To Recover

The crawl burned Rynok as he was dragged through the palace, intensifying at every step. The details of the halls and corridors passed by as mere blurs. Shouts and commands rang out from every direction, muffled and incomprehensible. The guards' grip on his arms and the friction of his feet being dragged across the ground were dulled. The crawl of the same cold burn running through his flesh wrenched away all other sensations.

Stuck in that haze, Rynok barely noticed he was thrown into a room. A jade light emanated from every direction. It held an intensity that made it difficult to keep his eyes open. He writhed on the ground, finding no purchase to lean against.

The smell of meat penetrated Rynok's nostrils. He found the source; a minuscule plate that held a cut of meat, bread, and water had appeared on the ground.

He dived into it, devouring the morsels as though his life depended on it. Despite the pristine condition of the meal, the taste was rancid. He retched, struggling to keep the food down. His agony, unfortunately, never left his flesh.

Rynok screamed out in frustration. He thrashed violently throughout the room, scratching away the flesh infested with that chill burn. His desperate, lunatic, attempts at relief failed. The floor and walls of the room became streaked with red in his madness.

Rynok screamed himself hoarse, but the damned burn never left him. He slammed his fists on the walls. "Release me! Please! Lord Marek give me your blessing! I'll do anything! Please! Save me!" He howled endlessly, uselessly.

Silence was the only response he was met with. The incessant, freezing, burning crawl never left him. Agonized, he tucked his legs close, hugged himself tightly, and wept.

Hours passed by in a blur. Food was left uneaten. Any solace found was in brief bouts of unconsciousness, unfortunately, interrupted by the endless crawl of the burning, intensified by the near-blinding light and edgeless room.

In this frenzied state, Rynok concluded that if he could not expel this torment, he would embrace it. He would make it a part of himself, rather than wallow in it. He embraced the heat that burned his senses, the chill that blew through his bones, the crawl that ran through his flesh.

He focused his efforts on adapting to this sensation, absorbing it. With time, the chill burn that crawled through his flesh waned. He meandered around the room, shuffling each limb, acquainting more closely with this new perspective of his surroundings.

The hard stone floor pressed against his limbs. His skin, shredded from the friction he put it through, ached. His muscles screamed from exhaustion. Every bone and joint in his body ached, protesting the abuse they endured. Every scrape, cut, and bruise, from the gash at his side to his raw, bloodied fingers, was a refreshing reminder of his rejuvenated senses.

His breath echoed on the walls of the room, rasping in and out of his lungs. The rustling of his clothes as he moved contrasted with the sound of his heart thumping, pumping blood through his body.

He slowly opened his eyes, adjusting to the harsh light. Focusing, he observed the room. There was the door, made of wood and heavyset, with no handle or gaps to be found. The walls were flat and smooth, the edges were sharp and defined. There were slight etchings in the walls that emanated light, its intensity abating as his eyes adjusted.

Rynok glanced at a plate of food on the floor, beckoning him to approach. He acknowledged his hunger, his thirst. He crawled unsteadily until he reached the plate. The slight smell of the stale food reached his nostrils the closer he drew.

He salivated. At his first bite, Rynok struggled to swallow. His throat was tight, and pressure built from behind his nose. He closed his eyes, tears flowed down his face. He savored every bite and finished his meal peacefully.

The crawl still tingled in the recesses of his consciousness. However, with his rationality intact, Rynok ruminated on what to do next. The primary question on his mind was that of Marek's Blessing. He had no memory of ever receiving anything of the sort. Still, he could remember the strength and vitality lost from the blessing's removal.

Those tendrils of golden light that had left him, what were they? The walls shared a similar quality in how they glowed, even if they were another color. He approached one of the etchings. He squinted at the green light, trying to glean how it shined. Short, sharp, geometric patterns ebbed and flowed up and down the groove.

He ran his finger along the gap. Smooth, yet a subtle pulse could be distinguished. He held his fingers there for a time and found that a faint pattern had emerged. A consistent rhythm was evident through the vibrating pulses in these etchings.

A heat grew, increasing, burning. Rynok frantically pulled his hand away from the wall. A faint layer of dust clung to his fingertips and was absorbed into his skin. His fingers glowed warmly, and it spread to his hand. He moved his hand back and forth, observing the effects. The injuries in his hand glowed, then slightly faded away. His hand felt refreshed.

Was this the power of Lord Marek? There was a clear difference in effects. Perhaps there was more to Marek's Blessing than simply the power the lord wielded. The blessing may have given Rynok strength, but of what use was power that could so effortlessly be taken? Lord Marek's words came to mind. You will learn everything from the beginning. "That I will," he whispered, a slight smile creeping onto his face.

The door behind him shunted open. He turned his head, and a guard stood at the entryway with a plate of food in hand.

"Oh? Seems you've come to your senses," the guard said, stepping into the room and placing the plate on the ground. "Eat. I'll send someone to prepare you to present to Lord Marek."

Rynok remained stoic, waiting for the guard to leave. The guard wasted no time exiting the room and ensuring the door closed completely. Rynok rushed to the opposite wall as soon as it did, trying to glean as much knowledge as he could from the dust's properties before he was taken away.

He stuck the fingers of his other hand in the groove, then moved them up and down to the rhythm the substance within displayed. He tore his hand away, the heat developed faster, and the light followed his movement. This hand as well absorbed the dust, healing it slightly.

He tapped his fist on the walls to the beat of the rhythm that came from the etchings. The pulses wavered, but no other reaction was had.

He tried to combine both. The light shifted with the movement, and the light pulsated at every beat of his fist on the wall. He continued until his fingers burned and were covered in the material. He flaked it to the ground. It was a minuscule amount, dull and colorless, difficult to distinguish from the dirt surrounding it. He brought his face close to the dust and tried to imitate the rhythmic vibrations from the wall with a hum.

It took a few attempts, raising and lowering the tone, intermittently thrumming his fingers on the ground next to it, until eventually, a faint orange glow escaped from the powder, pulsating to the beat of his fingers, waning and intensifying with his hum. Until he heard the door behind him unlock.

With his progress interrupted, he turned to face the now-opened door. As soon as he saw the two that entered dressed in modest robes, they reached for Rynok and carried him out of the room.

As this pair dragged him through the palace, he could better track the details he missed before. What Rynok had remembered as a maze of incomprehensible twists and turns turned out to be quite simple in design. The walls were smooth, sporting the same thin etchings in the wall providing a low jade light in the otherwise dark path. The floor was clean and flat, though rough and unpolished, slightly rising in elevation as they moved along. They rounded a corner and began to walk up steps to a wall made of the same stone yet more crude and layered compared to the simple smooth walls surrounding it.

When they reached the dead end, the wall emitted a faint light and broke apart! It separated into pieces that slowly slipped into the walls. Rynok's mouth fell agape, then shifted into a giddy smile. His head hung back to observe the door as they walked through it, the light flickering out as it closed behind them.

They had entered a completely dark room. Dirt and debris crossed Rynok's feet as they dragged him across the rough floor. One pair held him up as the other opened a thick wooden door.

Rynok flinched at the light that hit his face from the outside. The tall window openings of the palace corridor they had entered let the light of the midday sun pass through unabated.

Rynok tried to step out on his own, but his legs gave out, and he fell to his knees. The pair picked him up. "Bear with it," one had said, "we're not far," the other finished, continuing down the polished floor of the palace proper.

They continued down the hall and turned to a grand archway revealing a large water basin. The opening at the top formed a pseudo-atrium from how the natural cave connected to the palace walls. Paths formed through the jagged rocks, glints of light reflecting between more rooms and baths.

The pair ushered him to sit by a wall next to one of these basin baths. They disrobed Rynok of his rags and poured water over him, scrubbing away the blood and filth he had accumulated. The process was thorough and efficient but had lasted long enough for Rynok to be reminded of the shame at the weakness he displayed and the vulnerability he had no choice but to endure. When they finished, they dressed him in a simple burlap robe.

Rynok tried once more to walk on his own. He could take only a few steps before he stopped. The pair assisted in bringing him to the central chamber.

They exited the basin baths and passed the wood door going in the opposite direction. Rynok could hear faint echoes of a conversation as they drew closer. When they turned down a final corridor to the greater palace chamber, they passed Tanril, who rushed by, paying the trio no mind. When they reached the open room, they found Lord Marek seated lazily on his throne.

They approached the base of the steps; the pair waited behind Rynok after placing him on his knees to face the elder man. Rynok could only look downwards, still too enfeebled to direct his attention to the authority before him. Lord Marek patiently said nothing, waiting in expectation. Rynok exhaled sharply, then took a breath and mustered the strength to lift his head and keep his line of sight pointed at Lord Marek directly.

"It seems you have recovered enough to remember basic courtesies," began Lord Marek, shifting forward in his seat. He flattened the creases of the silken tunic and let his elbows rest on his knees. He observed Rynok for a moment more.

"We will begin once you have shown that you are able to walk on your own again," Lord Marek said, noticing the slight tremble in Rynok's posture. "I will have someone take you to a room. I hope to see your recovery advance at an agreeable pace. Do not disappoint me," Lord Marek concluded, leaning back into his seat, awaiting Rynok's response.

"Yes, Lord Marek," Rynok managed to squeeze out, before letting his body lull back downwards.

Marek waved his hand, "Take him. Address his wounds, then put him in a room on the upper level of the palace. Inform me on which wing and which room." He commanded, signaling with a wave of his wand to the two aids to take Rynok away.

They bowed, then lifted Rynok to his feet. They carried him along another corridor, stopping at a rectangular room. It had simple cots and cabinets. Bandages and other healing tools were strewn about.

The aides had laid Rynok down on one of the cots. One grabbed some salves while the other looked for bandages. When they finished, they redressed Rynok and went further down the corridor until they reached an arching stairway.

They entered the upper level of the southern wing of the palace. The walkway was broad, with an open balcony facing west and curled around the central court in a wide arc. They picked a room in the center that overlooked the main chamber of the palace.

The room was elegant in its simplicity. Following the motif of the rest of the palace, the walls were smooth, with tall thin windows cut from them, allowing light to pass through. The same type of etchings Rynok saw from his prison outlined the windows and held a glimmer of jade.

The aides laid him on the circular bed in the center of the room, then left. Rynok waited until their steps faded away into silence. Though he had been fully intent on escaping the bed to further his investigation into the properties of the dust, Rynok instead fell into the sweet embrace of a good night's rest.