Date: October 17, 1999
Place: Pasha's Chambers - Atesh-Gah - Haven
Cast: Ranjeet, Shahar
Scene: A nightmare rudely awakens both Ranjeet and Shahar from slumber, and it turns out to be another of the troubling dreams that have been haunting those with an affinity for clairvoyance. Husband and wife discuss the dream, and speculate on its possible meaning.

In the early hours of your day just before waking would be natural an insidious dream creeps into your sleep. You wake where you last slept, comforted in your familiarity with your surroundings. Everything is clear. Precise. Perfect. You rise and move about your morning activities as you always do with no sense of walking through the dream that wraps you tight in its gossamer tangle. A basin of water, be it porcelain, metal, a fountain or a bathing pool. You go to this as part of your day and peer into its watery depths.

Ripples cause the reflection you gaze upon to waver just as you expect, but inexplicably the first chill of premonition crawls its way up your spine. You reach for the water only to pause as it clouds over, foglike tendrils spreading from some unnamable point until the entire basin is one milky, swirling mass.

Within, something clearly moves and you feel the second thrill of prescience. Sinuous and distinctly menacing. It verges upon coming clear, only to dive back into the concealing depths. You lean closer to get a look, compelled whether you will it or not to see what it is that shows itself in tantalizing glimpses.

With a screaming roar that breaks the silence the water erupts from the basin, spraying towards you around an incomprehensible vision that can only be massive jaws ringed with thousands and thousands of teeth rushing towards your face!!

You wake up with the thrill of adrenaline coursing through your veins, its acid tang prickling your nerves and causing a cold sweat to break out along the nape of your neck. Breath comes quickly, either from an urge to flee or fight this... menace.

The sheets are twisted about his waist, damp with sweat. Despite the hold sleep has on him, Ranjeet's body shifts restlessly, protesting the dream that twists his sense of reality, fighting it off, fighting for consciousness. And then it comes, his body jolting out of bed with a bark, and he shifts, reaching for his clothes, for the knife there, without even realizing it ... only to stop short, reality sinking in as he finally wakes up ... again. Still, uncertain, he takes up the sheath, holding the hilt in his hand as he tries to judge whether this time he is truly awake.

Ranjeet's state of mind, not to mention the physical reaction to his fright and surprise, would under most circumstances bring Shahar to him from anywhere in Atesh-Gah, let alone when he is beside her in bed, for her ties to him are growing that close. Not this time, however. Not now. Sleep had cradled her close for hours, but her magic plucked her from the sweet bower of slumber and now ravages her thoughts. Whatever her vision contains is nothing to dismiss, and a scream builds up within before, sitting bolt upright, she awakens with wild-eyed terror.

And the guards are within the room at once, weapons drawn, expressions taut.

On the surface, perhaps it does not look so good, considering Shahar's short history with husbands. After all, Ranjeet does hold a knife in his hands. However, any fool can see that while his gaze is now focused on her, drawn by her distress, and that he is leaning close, her gaze is not focused on -him- in horror, but on some other unnamable. Tossing the knife aside, and drawing her close, Ranjeet lifts the sheet to cover her, glaring at the guards. His voice is strong and commanding, as is his hold on his wife gentle and supportive. "We're fine," he announces, "...I'll tend to this ... please return to your posts."

Glazed, Shahar blinks out of her reverie and stares at the door, those within it, then presses her face against Ranjeet's shoulder. Such a move, in and of itself, should suffice in proving to her fanatically loyal guards that Ranjeet is not the threat. The black-clad Agni-Haidar nod curtly and back away, but the two Khalida guards bow more deeply and back away, deferring to the kshatri lord and closing the door behind them, quietly.

Gathering her close to him, Ranjeet's hands run up and down her back rhythmically, knowing that what he received, she received probably far more and far worse. "I'm here ... I'm here... you're safe, love, you're safe." He cannot, won't, press her for details. He offers Shahar comfort first. They can talk later.

A shuddering sigh escapes her, one implying that she has indeed been terrified and to the very root of her soul. Such frights do not occur often in Shahar's life, not when she is made of such stern stuff, and thankfully this one does not grip her for long. Tension eases from her bunched muscles, her eyes closing as she leans against his warmth; his strength is all she could desire now, and she drinks it in greedily.

Drawing back fractionally, Ranjeet brushes a kiss against her brow before leaning over to ring for Kassa. Breakfast is needed ... and a fire would be good. "We should talk," he intones warmly, and in one moment, the man that she knows, the husband that she loves, is back in her arms. Not merely physically, and emotionally and mentally. Whatever changes the past weeks had wrought in him, this moment, this dream, has chased it firmly away. He is strong, commanding, and for once in a very long time, at ease.

Her fingers claim the planes of his cheeks and encourage his face to come nearer so she may kiss him, and deeply so. No intent behind it, no overtures; she only wants the lesser, softer nearness of the embrace to reassure her that all is well. Against his mouth she concurs in a breath, "Yes, we should speak," before resting her forehead against his own.

His mouth soothes hers, assures her lips that he is going nowhere ... and will allow no harm to come to her. His hands stroke over, as a master horseman will run his hands over a nervous mare to gentle the horse. His mouth lifts to brush her forehead before he slips from her side, slipping on a red silk robe as the door to their chambers opens once again to reveal Kassa. Ranjeet simply murmurs, "A fire for the hearth, a full breakfast, and black tea this morning, please." But once this has been ordered, Ranjeet's attention is fully upon Shahar as he rounds the bed and draws out for her a light jamdani, the one with the flowers that she seems to prefer the most. Before he offers it though, he hunkers down next to the bed, one hand raising to her brow, as if she might have a fever, then to caress her cheek. His gaze is quiet, but concerned. "Are you all right?"

Her simple nod conveys the notion all is well, but a spare tremble in her limbs and a wild expression in her eyes belies her smooth features and their implied serenity and control. In a methodically slow fashion of speech, as if she cannot yet trust her elegant voice, she responds, "I had a dream. A vision. It was ... disturbing." To say the least. Her fingers pluck the robe from his fingers, and she draws it about her before tucking against her husband again. "Why... why did you have your dagger drawn?"

Nodding slowly, Ranjeet covers Shahar's hand with his own before gently drawing her from their bed, taking the robe and helping her to slip it on over her sleek form. "It is another of these 'Wrong' dreams ... it portends something to come. Something devastating." His hand grips hers, for what he lacks in magical skill, he had made up for in research. "I had a dream too ... though I suspect it was not as vivid as your own," he offers in explanation. "There was ... a thing, a creature with thousands and thousands of teeth. And the dream was like waking ... so that once truly awake, I did not trust where I might be." Drawing her up to her feet, Ranjeet's hands shift to take her upper arms gently. "The knife... was instinctive. Protection. For myself and my mate."

Shahar stares at him, into the brown wealth of his irises, and as she returns his grip, tightly, she asks with tremulous intensity, "Tell me. Tell me more of your dream, my love. Please." A shiver courses through her, as much from the remnants of the vision as from the cool temperature in the room.

Wrapping a supportive arm about her waist, Ranjeet guides his wife into the next room where a warm crackling fire has been set, creating a more cheerful air on such a rude awakening. Slowly, softly, he recounts to her his dream, frowning only occasionally as he strives to make sure that he leaves out no details.

"I woke up here, comfortable. Everything was as it should be. If I were not awake now, I would have thought I was awake then, it was so lifelike. I stepped over to a basin of water to wash my face, and it was then that I felt the wrongness. As I reached for the water, it began to cloud, like milk had been poured into it, or mist. Then, something from within the water, or the fog, moved, and like a hunter stalked instead of stalking, I could feel the malevolent presence of it, but could not see the danger. I leaned in closer, needing to know what it was, needing to locate it, when it attacked. All that was clear were massive jaws and layers upon layers of teeth, water flying everywhere, and the ferocious roar it let loose as it lunged at me." He turns to her, easing her down in a chair close to the fire, holding her hand as he stands by her side. "And then I awoke ... and then you awoke."

His nearness, his warmth, is a balm to her spirit, as much so as the crackling fire in the hearth. Time and the support of her husband, his strength and nearness, win her control with alacrity, and she attends to his recounting with rapt attentiveness. And when he comes to the end of his tale, her hand neatly tucked within his own, she whispers, "That is precisely the vision I received, my love. The same one entirely."

That surprises him for a moment, at once reassuring and disappointing. The last time they did not receive the same vision ... so perhaps this time it is a portent of something else? But what?? That is wherein the frustration lies, for if she received the same as he, then they have no further clues to pursue. There is a soft sigh as he seats himself next to her, looking into the crackling flames for a moment. "That gives us precious little to speculate upon," he broods softly, the flames snapping upon the dry logs, as if agreeing with his dour realization. "Does it mean anything to you, love?" he queries, dark eyes shifting back to Shahar.

"A threat from somewhere we do not expect," is her initial answer, offered toward the flames as she, too, contemplates their golden red and orange dance. Once she diverts her gaze, a finger raises to play with the bristly outline of Ranjeet's tidily maintained beard. "Water is a sign of peace, and the teeth are a deadly foe from beneath the surface of a place we trust. Something dangerous is on the horizon."

His lips curl despite the somber words and dipping his head, Ranjeet's lips caress that fingertip with a kiss. "Tell me something I don't already know." His head then cocks to one side for a moment thoughtfully, a frown creasing his features. "Something dangerous coming from something trusted perhaps?" It is, of course, reading a great deal into a symbol that could have a multitude of meanings ... both literal and figurative. Shaking his head, Ranjeet leaves his face close to Shahar, enjoying her light touch. "But it could also mean that there is danger from the water ... from the sea. After all, I saw the waters rise, engulfing all of Haven, even threatening the tall height of the Citadel ... Or it could represent a threat from the Atlanteans ... ever since Kuronbo's mysterious disappearance, there are many questions ... and rumors."

With a minute shake of her head, Shahar breathes, "Do not put too much into the vision, my love, for that is as unwise as ignoring what you have seen. You speculate that we have been given a cause to fear the water, that perhaps the Atlanteans present a threat from below that we cannot see? Hrm..." Angling her body against his far-sturdier frame, she focuses on the tracing of his beard with one fingertip, her thoughts leagues away. "I do not wish to revisit the vision, but perhaps, once we are fed and rested, we may together journey with our magic to determine what more may be learned?"

His head dips in assent as he counters mildly, "I put nothing into the vision, I'm merely noting that there are many possibilities that can be considered ... and as such, the vision is disappointingly useless in all of its warning." Shaking his head, his dark mane of hair tossing lightly from side to side, Ranjeet sighs, "What is the use of this talent if it offers forth no answers?!" There is a slight rise in temper, or perhaps frustration, as Ranjeet settles back in his chair, gratefully interrupted by Kassa bringing in a sumptuous breakfast... and a large silver teapot full of rich, black tea.

Lovingly, Shahar comments, "My husband, you are Agni-Haidar to knowledge, for you are a warrior to understanding, battling with questions until you have won the day." She raises a hand and beckons Kassa nearer with the offerings, but her mood and gesture indicate with clarity that she expects to serve Ranjeet... and Kassa, bowing demurely, excuses herself with intent to depart. "The more you will know and understand of your magic, the clearer the visions become. My talents have stalled, I fear, but yours shall grow."

He cannot help but let a soft chuckle escape at his wife's lavish, if undeserving, praise. "Shahar," he corrects gently, "I know that you love me, and that you think I am far more capable than perhaps others might suspect, but don't put me up upon a pedestal. I can't embrace you from such a height." His hand reaches out, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. "We should eat ... regain our strength for the day, and then seek answers ... through magic or other means."

Frowning, hand returning to her side, Shahar explains with a touch of steel beneath her purring vocals, "Ranjeet, look at yourself. At your will. My magic is a gift. To you, it is a passion. A tool to the truth that you so cherish. This is what I mean. Do not mistake my commentary for admiration."

Ahhh, yes, the Truth. His features too shift toward a more sober expression at her words. "Fine ... you may value my passion if you wish, but to use such glowing terms is ... well, it is admiration more than simple recognition." He sits back for a moment again, eyeing the tray of food thoughtfully. "And the Truth? I'm not so certain it is truly out there, within my grasp. And even if it is, perhaps it is a thing best left only to the Gods. It is not meant for mortal minds, I suspect."

Shahar quits her chair and rises with the grace of a jungle cat, padding toward the food and the plates on which to serve it so she may prepare something for her husband. You see? In some circumstances she is all that a Varati woman should be. "The words make sense, my husband, and they sound truthful, but do you take them to heart? I understand and know that truth and comprehension are dear to you."

He watches her for a moment idly, his mind somewhere else as he watches Shahar prepare him a plate, unaware of her wifely actions. Indeed, he would be disoriented by them were he paying attention. "Only time will tell ..." he muses distractedly, a reply to himself as much as her question.

FIN  

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