Over the Sunken Realm – Part 9

Grizmalda holds his blade high, gleaming white against the red of the cave. In an instant, he will slay Wâldâ, the Druegan who forged it for him. Can you stop him?

You decide to witness the story of Grizmalda

You find yourself back into the body of Grizmalda, your sword gleaming high in your hand, ready to strike at its impish creator. Wâldâ, looking even smaller as he drops to his knees, can only look in horror and bewilderment, waiting for you to strike.

But if the Druegan could only read into your mind, he would not be so afraid: for in the tangles of your very thoughts, a battle has started.

READ PART 8 HERE:

As you – or rather, Grizmalda – raised the ethralda blade, something strange has occurred: more awe-inspiring than the moment you burst out from the depths of the ocean and saw the sky for the first time;

more incredible than your escape from the clicking jaws of the Nirlik in that dark tunnel;

more astonishing even than your conscious mind being cast into the faraway past to witness the history of your people – and, as you begin to understand, your very own history as well.

You start to oppose Grizmalda’s will.

It begins slowly, like a spark slowly growing into a flame: you simply cannot let yourself kill a person who, as far as you know, has done you no harm. That resolution quickly grows inside your mind, and, somehow, in your body: your hand is shaking, your fingers nervously readjusting on the handle.

The flame has grown into a roaring fire: you are not a hopeless witness after all! If your mind is now alive in Grizmalda’s body, then you can hamper his actions, perhaps even change them!

With a burst of mad hope, you bend your will onto this single thought: do not harm him. You repeat that single thought, letting it echo into your mind until it becomes louder and louder, almost too loud to bear.

Do not harm him. Do not harm him. DO NOT HARM HIM.

Before you know it, the thought escapes you, and echoes into your head, imperious, demanding. It is as if the very walls of the cave resonated with these words.

Grizmalda’s hand trembles even more, and he begins to lower his arm – until new resolution appears in his mind, making it clear as crystal and dispelling your hold over him. He has noticed your presence.

His counterattack comes like a mighty wave, crashing over your mind, pushing you back, forcing you into a corner where thoughts assail you from all sides, always the same:

This is not your fight.

This is not your body.

I am master here.

You cannot change the past.

You are only a witness.

You are nothing.

You press on the effort, concentrating on your own desire not to hurt an innocent; but it soon becomes clear you are fighting a losing battle. After all, you are an intruder. You cannot hope to change Grizmalda’s thoughts when he now knows you to be someone else.

And yet, as a barrage of thoughts clasps about your mind like a circle of lightning, something of yours remains undefeated. Some part of you refuses to shrink before the psychic onslaught against which all your other thoughts are useless.

When you see Wâldâ through Grizmalda’s eyes, you see only the Druegan for who he really is: a great craftsman whose allegiance you have earned by saving his life. And the longer you remain bound to Grizmalda’s body, the more deeply you can sense their connexion: you see long nights of planning, a bloody struggle to keep him safe from his enemies, promises of glory and fame… and under all of it, a thorn of ruse, a dark, sinister plot to use the Druegan as nothing more than the means to an end.

A brief, horrifying sight of your bloodied fingers holding by its oily hair Wâldâ’s bleeding head. Grizmalda’s attacks quiver and shrink back for an instant when you come to this realization.

But this is not the reason why the tide is turning: for your own mind does not recognize Wâldâ. As you look upon him, you can only think of Zvakar.

Of course, you are well aware that the two Druegans are quite different from each other, if only by the fact that they are separated by a yawning gulf of time. But your unconscious makes no difference between the dark, shaggy-haired figure pleading for life, and the selfless Druegan warrior who put himself in harm’s way to give you a chance to survive.

Is it only an illusion? At any rate, you find yourself disassociated from Grizmalda’s body, and for a floating moment of dream-like uncertainty, you see yourself, gleaming sword in hand, standing against another man – another you, with the same traits, bearing the same blade. You and he stand like mirror images, and in a flash of metal, rush against one another.

It is a bitter struggle, of hand against hand, brawn against brawn, mind against mind. In the turmoil of this mental battle, struggling with pure will becomes vain: it is like trying to flex a muscle that does not exist. It soon becomes clear that all that matters is this:

Grizmalda plans to kill the Druegan who saved your life.

In an instant, all this raw, emotional, almost child-like desire to save your friend shatters the illusion. You are back in Grizmalda’s mind, breaking down the barriers he had caged you in, melting through his retreating defences, and overwhelming him utterly. Your raging, searing hatred washes over him, and for a fraction of an instant, pushes him over. Grizmalda’s muscles will not respond to your will, but you have already won. He will not harm the Druegan anymore.

And indeed, with a sigh of steaming rage mixed with relief, Grizmalda lowers his hand, and as the blade finds its sheath, he speaks with a voice that, for the first time, sounds like your own:

“Fear not, Wâldâ. I will not harm you now, nor will I ever. This sword, which you have made for me, I receive as a gift; from now on, your enemies shall be as my own.”

And in a haughtier, more ruthless tone you recognize as Grizmalda’s own voice, he adds: “and let this remind you that betrayal turns none but the surest of friends into the bitterest of foes.”

Wâldâ trembles with joy, fear, and awe; he falls on his face, his shoulders shaken with sobs as he mutters: “thank you master, I will die before I betray you, thank you…”

This display of servility makes you uncomfortable – you are not used to being worshipped merely for not slaughtering an innocent; and it seems to irk Grizmalda too – though only because public prostration is so often a prelude to private treason.

As he turns back, you hear his thoughts echo again: “who are you?”

You answer only what you know: “I am nameless, although my friends call me Elmorlèm; I am as human as you are.”

“Indeed, you are no Síll, or else my runes would have protected my mind from you. You cannot be a Drake, for they are all but gone, and none could enter my mind or affect my thoughts so close to Garral.”

Not knowing how to respond, you decide to let your thoughts rest on Ilaïva, the Dreamer, the old Druegan woman whose thoughts transported you here.

A joyous yet wondrous spark ignites in Grizmalda’s mind: “so you know the She-Elder? I have heard of her from Wâldâ, who you named Zvakar.”

A great desire begins to grow in you: for some reason, you wish to share your past with Grizmalda, just as his mentions of “Ethralda”, “the Guild” and “Garral” stir something in you which you do not recognize as your own, and yet seem to have been with you forever – like strolling along an old childhood path which at first seems new, but becomes more and more familiar the longer you walk it.

Suddenly, lightning strikes: how would you know about childhood paths if you lived your entire life under the sea, in Down Below? Where did these images come from – of golden fields that prick your fingers, of running, and breathing fresh air under a wide-open sky, of the wind on your face – if not from your own life?

You cannot hide this realization from Grizmalda: and his spirit, though briefly defeated, is still mighty, tougher than steel. Soon your thoughts will be laid bare for him to read into –

Darkness falls over your eyes, and Ilaïva appears before you: she is as young and fresh as before – but her eyes gleam with fearful tears:

“You can remain here no longer. If you do, Grizmalda will know of things he cannot know yet. If you so choose, you can come back to your own time, and your own body; but should you choose to stay here, your mind will become entangled with his own, and you will be beyond my help.”

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