after the employment of psionic related powers. Nicklar's eyes followed the thread which led to the stairwell and disappeared from sight.
A few of the inn patrons raised their brows at the man that crossed the room, who resembled a sleepwalker or someone in a trance. Nicklar followed the thread to a door and burst into the room beyond without thinking who might reside within.
Silk jumped up from her position on the bed; a dagger ready in her hand. She breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the mage and sheathed her weapon. She noticed that Nicklar's eyes appeared somewhat glazed and seemed to bore into the sleeping child. "What is it Nicklar?" she asked, while rubbing her temples to soothe the ache of an unexplained headache that had overcome her minutes before the mage's arrival.
"Leave!" Nicklar said sternly, never taking his eyes off the child. Silk hesitated. "I said leave now! This child may possess untrained psionic powers and, if she does, you could be in danger! The next time you might receive more than just a simple headache!"
Silk's mouth dropped open as she looked from the mage to the young girl.
"LEAVE!" Nicklar ordered again. Silk weighed her limited magical abilities against the magnitude of Nicklar's and decided that if what he said were true, he would be the best one to handle the situation. Quietly, Silk left the room, closing the door behind her.
Nicklar encased himself within a magical shield of protection then sat down upon the bed. Gently, he sent a feather-light probe into the
child's mind and tickled her senses. Calmly, he waited for her to awaken.
NOTE: Another post by Naiomi comes next, but I haven't been able to find it yet. Apparently, in the post, the child wakes up and
speaks to Nicklar in his mind, telling him her name is, Naiomi. She also sends him a few strange, mental images. The following post
continues from that point.
"My name is Nicklar, " the mage said into the girl's mind He backed away from her slowly, not wishing to upset her further by boxing her into the corner like a trapped animal.
Nicklar sat upon the bed, quietly contemplating the images she sent him. Why would anyone need to cuff a four-year-old child like some strong barbarian who would put up a fight? he wondered. And where had the searing flash of white heat come from? Possibly the child caused it herself by unknowingly using her wild powers or maybe someone had come to her assistance. Perhaps in time, the girl would remember more, but there was no sense in trying to force the memories to come now. She had been traumatized enough already.
Nicklar wondered if she was more than just a simple telepath. The projection of her dreams pointed to possible somniomancy powers, and if she had caused the fire, she might also be a pyromancer. Whatever the extent of her talents were, it was obvious she could be dangerous when threatened. Nicklar's ears still rang from the horrible cry of panic she issued upon seeing him, which seemed to come from a wild beast rather than a small, innocent child.
The mage was aware of her eyes on him, and he had the distinct feeling she could see into his soul. He offered her a smile, not quite knowing how to proceed since he had never spent much time around children. "You are in a safe place Naiomi, " he sent into her mind. "No one will harm you here."
Her big round eyes came up to meet his before her tiny hands wiped the remaining tears away, leaving smudges of dirt along her cheeks.
"Would you like to have a bath and some food afterwards?" he asked, while reinforcing his protection shields in case she decided to
bombard him with another onslaught of her wild power.
"Nicklar," she said, familiarizing herself with his name. Naiomi stared up at him with an unwavering gaze, surprise and a child's thorough fascination conflicting with her instinct to run, to be terrified of Nicklar. He was a man, and men had tormented and terrorized her; all men were to be feared...weren't they? All the men she could remember were to be, and yet there sat a most gentle and quiet of souls, and something inside her told her she could trust him, if only she would.
But he did not press, and he moved away from her, allowing her room to breath and the tension eased the further he retreated. Slowly the child uncurled from her huddled position and sat with thin legs stretched out before her. Like all children, Naiomi was all arms and legs, awkward and gangly, but she was tiny. Tiny hands, tiny feet, all smudged and black.
She thought about it, sniffled and again wiped away tears, smudging up her face where tears had traced clean rivulets down her cheeks. Safe; she was safe, he had said. At first she doubted him, but her trust was a child's, and she placed it completely in him.
With a mentally audible sigh, she rose shakily to her feet and crawled into his lap, resting her head on his shoulder. "Yes, please,"
she said to him in response to his offer for a bath and something to eat. Then, impulsively, she threw her skinny arms around his neck and
clung to him with all the trust and abandon only a child could give.