He was wrong.  How foolish could he have been?  He was going to die.  Right here.  Right now.  In unimaginable agony.  The red-hot flames licked at him, swirled around him, enveloped him like an eager lover.  It tore through his shields with ease, charred his skin and flayed his flesh, seeking to destroy the very core of him.  When he opened his mouth to cry out, the burning flames rushed into his lungs, searing them completely.  He choked and tried to take in air at the same time, but he had nothing in which to take a breath—

"Jared!"

He felt an iron vise grip the lower part of his chest, shaking him.  He wondered at the pain of it.  He tried to lift a charred arm to swat it away, but he couldn't even move a single finger.

"Jared!"

Pressure began to build in his chest.  The pain was unbearable.  With the last ounce of his strength he threw himself on his side and heaved.  The pressure eased as he heaved again, coughing out the burning liquid from his lungs. 

A familiar, surprisingly comforting voice said, "It's alright, Jared. We've crossed the Portal. We're home."

Jared tried to focus on that voice, drawing him away from the swirling maw of madness looming before him. He knew with certainty that if he fell into it, he would never return. Slowly, he struggled away from it, into peaceful, black oblivion.

* * * * * * * * * *

He was surprised at the absence of pain, for it was all he had ever realized. For the first time in his rather desperate existence, he saw clearly with normal eyes--not the raging Power that seemed to engulf him at any moment.

The first thing he saw was a pair of glittering onyx eyes, regarding him with rapt interest.

"So, you have finally awakened. I was beginning to think I have made a fruitless venture to take you in."

The tall man's voice was deep, and it echoed slightly in the large, well-appointed chamber, as if the room could not contain all of its power. There was something odd about his face and movements—it was too perfect to be human. That and the quiet, lethal presence exuding from his form made Jared tense and inch away from him, staring with wide, green eyes. Inch, because that was all his weakened body allowed him to, his hands helplessly clutching the bed's silken sheets.

"Fear not, Jared Rhyshannon. Within this fortress, no earth-Power will ever assail you nor harm befall you, for I have seen to it. But you will not survive a single day on Ervon without my intervention, for such is the dire fate of all Adepts."

The boy's brows drew down, confused. He vaguely remembered a man with a puckered scar who had saved him from a creature out of his worst nightmares. Everything up to this point was like wading in a fog of pain and confusing images. He recalled being cared for by a couple of beings with bark-like skin and large, luminous eyes. That was all he could remember. That and the name they had called him. Jared.

But who is this man?  His eyes narrowed warily.

"I am Mergenthaal, the Lord of this realm," his strange host spoke, as if he had read his thoughts. "It seems your friends have abandoned you to your fate. And the only family you have, obliterated by the same enemies that seek to destroy you. Would you not want to know why? Would you not want to live instead, overcome the curse of your Adept blood—avenge their deaths and the idyllic life they stole from you?"

            Images of a gentle, elderly man and woman flitted through his shattered memories, accompanied by a deep, indescribable sense of loss. "Aagh...!" The boy gasped and shrank back into himself, startled by the tears that welled up in his eyes.

Overwhelmed by grief and despair, he almost failed to see the faint smile on Mergenthaal's lips, as darkness closed in around him.

* * * * * * * * * *

Shivering, huddled in his cloak, Jared stretched out his hands to warm by the fire.  His whole body burned and ached, as if he had been flayed, although there were no physical wounds he was aware of. Every breath he took threatened to trigger another fit of coughing.  Arlan sat across from him, tending the fire. Behind the Druid, Jared could see the banks of a crystal-clear lake— the other end of the Portal. He still could not believe he had nearly drowned in it!

Cursing Mergenthaal under his breath, anger coursed along the edges of his self-control. Even beyond the reach of his realm, the Raisch never failed to test him, seeing how far he would go to survive in this place. A fury as black as night hovered at the corners of his mind, ready to engulf him if he but embrace it. He held it at bay, using it to strengthen his resolve to destroy those who had taken everything from him.

'Hold that anger close to your heart, Child of Night. But never let it reign over you. Therein lies much Power-- beyond anything you can ever imagine.'

He silently cursed again. The old man's words never made sense more than half the time, worsening through the centuries! Even sifting through the dark lord's chaotic memories, he still had many questions, and received only cryptic answers.

The Druid tossed another piece of wood to the fire, bringing Jared out of his reverie. Sparks flew without a sound. He realized his shields were so tightly meshed from the earlier ordeal that every sight and sound was muted.  Slowly he lifted his shields' outer layers, testing the currents of fae as he did so.

"It seems we are still in Keltiad."  Arlan mused aloud, and then pointed to a faint line of trees just bordering the horizon. "If we move northwest along the Forest's edge, about three leagues or so, we should meet with our mandrake friends."

"Friends?"  Jared's voice rasped, green eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Arlan nodded. "Marsh is a young mandrake around your age in human years, and Calidar is a skilled Healer." Eyeing the boy warily, he added, "They took us in when we had nowhere else to go. We would not have made it this far if not for their aid."

"I don't— " Chagrined, Jared shook his head, recalling faint images of a small brown hand and large, kind eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't remember much before my days at Reig Shaalar."

He saw Arlan's form tense slightly at mention of the Shadow Realm's name in the Draathan tongue. It was the only language Jared had used for the past three years and was second nature to him. But he quickly gathered from Mergenthaal's memories that Draathan speech was forbidden among the seven races of Ervon, punishable by imprisonment, and worse.

Something-- sadness perhaps?—flashed in the silver-grey eyes before Arlan said, softly, "You were very ill for a long time. There was nothing you could have done differently."

Jared took a breath, steeling himself. What little he had gathered of the past was painful to bear, but he had to—needed to— learn more. "Tell me what you know, and how we met our mandrake friends."

The Druid looked into the horizon, deliberating his next words. "Perhaps I should start closer to the beginning." His gaze was steady as he met Jared's across the fire.

"Five hundred years ago, I was given the task by the Conclave, along with several other Seekers, to find and bring you back to Ervon. The remnants of your Clan had spirited you away in utmost secrecy to a world known as Earth. You had been gone from Ervon for fifteen hundred years--long before many of us had been born. We all knew the odds were too great, an almost impossible task. But the servants of the Dark Lord, who had long sought the last heir of Rhyshannon, somehow discovered this world where you lived. It was a race against time. And in a world forsaken by the fae, a world without magic, a silent war against the forces of Darkness began. In the end, only I remained to face them.

"It was the fifth year when I found you, but the Dark Lord's servants were a step ahead. You were severely wounded, and your memories stolen by a Myrdraath. It had however, inadvertently opened the channels to your Power. We narrowly escaped through the remaining Gateway, to Ervon. Little did I realize that time flows differently between the two worlds. It took five years to find you, but on Ervon, half a millenium had passed.

"Marsh, a young mandrake, found us on the hills of Keltiad near his home. He guided us to a mandrake Healer named Calidar, who lived in the Forest of Sorrows. Although your wounds had healed, your Power and Adept's senses grew stronger by the day while your physical body suffered, unable to contain or control it, despite the Healer's skills."

Arlan glanced away, but not before Jared saw the torment in his eyes. "You must know that I had no choice but to take you to Mergenthaal when he had offered his aid. You would not have survived another day in this world. I could not stand there and watch you die, after—"

"After what?"  Jared prompted.

'After all those who paid the terrible price through the centuries, for your sake.' Arlan finished silently, the memories making him unable to continue.

Abruptly, the Druid stood, brushing dried leaves and grass from his cloak. "We should be on our way," he said, almost harshly, avoiding the mistrust in Jared's eyes as he doused the fire.  "There may be traces left from the Portal that can alert our enemies to this location. If we keep to our pace, we should reach the north edge of the Forest by nightfall." He hesitated, before adding, more gently, "And draw your hood up. No sense attracting unwanted attention if we can help it."

'That golden hair and green eyes will stand out like a beacon upon this plain.' Arlan thought, saving the matter for later.

With effort, Jared stood up, grimacing as his muscles protested.  His legs felt wobbly and the ground seemed to tilt beneath him. 'What was it he didn't want to tell me? And what else is he hiding?' His emotions felt raw, and his thoughts whirled with unanswered questions.

Catching the Druid's concerned, watchful gaze, he snapped, "I'm fine." 

He swore he'd kill himself first before he'd ask for the man's help again.