The eyeless man laid the basket of herbs on the sandstone table and retreated to the corner of the room which the shadows seemed to favor. The man was not truly eyeless: the sockets were there, as were the orbs themselves. But the eyes had no colors, other than a pasty eggshell white, and no pupils. And yet he saw as well as any man. Better. For a man's sight is limited to the physical realm; the eyeless one had no such limitations as are placed upon poor mortals. The eyeless one had not received the "curse" of mortality.
A woman draped in loose-fitting charcoal robes approached the table and the plants thereon. She was small, and frail-looking, but though her movements lacked the grace accorded to the young, they were made with the surety and deftness of the not-yet-old. Her ashen hair was long and fell loosely about her shoulders and down her back.
Bright and burning sunlight rode into the one-room sunstone hovel, carried by the arid breezes of the desert. The aptly named Dry Bone desert stretched away several leagues to the Erast Mountains in the south, and an equal distance north to the dreaded Dead Forest. To the east and west, one would, if they walked far enough, come to the shores of the Saerki Ocean, the neverending sea which surrounds the isle of Qess.
The gray robed woman removed the herbs from the large basket, and seperated them into smaller ones. Some of these baskets would sit on the windowsill to dry. Others would be taken into the cellar to be kept fresh. Still others had no special needs and so would simply be placed on the floor until they were required. The woman silently named and counted the herbs, her few wrinkles deepening from the effort as she proceeded.
She had had no special schooling (or rather, she had had no formal schooling, she had had years of "special" lessons) and so could count no higher than twenty. This had posed quite a problem at first, but she quickly developed a solution: every twenty items would be grouped together into a "tween". Whenever she had more than twenty items, she would call it a tween and continue counting from one. This produced such numbers as"tween and six" or "two tween and three" which she knew were imaginary but served her purposes just fine thank-you.
After counting and sorting the usual assortment of Blood Rag, Hornet Bulb, and Spiderot, the mentally exhausted woman sat down on the rusty table, in a most unladylike position, and gave a deep and heart-heavy sigh.
"Is something amiss, Themira?" asked the eyeless man as he stepped from out the shadows that seemed reluctant to release him. His tone was a dull, low, monotone, his expression one of attentiveness if not concern.
"No, Belurich, nothing is wrong. It just seems that every year we grow more ingredients. The counting and dividing is very taxing to my mind." she replied with mild irritation.
Belurich smiled wryly. "The soil of the Underworld is fertile. That which grows there is potent and numerous. You should be happy. Your spells will be more powerful with the better ingredients."
"I know." she admitted "It seems an evil portent though."
"Evil is your center. The spring from which your power is drawn. You ought not resent it."
I do not resent it. It is just that I am not yet ready for-".
Themira was interrupted by a soft but compelling knock at her door. The two stared at the door as if it had spoken a bodily threat.
"Why did you not tell me of this?" Themira hissed at her companion.
"I did not know." Belurich replied confusedly.
This was most upsetting. No living being could come within a league of the hovel without Belurich being aware of it.
The eyeless man stared intently at the door.
"What do you see?"
"Nothing." he replied reluctantly, fearfully.
The knock came again; no louder than at first, but seeming somehow mroe insistent. Themira inched softly to the door, and, after brief consideration pulled it open.
Before her stood a man with soft brown hair that came down to his shoulders, and bright azure eyes that demanded attention. He was a well built man of medium height. He wore a raincloak and casual attire -- not at all suited to the desert. Though the heat was great, he seemed perfectly comfortable and did not sweat.
"May I come in?" he inquired. His voice was low and smooth and calm. Hearing it, Themira lost all fear and apprehension and replied that yes, he could come in.
Belurich caught sight of the man for the first time and yet knew him instantly. Deep founded rage rose within him. Eyes that normally knew no colors flashed vermillion. Cursing violently in a language no mortal ears could hear, he threw himself at the object of his hatred, fingers curled as talons to shred the man's face.
The man in the doorway glanced at the onrusher with sadness and regret, then made a negatory gesture with his hand. It seemed that a great weight was thrust into the midriff of the maniacal assailant, and he was hurled backward through the air. As his unconscious body fell back to earth, it seemed to lose substance -- to dissolve. By the time the body would have landed on the hard-packed earth, it was gone.
Themira did not notice the fate of her servant, her eyes were inexorably drawn to those of the man before her. Everything about him was soft. No, not soft -- gentle. There was an air of quiet confidence about him. And when he turned back to her and smiled, his smile drew her in. She knew that she loved this man, and that he returned her love.
"Greetings, Themira. It pleases me to meet with you here in your home."
She was overwhelmed by this man's attentions. She realized dazedly that her legs were missing, and she wondered that she did not fall. Then she did fall, and was at the same time embarrased and overjoyed, for he had caught her and was now holding her in his arms.
He lifted her easily and carried her carefully to her pallet. He laid her down and drew his arms away, much to her dismay. But he seemed to know her heart, for he smiled warmly and clasped her hands in his.
"Themira, he began, speaking slowly and clearly to be sure she heard and understood every word, "you have been astray from me."
Her heart seemed at the same time to sink to her belly and leap to her throat. She was very sorry to have been astray, and would try much harder to please him from now on. She promised.
He smiled at her again and patted her hands.
"I know you will my love. That is why I have come. I have a favor to ask of you."
Oh anything for you! Just ask!
"There is a man who seeks to oppose me, Themira. A man who wants to dethrone me and rule in my place."
A shudder ran across her heart, and she thought faintly: Who could oppose you?
Fear not, my love." and indeed, when he said these words, the chill was gone. "I will not be defeated. But I will need your help. I have chosen out six champions to combat this man, this evil wizard, and you must bring them together. Here. It will not be easy, but I will give you strength and guidance. Will you do this for me?"
Of course, my love, of course!
"Thank you, Themira. Here are those whom you must find for me."
The next few moments were a blur of faces and voices. She saw a man who was not quite a dragon; she saw a rat with the knowledge and wisdom of a man; she saw a man with an ivory sword; she saw a boy with his hands in other people's pockets; she saw a woman who spoke to the elements; and she saw a man who was dead and yet was alive.
Then the images were gone. And so was her lord. She had a vague sensation as if just waking from a dream, a frightening, wonderful dream. And within her head, or within her heart, she heard the echo of a voice saying: "Thank you Themira. You are blessed for this service. I will return my love. Be ready."
For long moments she sat on the edge of her pallet and enjoyed those last words from her love, her lord.
Her meditation was interupted by a hollow, guttural groan, that came from the floor before the table. Glancing in that direction, her eyes found Belurich slowly writhing on the ground. She went to him and knelt at his side. His eyelids fluttered and jerked open. he say up immediately and sought the man who had been there only moments before, but there was no sign of him. No object in the room was willing to betray the man's visit.
"Where is he?" he hald asked, half demanded.
You saw him too?" Themira implored. Her heart raced with the knowledge that the man in her dream was real. "Tell me Belurich, who was this man?"
Jemir." Belurich growled, the word contorting his face. It was not a name that came easily to the lips of a demon.
Jemir. Themira sat down hard and stared unseeing at the tormented face of her familiar. Jemir. The Maker. The one who created all and directed the hands of Fate. The Father of all who live.
She had been visited by a god."
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