Game of Pawns

Chapter 13

 "Come this way."

It wasn't his voice, not his thoughts. Nevertheless, Zan had been hearing it for hours. At first, the summons was like a whisper, but then it closed in on him. Zander could almost feel the speaker standing beside him, lips tickling the lobe of his ear as they spoke.

"This way."

He felt something sway then abruptly come to a stop. Just like that, he was aware of everything happening around him. The itchiness of hay underneath him, the burning of the sun overhead, the clip-clop of horses, and the voices of men and a single woman. Eyes opening up to the blinding reality that he had been asleep, Zan sat up. He didn't stop there, for it felt as if strings were tied about his ankles and wrists. Throwing off the blanket, he leaped over the side of the wagon where he'd been laying.

The world around him was an emulsion of greens and browns. The sight of foreign soil temporarily rattled Zan, but he couldn't tarry.

"Come to me. This way."

Jerking his head to the left, he pursued the person calling out to him through his mind. Someone said his name, but his hearing was muddled. Zander started walking first, then as his muscles warmed, he broke into a run. The dirt path had been flattened out by travelers throughout the years. Conifers and broad-leaved trees flashed by him. Shrubs heavy with berries were pushed aside. He didn't know where he was going. He trusted his feet to carry him.

"Yes, come this way."

Climbing over a log, Zander felt his shirt catch and tear on a branch. His feet hit the grass softly. The clearing he approached was alive with chirping birds and fluttering wings and rustling grass. Zan glanced around at the limbs of the trees that were so interconnected the leaves blotted out the sun. No one else could be seen, but that didn't mean he was alone.

"Where are you?" he asked the trees.

A wicked cackle was heard from every corner of the alcove. Zan looked around, sensing nothing. How could someone sound so close but not be present?

"I'm here," said the voice.

Zan whirled around and lashed out an arm, hoping to grab a hold of the ghost that was nettling him. All he scratched out was the air.

After another trilling laugh, the voice returned, this time murmuring in his opposite ear. "No, here."

The mage let out a frustrated snarl as he spun around. To be tricked repeatedly—and to be foolish enough to continue leaping at the bait—was starting to vex him. The greenery moved around him as he responded again to the taunts. Colors smeared together until he no longer could identify where he was looking. Zan paused, breathing erratic, and let his mind catch up with what was happening.

This isn't real, he told himself then.

The world that he saw was convincing enough. The leaves had shadows on them, and the stringy blades of grass tickled his hands as he moved. Yet, he didn't believe that his eyes were showing him the truth. The way the voice moved and echoed, the fixed position of the sunlight coming through the trees, and the simple way patterns repeated in the outward growth of the limbs and in the tree bark told him that this was an illusion.

"This way," the voice teased.

Not listening, Zander went to the opposite end of the clearing. When he tried to push through the underbrush, some invisible wall urged him away.

"An illusion," he muttered to himself.

"Yes, an illusion. One that you cannot escape." The words spiraled around him then fell to oblivion.