"You believe he has ulterior motives?"
"Don't you?"
"He is powerful enough that he would not have to hide his purpose from us."
"Not if he needs us to go along willingly. Sure, he could threaten us and I'd probably go along. I'm not too proud to admit the guy scares me to death, but maybe that won't work for him. Maybe we have to accept all this willingly."
Scheff considered the idea, and he had to confess it held merit. Still, Ansas seemed forthright about what he offered.
"He spoke plainly to me. I do not believe he is of a character that would depend on deceit. If I did not oblige him, I honestly believe he would have accepted that decision and simply moved on to find someone else. He did so, more or less, with another elf that was at my side."
"Really? What happened?"
"She refused his offer, but he let her return to her camp, just as he said he would."
"Interesting."
"But not surprising," Scheff replied. "It made perfect sense. He offered an opportunity and she declined. He would not be bothered with trying to convince her to change her mind."
Neltus appeared uncertain of the elf's conjecture. It seemed reasonable, but then returned to his primary concern.
"Then that brings us back to the original question. What does he really want out of all of this? He offered me more power than I could imagine, and he's made good on that bargain. He told me he would utilize me to help others become pure, and it would be to my benefit. He wasn't kidding about that, either."
"Then why do you question it?"
"Because he's a little too hung up on this purity stuff. He keeps saying this is going to lead us to some kind of higher existence. That kind of unnerves me. What does that mean to me? Am I going to become some pure elemental force of the land? I don't even know what in blazes that might be."
"And that is what concerns you?"
"Yeah, and it should concern you, too. Because it might mean he expects you to turn into some large storm. No more elfie, just a big bag of wind, rain, and lightning. You want that?"
Scheff did not answer.
"And then there's Ansas himself. He casts pure black magic. That in itself is kind of disturbing. I think it's rarer than white magic. What does he expect to become? Death?"
Neltus let out a heavy sigh. He wasn't worried about saying too much to the elf. He also wasn't concerned with Ansas finding out what he thought. Part of the sorcerer's magic was already inside of him, and Neltus honestly believed if Ansas wanted to know any of his deep secrets, there was nothing he could do to shield them from the sorcerer.
In the end, Neltus realized he would gain no greater insight from Scheff.
"Well, elfie, I can't complain too much about what's happened. Ansas has kept to his word and I intend to keep to mine. I'll continue showing up when he calls, but I'll also keep wondering what he really has in mind. I don't think he's ever going to tell us. I'm guessing he doesn't think we're entitled to hear it. Maybe we're not. It's just something to think about."
Chapter 20
Linda never rose to leave for work. She remained in bed gazing at the ceiling, staring at the emptiness above her that seemed to symbolize her condition. She tried to make sense of what was happening to her, tried to understand all of the emotions that had crashed down upon her, and then left her frozen and too tired to care.
She couldn't.
So many images had rushed through her mind, images she couldn't comprehend. They were like flashes of memories, rekindled occurrences brought out by a distinct smell or a familiar song. They were far from complete; just shreds of scenes, small pieces of a picture… a corner here, a torn edge there. While there was never sufficient detail to get a full understanding of the stray recollections, enough substance was imprinted in her mind to glean certain aspects for reference. To add to her dismay, the images never contained anything she could actually recall, nothing she could place within the realm of her own previous experiences.
What was worse, many of the strange fragments contained a deep emotion. Fear, anger, sadness, desperation, worry, confusion; all of these sensations were contained in the shreds of mysterious messages, yet they were all foreign. It wasn't her fear, or her anger, or even her confusion. The emotions that somehow rushed into her consciousness weren't her own.
She knew what it was like to be afraid and she certainly knew how to worry. She worried every time Ryson left to explore some dangerous part of Uton. Even when she tried to bury her anxiousness, she still understood it.
It was by no means an unfamiliar sensation, but the torrent of unfamiliar thoughts sparked an emotional sensation that lacked any attachment. It was like she was concerned about something that meant nothing to her, as if she suddenly became anxious over the chip in a dinner plate owned by a neighbor. Obviously, she shouldn't care, but for some reason, such anxieties took a dominant place within the center of her being.
It was the same with her anger. Most of what had flooded her consciousness wasn't hers. She was getting frustrated at what was happening to her, but that feeling was far overshadowed by the rage of another sort. Again, it wasn't her anger that had cast a shadow across her being, it was an external fury. The emotion was raw and clear, but whatever its source, it wasn't really her concern. Just as with her anxiousness, it was like she was mad about something totally inconsequential, as if being annoyed with a broken farm cart. What should she care about such things?
Despite the irrelevance of the concerns, the fury that had washed over her burned with frightful force. The instant the mysterious thoughts cascaded through her mind, she trembled with fury. The rage had been so deep she wanted to scream as her muscles tensed and her vision blurred with red hot wrath.
It was the same with the other emotions as well, but they didn't have quite the same degree of influence. The sadness crushed her spirit, and the anxiety closed in upon her, made her feel as if everything was rising up against her. The confusion jumbled her perspective and the dread had her glancing over her shoulder at every bump and shadow.
The fear behind that dread and the terror that struck on its own was almost as powerful as the anger. It billowed over the other emotions and placed her in a state of pure panic. Combined with the anger, those two emotions had forced reality from her mind. Her fear and rage ballooned and she would have struck out against anyone who was near her.
Thankfully, when the flood of strange thoughts had rushed through her consciousness in the past, she was alone. No one saw her eyes burn hot with fury and her face turn pale with terror. No one witnessed her removal from the reality around her.
It had happened three times before. Foreign thoughts pushed their way into her mind and left her reeling, placed her in a fit of emotional upheaval, but in all three cases, the raw anguish eventually dissipated. With each instance, however, it seemed to take a little longer for the reaction to subside.
Once the raw emotion faded, she was left with a distorted recollection of confused thoughts. She remembered the flood of images, but she couldn't piece them together in any coherent manner. It was a jumble, a mass of disconnected impulses.
Even as she tried to coax the images and corresponding emotions into some rational order, the effort wore on her. The feelings she tried to grasp didn't invoke a matched response. As she reflected on the blurred considerations of sadness or fear, her own emotions dimmed. Pulling at the loose threads left her tired and growingly disinterested. Her emotions began to drift far into the background.