Chapter 5: Of nightmares and alliances

“We have for a while lost one some who are dear to us, and we all feel the loss. But it is only for a time, and our sorrow will pass.”
There is a reason for being here, and a reason for going. Only the sun is eternal. Only the moon rises for ever. We leave when our time comes and are reborn again time without end.”

Thud.

The sickening sound of another corpse being unceremoniously thrown onto the heap made Eireannan flinch. The pyre rose almost three meters high – dried wood and bodies wrapped in blood stained cloaks for funeral shrouds.

Thud.

The ceremonial prayer came out in a monotone drone from a ghostly looking ranger with haunted eyes and hair hanging to her shoulders in sweat sodden strands. The burial rite of the Farstriders dated back to an age before the War of the Ancients. Ten thousand years of tradition. Eireannan wondered distantly whether those surviving the Sundering of the World had felt the same as he did.

Thud.

“Mother, Destroyer of all that is, we give the bodies of our dead to the ash and dust they were made of - releasing them of all bonds, so that they can return to you.”

Eireannan gazed down at the burden in his own arms – something oozing blood and yellowy fluids from under the stout grey wool of his cloak. He would have welcomed pain, yet he felt nothing. Only an urge to lay down and get it over with.

“Mother, blessed Creator of all that is, take back these souls to the other world where they will await their rebirth.”

He staggered towards the edge of the fire. The heat was almost unbearable on his skin, the air heavy with the acrid - sweet smell of charred flesh and cloth. His hands were covered in grime almost up to the elbow – he flinched again recalling what he had done…Thoughts were like pebbles thrown into abyss, rattling on the edges of his consciousness – he could not bear to remember for too long.
The woman was reciting the funeral service in a tired voice, with no inflexion at all; at times the sound of it was swallowed by the cracking of dry wood burning.

“Journey on now. We will follow when we can. May you be born again at the same time and in the same place as those you knew and loved in this life. May you know them again and love them again…”

The prayer stopped abruptly in a high pitched scream.
-- By the gods what are you doin…Someone help me… don’t…Eirean, don’t…DON’T!!!
Agony wrapped tightly around him.

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Eireannan woke with a start. Despite the chill in the air his shirt was dripping with sweat. He eased himself back on the ground, hoping he had not screamed in his sleep – that nightmare usually made him to.

The bloody woman had been right after all…it was cold. He hugged himself to keep from shivering, but despite his best efforts his teeth were soon chattering. After a while he scrambled up and went towards the cave entrance. Sleep was out of the question anyway.

The sea glittered in the moonlight and a salt-scented breeze enveloped Eireannan as soon as he came out. He was now fully awake and aware of his heartache. Drawing off his gloves he gazed at his scarred hands. Even in that dim light the poorly healed tissue looked horrible. Maybe a skilled healer could have done something about it. But he had never went to see one. A fitting punishment indeed. He wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, of course, but the sight of his disfigured hands was there to mirror the slow corruption of his soul.

He growled hearing steps behind him. He wasn’t in any mood for conversation – or arguing - anything that involved dealing with another person short of murder. And he had decided against that already, which really left him little option.

“I said you needed rest” he threw over his shoulder. She stiffened for a bit then resumed walking towards him purposefully – very much so, Eireannan thought.

“Not that there would be any to get with you crying out like that.” She sat down by his side, carefully spreading the folds of the robe. Her hair was ruffled and she yawned twice behind an outstretched palm – yet the dark eyes fixed him unblinking, in a very considering way.

“I’m sorry”, Eireannan grumbled. “Didn’t mean to wake you up. Now go back to sleep.”

“A nightmare?” Lainné’s voice was soft - almost understanding. Those dark eyes never left his face. Now that it came to it, he had to admit she was pretty. The sudden quietness in his mind following that stray thought was unnerving.

When was the last time he had looked at a woman and thought she was pretty?

Not on this side of hell, for sure.
He was still breathing. Technically that made him alive. Not that he’d done much of in the way of living people over the past ten years.
Come think of that, it could have been worse. He could have been Scourge – made to serve the very power that destroyed Quel’Thalas. Or one of the Forsaken. He hadn’t decided yet which idea sickened him most: a mindless tool of the Lich King – or a self-conscious corpse.
He only nodded briefly to Lainné’s question. The dream still felt real. The pain was real at least.

“Let me look” she said quietly and Eireannan winced as she took his hands in hers, lifting them to inspect the burn scars. “How in the name of Light do you live with those?” Her voice betrayed horror – and something besides - compassion. She wasn’t far from the truth: those scars made difficult the handling of small objects; holding anything for too long – especially the sword - made the fragile tissue snap in places and caused enough pain to keep him awake at night.
Her fingers trailed over his palm, delicately feeling the wounds. “I can…mend it…I think” .

“Stop it!”
Eireannan pulled his hands away giving her no time to react. He was aware of how rough his voice had been. But the nightmare had stirred an angry vortex of emotions within his chest – too much to deal with safely. He half hoped he had frightened the woman enough to just let him be. At least she sprang to her feet and stalked back inside, looking annoyed …not at all scared.

“Go to sleep”, Eireannan growled angrily after Lainné. When she didn’t answer, he sank against the stone wall with a sigh of relief (only to be reminded of freezing cold, really). The blanket landing on his shoulders took him by surprise. Even more so when the damned woman flung herself down again by his side, snuggling comfortably under the said blanket.

She wasn’t touching him but warmth seeped through the uncomfortably narrow space between them. He couldn’t ignore it – not more than he could the true emotion in her eyes when she spared him a glance.

“I thought you’d use the opportunity to put a dagger through my heart”, Eireannan said wryly after a while. “Isn’t it written in the book of Wisdom that one must uproot the evil wherever they find it, without mercy? Warlocks were on top of that list last time I checked.”

She looked up at him managing to seem insulted.

“Yet if we show no mercy, what tells us apart from evil?” A moment of silence before she continued in a quieter tone. “Besides, it is not mine to weigh the burden of anyone’s soul.”

Eireannan bit back his sarcastic comment as she settled herself more comfortably, smoothing the blanket. When he had actually decided against killing her?

“Listen, maybe we could both benefit from this twist of fate.”
He snatched firmly half of the blanket (his half of the blanket …why should he be shivering like an idiot?).

“What do you mean?”

Mist drifted from the sea, casting shadows on their faces. Eireannan was sure the woman’s expression was at least a little bit ironic.

“You’re not letting me go, are you?’

“No”, Eireannan said bluntly. “I cannot. Not until I’ve finished my business here.”

“Then why not work together to accomplish what we set out to?”

Holy Light, she was talking seriously… She held his gaze levelly, a very confident expression in those deep dark eyes. For a second Eireannan wondered what it would feel like to sweep her in his arms and crush that stubborn mouth with kisses.

Odd enough, guilt was one of the most powerful – if not the only emotion he still felt at times. It wrapped around him so tightly he wondered how he was able to breathe.
THAT was a part of himself buried under tick layers of ash and grief. Oh, he had loved. Where most men love a woman, he had somehow loved two at the same time…But one was long dead. As for the other one…he just wished she were dead for good too.

He pushed back the thought; the calm expression on his face seemed a hastily applied mask ready to crack.

“Would you trust me that far?”

Lainné simply shrugged.

“You haven’t killed me yet… And then I don’t have much of an alternative, do I?” A shadow of smile touched her lips and some of it reflected into those fascinating eyes – yes, she was beautiful even if obviously not aware of it.

“I guess not.” he admitted.

“So then we have a deal?”

Eireannan struggled with a smile – he wasn’t sure the grimace he managed looked like one.
“We do.”
For some time afterwards, there was silence.

The nightmare had worn him out worse than a whole day’s fighting could. Every time it happened he just stood there again, holding the bloodied remnants of Nin’s corpse (no, don’t even go there) – every time he took that step into the fire and woke up - to a reality he had grown to loathe. In that dream – he felt nothing…he only wished it could be the same when awake. No, that was a lie too – back there he had been numb with pain.

He risked a half glance at Lainné again – she seemed absorbed in contemplation of the sea. What if he would kiss her after all? – No that was madness. But she stood too close to him – warm and soft …somehow he was sure her skin would feel very soft to the touch – and he could not deny the instinctive response of his body. He would not allow himself any of that, nonetheless. He would not –

Lainné’s head coming to rest on his shoulder took him by surprise. She had been cautious not to close the gap between them. A hurried glance told him that she had drifted into sleep, as improbable as it may have seemed. She must have been truly exhausted.

It was an impulse. His mind struggled against it, but before that had wrapped his arm around Lainné’s shoulder, and pulled her towards him, until the auburn-haired head came to rest on his chest. She stirred a bit, but did not wake up. His arms were definitely more comfortable than the cold stone behind them. Eireannan slowly caressed a stray lock that fell over her face; then leaned back, closing his eyes.

He drew in a deep, tortured breath, fighting the tension in his muscles. Suddenly he felt grateful for the harsh lessons in discipline he had once taken.
There were three hours left until dawn. At least one of them could sleep until then.