3. Inla Dreams

  Inla's senses were muted, but his vision swam as he tried to navigate the room before him. He was alone with his thoughts, and all was black at his periphery, but try as he might to look away from the scene demanding his attention, he couldn't control what was playing out. Events were in motion, larger than him, but he knew of the strands that were and that may come to be. He was a part of it, and it was a part of him, and they were eternal.

  Before him was the suggestion of a pit that threatened to swell and breach its banks with a bile as black as pitch. He could not control it, but somehow he knew he was responsible. The spill was not his own, but still he felt the burden of guilt, and still it filled.

  He was not forced to witness or even be a part of it, but he was compelled to act by an authority, secret but known. He felt spite and raged against the hidden hand above his head, but still the pit filled.

  Frothing, roiling, bubbling; the stinking flow crept and edged ever closer to churning over its earthen vessel to the land before him, and for it, he felt shame.

  Shame gave way to disgust and then panic, but the depth of consequence was obscured by the fog of the mind; as was the nature of his responsibility. All he could know was that he was failing in his duty and time was short.

  He was compelled and desperately driven all the more to understand, but it was no use. Alone in the empty, he could only see and not solve. Events were in motion, and he was only an actor on the stage, and the tide of disease was about to burst forth.

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  He bellowed in muted frustration. He reached into his depths and screamed into the darkest void, but it was empty. He looked down and his boots were his bare feet, though he didn't feel the harshness of the cold ground beneath them. He did the only thing he could and stepped away from his shame.

  Open sky and heights. He’d been somewhere dark and fetid, but it was ancient and forgotten to him. There was something of great import that he must do, but he had no memory of what and it didn’t vex him.

  The hill he stood upon was more mountain than hill, and he felt a great relief to be there, like he could stretch his arms and soar. There was no charge, no walls, and no authority left to weigh on him. He was alone, as he always was, but without burden. He was his own man and at peace. The sky was light and simple like a springs day, though he only knew it and could not see it. He knew it was a virgin blue and the few clouds a brilliant white, but they were far away. He knew the sun was bright, but he couldn’t feel it on his skin for he wasn't meant to.

  Far below was a great sea. The blue expanse married the land that nestled the sprawl of a great town. He knew it to be bustling and buzzing as a hive of life, but he couldn’t hear the children or trade. The town was easy to map from there, and this satisfied him as lord over domain, but dread filled him.

  He knew the terrible secret of that place as much as he knew its fate. The doom was not of its own making, but still it lurked eternally. He could see the thing that should not be, as if it was of the town and people. He knew it was his responsibility, but he’d failed and his shame spilled forth over his hill.

  He watched the tide shrink away beyond the horizon, replaced with deadly cliffs of racing blue, so deep it was black as bile.

  The town was silent to him, to the end. The waves washed it clean until all was still. He faded to consuming darkness; his fury muted and his mind lost. He was alone, as he always was; adrift in the nothing. He felt a pulsing in his ears that grew, and grew. The steady throb took his throne; a maddening hammering of a hidden, dark heart; until he too was at peace, and all was of the kingdom of one beating will.