In Thy Name

Chapter 4 - Voice of the serpent

The darkness was complete—except for a silver thread that stretched away into the distance, gossamer fine, almost swallowed by the dark. Sareb moved along it, and cold slipped hissing tendrils around him. The chill grew sharper as he went deeper into the dark, and the hissing grew to a thundering in his ears, punctuated by the boom of his heartbeat. It became difficult to draw breath and his limbs disappeared into numbness, then his body. He still floated serenely along the silver thread, but now his features were being seared off his face, his vision blurring, the hissing in his ears a confusion of whispering and screaming voices. He tried to speak a spell, but couldn't find his mouth.

All that was left of him was the spark at the base of his spine. He dropped into it, away from the gale of whispers and the icy cold. Flame grew in front of him, banishing the dark. It was not just a flame, but a huge serpent of fire towering over him, drowning the darkness with its roar. Its eyes gleamed blood red as it lowered its head of dancing flames toward him. He tried to stop himself, but couldn't, and he collided with the serpent and was swallowed by the coil of fire. Heat tore through him, ate away at him. Whatever shred of himself was left was dissolved in the divine fire, and the serpent coiled around empty air, gathering itself to spring away in flight—

Something touched his shoulder—shoulder? He had a shoulder?—blissful raindrops cooling him, the first ones hissing into steam, but the following ones sinking in, into his soul, outlining it with their cool caress. Desert thunder slammed and the sky caved in, releasing torrential rain. He threw back his head, opened his mouth to the rain, the first heavy drops pelting his skin, water streaming along his features, carving them out of nothingness.

He opened his eyes, the rain still pounding down on his head, his body still bound by the serpent of flame. Around him, leaves unfurled, a tangle of brilliant, impossible green, rain pattering on them in deafening percussion. Flowers bloomed, monstrous flowers as large as his head, and were battered down by the rain. The serpent screamed and squirmed, sizzling fiercely. With a last screech, it melted into him. He felt its fire crawling under his skin, illuminating his limbs, fingers, every muscle and tendon.

The rain stopped and the verdure disappeared, leaving him alone in the dark, his incorporeal body burning with a new strength.

He turned, and saw again the silver thread. Cold washed over him, but the whispers hung back as he moved along it. The thread led to a tree, black and twisted, pale shapes gleaming on its trunk. As he came nearer, he saw that the tree was made up of many branches or tendrils twisted together, and entwined in the weave of its trunk was a ghostly person-shaped form.

You, said a chill voice that pierced his soul.

Yes, replied a voice from the back of his mind that was not himself, a voice that boomed with the power of a raging fire.

You failed before, and you will fail again.

Burning laughter reverberated through Sareb's mind. You deceive yourself, Destroyer.

Fire coursed through his body, gathered at the back of his mind; then the serpent dove down his spine and curled inside the center of his energy, dormant, infinitely tiny.

Immediately, the hissing whispers rushed in, and jaws of cold snapped around him. He reached out to the figure trapped in the trunk. Its eyes snapped open. Black almond-shaped eyes, sharp as obsidian.

"Stormwind!" he said, though no sound emerged.

She opened her mouth, but it was as though a piece of gauze were stretched over it—no mouth, just a stretch of the same ghostly pale stuff as the rest of her. Sareb recoiled from her silenced scream.

"I'm here to help you," he tried to say, but again no sound came out. He reached out, his hand aglow with flame, and touched one of the gnarled black tendrils that held her fast.