Through Ages of Weary Fulfillment: Ch. 32

The Barrier and the Precipice

Notes:

Two perspectives in this chapter! And a bit of a visit with someone we haven't heard from in a while :)

*****

An odd sort of familiar music sounded. The barrier thinned. Artham felt it, cold pumping through his veins, through his mind. It was the barrier between life and death, between reality and eternity, between agony and bliss. Everything before his eyes seemed to waver, as if the world was made of water, and a thousand pebbles had been cast into it at once. A colorful shimmer, a shape, a person, he realized, came into view, someone else who wavered on the barrier as well. He wanted to know who it was, it seemed dreadfully important, but a pained gasp jerked his mind away from the person and the rippling water.

The sound of Gammon's rather sailor-like speech patterns brought him the rest of the way back to painful consciousness.

“I cannot believe you, Artham,” his friend muttered angrily, crimson filling his hands. “I tear a piece of a cloth from your shirt to stuff the wound, but what do I find underneath the cloth? More crimson. Except it isn’t a crimson undershirt, it’s a white undershirt stained with your blood.” A few almost inaudible less-than-savory words came off his tongue.

“What’d’ya do, fight off a bunch of Fangs in your undershirt, then put on the crimson one afterward?” Gammon griped, seeming like he was talking to himself more than anyone else.

“And made sure it was crimson so no one would see,” Artham added with a pained wheeze. Gammon didn’t respond to that.

“Where’s Amrah?” Artham asked after what felt like a while.

“Ran off,” Gammon replied shortly, sounding testy. “I opted to save you over pursuing her.”

Artham tried to smile but probably only grimaced. “Thanks for that,” he gasped before a jolt of pain sent him tumbling away from reality. 

Rocks stirred the water again, this time splashing a thousand droplets into Artham’s face. He sputtered and coughed, groaning in agony as he did so. The sight of the person again begged him to focus, and he did, peering closely, trying to make out a clear face through the constantly rippling water. He gasped when he saw, jarring slightly, then spiraled away from the image again, drowning in pain.

He must have passed out, or very nearly, because the next thing he knew, he was stumbling along beside Gammon, barely able to keep his eyes open. Odd sounding mutters reached his ears, as if coming from underwater, and it was several seconds before he realized his friend was speaking.

“Artham!” he shouted. “Artham, did you say something?”

Blinking, trying but failing to clear the smoke filling his head, Artham again whispered what he had said before. “Janner,” he mumbled. “Janner’s no’ safe.”

“Neither are you,” Gammon replied, and that was all he heard before another shot of pain sent him headlong into darkness.

*****

He floated and drowned simultaneously, just as he breathed life and choked on dust, burned like Fang venom and froze into ice water, grieved and rejoiced, felt everything and yet nothing at all. What happened around him was lost, what happened in him just the same. He had not imagined the precipice between life and death many times, but those he did, it always seemed an odd, confusing place to stand. 

Never had it seemed as vivid as it did in the moment. 

Wind whipped through his hair and threw itself at him, making him shiver. It was almost strong enough to knock him over, but not quite. The view when he looked down was dizzying enough, though, that it sent his head spinning, which very well might be enough to send him hurtling over the edge. 

Turning his head so that demise was not so likely didn't seem to help, as the brief motion only spun his senses down further confusing trails.

Sighing, he lowered himself to the ground, slowly, carefully, then rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes, waiting for it to leave him alone. Something told him that wasn't going to happen, no matter how long he waited.

Sitting there and doing little other than waiting reminded him how exhausted he was, and he almost managed to fall asleep. The only thought giving him pause was the one that said if he fell asleep then, it might be the final time. Such concerns were not enough to stifle it though, and he found himself almost panicking briefly—though he was a bit too tired for panicking. 

That was until a voice—a wonderfully familiar voice—poked in and said, “You’re not seriously about to sleep before chatting, are you?”

Janner’s eyes flew open, and in a sudden, trembling motion gasped in a breath of air (had he stopped breathing?) and asked, “Kalmar?”

His cheeky, brown-haired brother sat on a rock nearby, tossing a small object from hand to hand, unable to sit still. An odd smile played upon his face, and Janner wasn’t quite certain what it conveyed. The smile seemed to wobble a bit, but the chances of it simply being because of his shifting vision were very likely.

“Yep,” Kal replied cheerily, tossing the somewhat cylindrical object (was it a ball, of some sort?) up in the air and catching it before continuing. “It’s me.”

As much as Janner hated to do the same as all the people in stories who wake up in unfamiliar places, he couldn’t quite think of another method of finding out what he needed to know. “Where are we?”

Kal tsked, as if jokingly disapproving of him. “With all the books you read, couldn’t you come up with something more original? Something like, oh, I don’t know—”

“Kal, please,” Janner hissed, though not unkindly. He knew he sounded harsh, but he wasn't certain how he was supposed to sound when his entire body was on fire with the strain he placed on it, just that of holding his head (still spinning dreadfully) up. It was the reason he hadn’t rushed forward to scoop his younger brother into the biggest hug imaginable. He simply didn’t think he was physically capable of it.

Rolling his eyes a bit, Kal slipped the ball into his pocket and came over, grasping Janner’s shoulder. Barely making any effort, he pushed, just slightly, and the next thing Janner knew he was laying down, the sudden motion nearly sickening him. He fought to keep from throwing up for about a minute, and when the urge finally passed, he made a point of glaring at Kalmar. 

“Wha’ was that for?” he gasped, seeing that his brother had now planted himself on the ground.

Kal looked at him witheringly. “Janner, this isn’t completely your imagination. You really can’t tax yourself like that. It’s going to kill you.”

Chills seeped into Janner’s heart and went throughout his entire body, making him shiver. “I’m that close, am I?”

“Why do you think you’re lying next to what you’ve nicknamed ‘the precipice between life and death’?” Kal asked him, uncharacteristically somber. Then his tone switched to sounding a bit more like the normal Kalmar.  “And what in Aerwiar is a ‘precipice’ anyway?”

Janner smiled weakly. “It’s a cliff. A steep cliff.”

Kal stood up briefly and craned his neck in the direction of the cliff. He grunted. “I guess it’s a precipice. But, ya, know, it could be steeper.”

“But where am I actually?” Janner repeated, in truth delighted to hear Kal’s ridiculous stalling.

Wrinkling his nose a bit, Kalmar began pulling bits from grass up, shredding it to bits. It was alright. There was more grass on the ground than he could pick. “I don't exactly know,” he began slowly. “It’s sort of like the place we were when I saw you last. After I died and before you came back.”

Janner's heart ached at the memory, and a sob worked its way into his throat, one that sent him into a coughing fit. Pain exploded in so many different places, in his head, his chest, his stomach, his heart. 

When he could breathe again, he opened his eyes only to realize Kal was hugging him. 

“Sorry,” Kalmar said awkwardly as he was gently lowered into a laying position again. “I thought you would fall apart if nothing was holding you together.”

Janner barely managed a smile. “I look that bad?”

Kal grimaced. “Worse.”

Sighing (not outwardly, just inwardly, because an outward sigh might trigger more coughing), Janner forced his leadened hand to press into the side of his head. 

“Headache?” Kalmar asked sympathetically.

Janner nodded. “It's been worse though.”

Looking around for a moment, Kal got up and held out his hands. “Don’t move. I'll be right back.”

The words made Janner smile a bit. He had a feeling he wasn't moving anytime soon, not without help at least. In his brother's absence, he decided pondering what was going on was a decent decision, as long as it didn't worsen his headache. 

Kal wasn't being very forthcoming with information on where they actually were, though that did seem rather "Kal-like." Of course, that was another question in and of itself. Was it really his brother or just a figment of his imagination? He had dreamt of Kalmar many, many times and knew he was more than capable of imagining him alive.

But, no, Kal had already said he was dead. None of the dream-Kals had ever admitted to really being dead. It stood to reason, then, that his Kal was slightly more real than all the others. Why was he wherever he was, then? And why was Kal there?

His brother reappeared in his line of sight, then, some sort of bundle tucked under one arm. He crouched, and Janner felt a hand underneath his head a moment later. 

“This might make you dizzy or something, so sorry in advance,” Kal said quickly, and before Janner had time to ask what exactly was being done to him, his head lifted, spun, throbbed, then lowered, and spun the other way. The throbbing, however, did not stop.

His words scrambled a bit, Janner couldn't reply or retort immediately as he wanted. It worked in his favor, though, because it gave him time to realize that instead of pressing into the ground, his head now rested on something comfortable and makeshift-pillow-like. “Did you make an ad hoc pillow out of a cloak?” he managed to ask. 

The grin of pleasure on Kal's face was certainly worth the throbbing. "Probably, but I’m not completely sure what ‘ad hoc’ means," he said happily, looking rather proud of himself. 

"Why?" Janner asked, not really knowing why such a thing mattered when whatever was happening wasn't really happening. 

Kal rolled his eyes. “Janner, I'm not such a terrible brother that I don't want you to be comfortable. You're sick and miserable and giving you a little bit of something that's kind of sort of pleasant seemed like a decent thing to do. Plus we need to talk about important things, and you'll pay more attention if you can pay attention.”

Janner felt the corners of his lips quirk up a bit. “Something important? You're initiating this conversation, I would assume, how exactly is it going to go?”

Dramatically throwing up his hands, Kal looked at him scathingly. “I can hold serious conversations, you know. And I've been practicing this one a lot!”

Janner risked a chuckle. “I'm sorry. I couldn't resist.”

“I'm glad you didn't,” Kal said softly, his eyes full of nostalgia. 

There was silence for a bit as they just looked at each other. Janner wondered what his younger brother was thinking and might have managed to at least grasp bits of it by paying closer attention to his face, but that took energy he didn't have.

Kalmar finally cleared his throat, clasped his hands together, and looked off into the distance before beginning to speak. Janner didn't blame him. Talking about serious things was often easier when you didn't have to make eye contact. 

“It’s about you," he began. "About how you won't stop doubting yourself with all the kingship stuff and everything else related to it.”

That took Janner aback. “That doesn't seem quite relevant, considering the situation,” he said slowly, feeling the usual grief and doubt and touch of anger working their way into his heart and mind, only now the threat of death hung over it. Somehow, death didn’t seem like a terrible thing in all respects, just a few. He had seen and felt what it did to those who still lived, and the thought of putting his family through it again broke his heart. Yet, he was so tired of everything and honestly wasn’t sure if he could go on. 

Kal smirked. “It’s very relevant, actually, considering this isn’t going to kill you. You’ll survive.” 

Janner held his tongue to keep from retorting. Something told him Kal had just told him the truth, and that said truth came from a place of authority. Only One could have divulged such information, which made disagreement pointless. He wasn’t sure if weight settled on or was lifted off his shoulders at the revelation, though. If a simple cold had nearly killed him, surely surviving this time was only delaying the inevitable?

“Hey,” Kal said, nudging his shoulder and jarring him out of his thoughts. “I need you to pay attention. Please. I know it’s hard and I promise, you can rest once I finish talking to you, but for now you need to listen.”

Janner did his best to nod and sent up a brief prayer that he would manage to stay awake, despite his body’s best efforts to drag him into unconsciousness again. 

“Okay, so,” Kal began again. “There was the whole thing with the seed, and I was going to sacrifice myself and then you sacrificed yourself in my place, even though the Maker told me I was the one who had to do the sacrificing. So, it turned out two sacrifices were needed, but only one of us came back.”

Closing his eyes, Janner felt the familiar guilt churning in his stomach. His initial thought was, it should have been you who came back; you deserve to be happy with the rest of the family. After all, Kal had been far more willing to sacrifice than he, what with preparing for such a thing two separate times for days without telling anyone. Then he checked himself. This in and of itself was proof that Kal did not deserve anything like what he—and the rest of the family—had suffered over the past month or more. 

“All things aside…Janner, you’ve got a life to live! A kingdom to rule! And even a girl to make happy!” Kal added, a cheeky grin appearing on his face. 

Janner did not smile back. “I don’t understand how you think I can possibly enjoy anything when you’re dead…because of me.”

Shaking his head, frustration fluttered into Kalmar’s eyes. “Janner,” he said gently, more serious this time. “I’m not dead because of you. You gave me life again by sacrificing yourself, and then with that life, I chose to give life back to others, including you! Just for the record, I’m more alive now than I ever have been. Don’t you remember that we had a choice? When we were with Papa?”

Janner did remember, though it had been so long since he had bothered thinking about the instance that he had nearly forgotten. They had been given the choice to either stay in the Maker’s World or return to their family. 

“We both chose,” he murmured, feeling a bit of the weight slipping from his shoulders, from his chest. 

“Yep,” Kal affirmed, nodding. “You can’t blame yourself for me dying or for anyone else’s sorrow, since I chose it. I suppose you could blame me, though,” he added sadly, his face falling a bit.

Oddly enough, Janner found himself smiling. He shook his head wearily. “No,” he said, feeling even lighter than before. “I can’t blame you, and I never did. You saw the Maker. Who could bear to come back here after seeing Him?”

Kalmar was silent for a little while, his eyes distant as he thought very, very hard about something. “Janner, do you understand now? I need you to be happy, or at least content. I need you to live a life worth living. And I need you to have a good relationship with Sara, too. You’re both crazy about each other! I need you to stop making yourself miserable because you think it’ll somehow ‘right the wrongs’ you ‘committed’ when my death came around. I need you to do all that because…because I love you. And because that’s what I want you to do.”

Janner closed his eyes in an effort to stop the burning in them. “I will,” he said softly, when he opened his eyes. 

Kal smiled and came neared, leaning down to hug him. “That’s all I needed to hear. Thank you.”

As he drifted off to sleep, still feeling his brother’s arms around him, Janner couldn’t help but sense something shifting, something in his mind or heart or body, he wasn’t certain. What he was certain of was that the next sounds he heard were not those belonging to his dear younger brother, but to Nia and Sara, and maybe even Leeli or her music in the background.

*****

Notes:

I know the exchange between Artham and Gammon is serious, but certain parts of it were meant to be thoroughly entertaining. (also, simply saying so-and-so-swore is not breeching something in canon. Peterson says Tink swore when he was following Janner out of the crowd when they were looking for Leeli on Dragon Day, if I remember correctly)

A bit of explanation, since a good deal of this chapter was more figurative. Note that in the very first line of this chapter, Artham mentions hearing music. After this he begins seeing Janner. This is for two reasons, a) Leeli is playing her whistleharp and allowing a bit of a connection and b) both he and Janner are having near death experiences at the same time, so that's why the sighting happens^^

ANOTHER thing! The passage of time in this chapter is so hard to figure out, since it isn't clear. Between the beginning of this chapter and the next, three days will pass. How much time Janner and Kal's conversation takes is unclear, but when Janner hears Sara and Nia and Leeli, it's because of the music, not because he's coming out of the coma :)

Please let me know if there are any canonical errors^^