IABD 22: Fears Within the Soul

“Mother, if it’ll keep Breg alive.” Dagma’s head hung low. “Then I’ll…I’ll do what Eklund wants.” A choked sob followed. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave, but…but if it’s going to help Breg…”  

The young girl’s body trembled. 

“No, Dagma.” Beggahasta picked up her daughter, hugging her tightly. “We will solve this. If you don’t want to go, then you’re not going to go. It’s my responsibility, not yours.” 

She held her daughter, Matthias was by her side, while the falls of Blood’s Drop roared nearby. Sur Friya stood to the side, near the water, while Altaizar floated above.  

After Bregindoure was taken to Eklund’s dungeon, Altaizar had conjured the wind to carry them away to somewhere they could talk. 

Alone. 

“It’s my responsibility too.” Matthias patted his mother’s shoulder. “We’ll free Bregindoure together” 

Beggahasta—for a moment—looked as though she would refuse his help. Then her shoulders sagged. “Since when did you become so grown up? I blinked and you’re already a young man.” 

He blushed at that, saying nothing. 

“As touching as this family time is, we must remain focused.” Altaizar had turned from the others, hands clasped behind his back. His voice was edged like a razor. “Eklund must have had something done to my work: perhaps, he had a mage brought in to weaken it.” 

“It doesn’t matter what he did. We can’t free Bregindoure unless he has the Rune of Clarity.” Sur Friya gripped the hilt of her sword, her scar twitching as she clenched and unclenched her jaw. “There’s no way Eklund would ever allow that.” 

“Yeah, it’s the only way he’ll ever walk free,” Matthias agreed. “Truly free. He didn’t hurt anybody during his spell. As long as he has the Rune of Clarity, he must be released: the only thing he did was damage the tower, and that’s our tower.” 

“There was no crime committed.” Beggahasta nodded. “If Eklund doesn’t let him go, I have full grounds under law and honour to free him. Even violently if need be.” 

“But how?” Dagma asked, looking at Altaizar. “Bregindoure’s going to die in two weeks! How can he get the Rune of Clarity before then?” 

Altaizar turned around. “The Rune of Clarity is normally attained by a rune-marked who finds clarity, peace of mind, and control in battle. For someone with the Rune of the Berserker, like Bregindoure, they would maintain most of the strengths of the Berserker rage, while leaving the mind clear and in control.” 

Altaizar frowned. “I have tried to create alternate methods for Bregindoure to use to get that rune. I have brewed hallucinogenic potions for him to will his way through their effects: a battle of the mind, as it were. I have taught him meditation techniques to try to lead him through an enlightenment: a battle of wisdom. I have concocted false images through water vapour and refracted light for him to try and pierce: a battle of the senses. That is by no means an exhaustive list.” 

“Did he fail at all of those?” Sur Friya asked. 

The mage shook his head. “Quite the opposite. Bregindoure is blessed with willpower, insight and patience far beyond his age. The trouble, I fear, is that there is one key component always missing: battle.” 

“Battle?” Matthias asked. 

“The rune-marked are creatur-er, people marked by, and for war. That’s their main purpose. Every rune enhances their ability to destroy enemies on the battlefield,” Altaizar’s voice lowered. “Titles, given throughout history, to the greatest of the rune-marked reflect this fact: Kasteon, Lord of End Times. Ezekddon, The Despoiler. Dragal the Impaler. Valkari the Bloody. Sekhara, She Who Mauls. These names inspired loyalty in some, but terror in all. Battle—true battle resulting in victory, injury and death—is the lifeblood of a rune-marked.” 

“But what bloody battles could one fight while trapped in a tower?” Matthias reasoned. 

“Good question.” Altaizar gestured in the direction of Bregindoure’s tower. “Sometimes, rune-marked have been able to develop runes during quieter conflicts…but no such luck with Bregindoure.” 

“Then he’s going to need to fight, to do battle,” Beggahasta surmised. 

“But how?” Dagma’s voice dropped. “He’s surrounded by stone and locked in Eklund’s dungeon. How can he fight like that?”  

“And even if he could,” Sur Friya added. “When he’s in his berserk state, it’s too dangerous. What if he doesn’t develop the Rune of Clarity?” She glanced at the ugly blue and black bruises on Beggahasta’s hands. “He’s grown so strong now.” 

“Yes, containing him worked this time,” Altaizar mused. “But he might need to fight multiple battles to successfully develop the rune: one of those attempts could lead to an unfortunate death. Also, the idea is moot. There is no way we can release him unless we want to be designated as criminals. Damn it all, I would bet one of my most precious artefacts from the old world that Eklund did something to trigger Bregindoure’s berserk rage. The situation the poor lad now finds himself in is all too conveniently timed.” 

“What could he have done?” Sur Friya asked. 

“Any number of things. There are easily acquired hallucinogenic funguses that trigger rages and berserk states even without the Rune of the Berserker.” Altaizar pointed at clumps of mushrooms growing on a nearby tree. “Not those, of course. They would just kill you, but there are varieties that do all sorts of things to the mind.” 

“Bregindoure was burping a lot before…it all happened,” Matthias offered. 

“Burping, hm? Perhaps one of the henbanes then,” the mage reasoned. “But it doesn’t matter: Bregindoure’s body is trapped and sealed in stone, even if his mind is free. There’s little chance we could get him into a battle of any sort.” 

“Does that mean all hope is lost?” Sur Friya asked. 

“It can’t be.” Beggahasta set her jaw. “If worse comes to worst, I will break him out myself and take him to the Wolfwood.” She looked at Dagma, then Matthias. “You two can stay here, with Sur Friya. You will make lives—” 

“No, we’re staying together!” Dagma insisted. “I’m the only one who’s going away if anyone has to!” 

“It’s not going to come to any of that,” Matthias growled. “I’ll see Bregindoure free: body, mind and soul. I’ve dreamed of it my whole life, and I’ll…make…it…” 

He trailed off. 

‘Dreamed of it…’ he thought. ‘Dreamed!’ 

He whirled toward the mage, his eyes wide. “Master Altaizar! You said Bregindoure’s body was trapped but his mind was free. What if he went into a battle—a deadly one—in his mind?” He gestured to himself. “I told you about The Realm in Dream: I train there. I can get hurt there. What if he could too?” 

Altaizar paused as the others looked puzzled. “That could work, if it were possible. It would be a spiritual battle, but it would be a battle to injury or death between two opponents. Yes, that’s quite clever…but unfortunately, not possible. Bregindoure is marked by the divine energies of his Rune: he cannot Awaken to Divine Breath now. It would be like trying to mix water into a jar of oil. Even then, the chances of him cultivating the same deities as you are extremely low.” 

“Good try, Matt,” Beggahasta said gently. “But we will need—” 

“No, no hold on.” Matthias held up his hands. “What if I could enter his dream?” 

Silence. 

“Matthie, what are you talking about?” Dagma asked. 

“Yes, exactly what do you mean, Matt?” Beggahasta asked. 

“Explain.” Altaizar’s grey eyes seemed to spark as Sur Friya nodded. 

Matthias looked back at the four pairs of eyes watching him. He took a deep breath. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you about this before everything happened yesterday. It started when I went into the Realm in Dream last time.” 

He explained how he’d explored the dream-realm: what he’d heard, his journey through the dream construction of Eklund’s castle, and the cries coming through the infirmary door. Matthias described entering another dream world, and what he saw there. 

Then he turned to Sur Friya. “After you told me what Kari had said to his nurse, I realised that I’d been in his nightmare, probably because it was about me. I wonder if I could do the same with Bregindoure?” 

Altaizar’s eyes had grown very wide. “There are very advanced Old Magic rituals and spells that can do the same thing, but they are rare and require an incredible amount of skill and practise to perform them. And you can just…do it?” 

“Well, I mean, I did do it,” Matthias said. “Can it work?” 

The mage’s eyes flicked about, as though he was reading his own thoughts. “Yes…yes, I think it could work! If you reach him in his dreams, bring him into combat within the dream-realm, and have him reach a moment of clarity...yes, this is the best chance, I think!” 

“Hold on, there are a lot of what-ifs here,” Beggahasta said. “And I do not like the idea of placing all of the burden on my children. Matt, this ability…could you not use it to take me out of one of my own dreams and into Bregindoure’s?” 

“And me?” Dagma asked. 

“I…” Matthias paused. “I don’t know.” 

“We should test this,” Altaizar’s eyes shone. 

“I don’t know about that,” Beggahasta shook her head. “I am not interested in my child risking his life all by himself.” 

“Mother, I am doing this.” Matthias looked at her, determinedly. “If this is the only chance to save my brother, I’ll do it. And I’ll need to learn more about this…ability, anyway. I’ll need to face it someday. Why not today? Why not when it might matter most?” 

Silence hung over them. 

“You have to be really careful, Matthie,” Dagma said. “I don’t want to lose you too.” 

Beggahasta looked at Matthias for a long moment. “If I tell you no, you will do it anyway, won’t you?” 

He nodded. “Yes, I will.” 

She sighed. “And I cannot stop you in a dream. Very well then, the only thing I can do is support you in any way I can. To help you to succeed.” 

Beggahasta approached him with Dagma. She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Survive, Matt. I will not lose two sons.” 

Matthias nodded. “I will, mother. I will.” He looked at Altaizar. “Any advice for me?” 

Altaizar shook his head. “I have not delved into dream magic very much, but what I do know would not help with whatever you are going to do. The only advice I can give you is; do not hesitate to hold your breath and exit the dream by using that trick of yours if things become too dangerous.” 

Matthias nodded. “Got it. Then now, it’s up to me.” He looked back toward Barrowgate. “Can you take us back, Altaizar? I need to see my brother.” 

### 

“So, you have come to visit a dead man,” Bregindoure gave a bitter laugh. “Very kind of you, Matthie, mother, Dagma. But you should not be here. I nearly killed you: I am right where I belong.” 

He fell silent in the gloom of Eklund’s dungeon. 

The light was dim—glowing from a few rush-lights which provided scant illumination—where Bregindoure was sealed in its deepest, darkest cell. A sturdy wall and an iron door with a single slot for viewing and ventilation separated him from the corridor. 

Within the cell, Bregindoure remained captive inside the stone sarcophagus, which was—in turn—wrapped in thick, iron chains. The sort of chains sailors used to moor a ship in a raging storm, were hammered into the surrounding walls. 

Two guards were posted in the cell flanking the prisoner, spears ready to stab him in his exposed face, if the need arose. The only ‘dignity’ he had been allowed was that a mage had devised ‘a pair of pathways’ in the stone casing for Bregindoure to relieve himself through. 

Facing and understanding the situation his brother was being held in boiled Matthias’ blood. 

“Don’t look so glum, the three of you.” Bregindoure smiled weakly. “This is your opportunity, you realise this, right? I went too far, and now you can finally be free of me. My curse will no longer be your curse.” 

“Do not say that.” Beggahasta shook her head. “Do not ever say that.’ 

“We love you, Breg.” Dagma sat on Matthias’ shoulders, bending so she could peer through the slot in the door. 

“We do, brother,” Matthias echoed. “Listen to me. You cannot lose your will to live. You can’t. You need it now more than ever.” 

Bregindoure’s smile turned pained. “I am done. Just let me go. Please, just let me go. I nearly hurt all of you, I could have even killed all of you: I should be here, but you shouldn’t. Go, and never come back.” His voice grew more forceful. “Don’t look back. Don’t spare me a thought. Keep yourselves moving into a brighter future…one free of crimson runes.” 

“Bregindoure Ragnvald Stonebreaker!” Beggahasta’s voice smote the air.  

Her children flinched.  

The guards flinched. 

Even the stone seemed to flinch. 

Matthias’ heart slammed in his chest: any time their mother used their full names; it was never good. 

“Y-yes, mother?” Bregindoure stammered. 

“I forbid you from giving up. Do you understand me?” Stern eyes fixed on his. “I forbid it above all other things. You are to keep hope burning in your heart. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?” 

Bregindoure’s mouth opened and closed like a dying fish, all signs of fatalistic, self-sacrificing thoughts hammered out of him. His eyes fell sheepishly. “Yes, mother.” 

“Good, now your brother has something to tell you.” She motioned Matthias forward. 

He quickly stepped up, meeting his brother’s eyes. “Listen to me, Bregindoure. Like mother said, you have to keep hope alive. Dream of us tonight.” 

The eldest Stonebreaker sibling looked at his little brother. “I will keep you all in my heart.” 

“And dream of us tonight.” Matthias insisted. 

Bregindoure knew of The Realm in Dream. He met his brother’s gaze with growing understanding. “I will try.” 

“Good.” Matthias nodded. “All will be well, I promise.” 

### 

In the dark of night, Matthias lay in his bed, his mother, sister and Altaizar were close by. 

“Do you think this will work?” Dagma asked. 

“I’m not sure,” Matthias said. 

“Make sure you keep yourself safe,” Beggahasta warned him. “I’ll go to bed shortly. See if you can take me with you in your dream.” 

“We will be here to support you however we can,” Altaizar said. “You continue to grow more and more fascinating by the moment.” 

“Thanks, I think.” Matthias turned in bed. “Wish me luck. 

“May the gods guide you,” Beggahasta said. 

“I think there’s only two that could.” Matthias grimaced. “And I’m stealing their Divine Breath.” 

### 

Matthias awoke in the dream-realm, in Eklund’s courtyard. 

He could hear noises in the distance; a low growl, a whisper and a distant scream. 

Matthis swallowed. “Here I go.” 

First, he concentrated on his family home, appearing in the hallway outside his mother’s bedroom. He took a deep breath, and pulled at the door: only a void, filled with quiet whispers awaited on the other side. 

Gingerly, his hand reached out: meeting resistance that kept him from entering. 

“Damn,” he whispered. “It didn’t work. Sounds like she’s asleep but I can’t get to her dream. That means it’s up to me, then.” 

He willed the dream-realm to recreate the hall outside Bregindoure’s cell. 

All melted away to mist, reforming, becoming Eklund’s dungeon. It was as dark as it had been in the real world. 

“This place is clear,” Matthias noted. “Probably because I’ve been here recently. And in Bregindoure’s cell…” 

The young greatfolk paused. 

There was no cell through the slot in the iron door. 

None at all. 

Instead, there was another realm. 

“By my ancestors,” Matthias swore, peering through the slot. 

The world ahead was red. 

Islands of skulls swelled from a great blood-marsh, steaming bogs of ichor bubbled between them. Above—where a sun would be—an astronomical Rune of the Berserker burned brightly, shedding crimson light down from an impossibly black sky. The air reeked of blood and was tomb-like in its silence. 

“What a terrible place,” Matthias whispered. “This is what brother dreams about?” 

Looking down at the handle, he squared his shoulders and pulled, opening the door. 

His first steps found him waist deep in the bloody bog, shuddering at the touch of the warm ichor. Swallowing, he called his armour and weapons to his body, then his hands, both hands sheathed themselves in the magic gauntlets. 

Matthias waded ahead, dream-blood sloshing against him. 

“Hello? Bregindoure?” he called to the silence, wading deeper into the dream world. 

Climbing up the bank of the nearest island, skulls crunched beneath his boots as he stopped and looked around. He spotted hundreds of islands swelling from the blood-marsh, but one rose higher than the rest, and from it, four objects reached into the air. 

Matthias kept moving, wading through blood, getting closer to that island. Two things were becoming clear. 

Both were alarming. 

First, the four objects on the island were tall odd-looking gallows made of bone; cages hung from them. In each cage were the emaciated corpses of Haakon, Kari, Petric and Siegfried. Their bodies had been so viciously mauled, they were barely recognisable. 

Secondly…there was movement on the island. 

“Bregindoure?” Matthias called. 

The movement continued, sounds soon reaching him. 

A distinct crunching. 

Fangs gnashing and tearing. 

Teeth cracking bone. 

Matthias swallowed, emerging from the blood-bog and stepping onto the island. 

A massive figure crouched there, scavenging something: Matthias immediately recognised the figure. 

But something was wrong. 

Very wrong. 

As he stepped forward, it stopped what it was doing and slowly turned toward him. 

“Oh, my,” he raised his weapons. 

He’d found his brother. This thing was Bregindoure. 

But he was also a beast...a beast who had been feasting on dream versions of their family. 

###

Author's Note

Dreams are strange things, often revealing fears and insecurities...or they often just be weird shit that aren't much grounded in reality.

NGL, some of the imagery of this dreamscape was inspired by the Eclipse in Berserk. If you know, you know. And no, this story won't get as dark as Berserk lmao.

I dunno if I'll ever write anything THAT crushing.