In a treetop, dreaming

[Galacia Tarin]

"Baie."

The soft and sensuous voice called in the darkness. Deep in the night, when all the world slept, safe in their beds, did the Mistress walk the halls of the Dreaming. This one, unknown to most, unseen by many, untraceable to those who would dare to try and find him, was easy for her to track. Long ago they had been linked, by his own actions.

"So silent, my old friend. Even the whispers of your name have quieted, save for the lips and tongues of a bold few. Even they speak of you as if you have gone, never to return. "

A voice known only in his mind. A dangerous choice, given their history, but it seemed more reasonable than making the long trek into the mountains.

"You have not gone so far that you have abandoned this place. You have not left your beloved followers behind. They die. Did you know that? Stolen away in the night. Questioned, and then murdered in the name of the laws of Myrken."

"Even now they hold Thadius Dhrin. Renne will not be far behind. They may even take Bromn, if there is truly luck in this world."

A vague vision of her face, angelic in it's beauty, would form in his mind. Unlike him, she wore only two faces, both of which he was intimately familiar with.

"I understand that you have left me behind, my dear, but what of them? Do you not revel in their worship? Is this not what you wanted? Will you save them, or will you let Myrken take them, each one in turn, until none are left to call to you?"

The voice vanishes, unless he were to reach to her, to respond. Somehow she did not Believe that he would.

[The Baie]

And as Galacia's voice vanished, it was followed by a moment of stillness that rarely lasted in the world of dreams. This place was so often lively with nightmares and fantasies that silence was a rarity. This moment of tranquility was to be no different, for as quickly as the calm had settled, it swiftly was interrupted.

The reply was a growl. A slow, rumbling sound of warning like that of an animal threatened by a person who has gotten too close. Galacia had known a time when the reply would have been a chorus of roaring screams--running the gamut from unbridled rage to agonizing terror. But Baie's mind had healed over the years. Healed, but it was not whole. Never whole. Because, after all, the most brutal injuries always left scars.

"Galacia."

The name echoed through the oddly quiet labyrinth of the dream world. The tone of the name did not carry the fondness it once had nearly a decade ago. But neither was it burdened by the rage and hatred that had followed in the many years since.

Vengeance had been delivered; the debt collected. Of course, that hadn't stopped Baie from holding a grudge. But that was during a time when his mind was still shattered and before he had followers at his feet. In some ways he had all but forgotten the Baie that had existed prior to his altercation with Galacia. He certainly didn't remember Manus Curack and Boreas Tabor anymore; she had taken care of that. All of that had been a lifetime ago. And the lifetime of a god felt like an eternity...even for a self-proclaimed one.

The pause that followed the speaking of her name was long. Too long to be anything less than thoughtful. "It is a time for silence, Galacia. It has all become too loud. There will be nothing for them at all, if it is not quieted."

He sounded softer than he had in years, more fragile in some respects. But this was Baie, fragility was hardly likely. She would have no doubt of what lurked just beneath the surface of his mindscape--murderous rage, unwavering pride, and such potential for destruction. She was well aware of his capabilities.

"Why have you come?"

[Galacia Tarin]

A soft glow at the end of this hallway, illuminating a shadowed figure who stood waiting.

"I've come because they matter to you. And because you matter to me. Silence will no longer work, old friend. They are being tracked, like animals, and slaughtered just as quickly. "

The gently shimmer of her skin can be seen in the lamplight, small scales reflecting the the small amount of light which seems slightly stronger than moments before.

"I know there is a matter of trust between us, Baie. No amount of apologies will change what transpired. No amount of regret. BUt things can happen to heal wounds, perhaps lessen scars. Your followers, they please you. I..."

A pause, for she does not wish to goad him too much.

"They know you only as a God. They have not known you as I have. They do not know the years that have come before, and the man you once were. They have put their lives in your hands, and now the slip through your fingers like blood."

"Dhrin, your most formidable pawn, will not live but perhaps hours. You see, he has been condemned by the likes of Ariane Emory and Altias Bromn. The constable will hear only so much from his lips before he too is hung, or worse."

A few steps toward him, as he stands in his own shadowed corner of the hall. She is as simple and beautiful as she can be in white silks, ebon hair framing her gently scaled features.

"I offer him no love, Baie. I do not care for him. No one does. No one but you. I do, care for you. And this...is why I have come. To lead you back to your children, so that they may live to serve you."

[The Baie]

"Dhrin. Do not worry about Dhrin." He was dismissive in his words, a taste of his arrogance flavoring his tone.

Galacia had decided to show herself--at least the self that she wished for him to see. So, he followed suit, but the form that materialized from the shadowed nothingness of the dream world was not typical for Baie. He always appeared before Galacia as a man of great size and strength. The man who appeared now was very average and could scarcely be called a man at all, but rather a boy. He appeared to be barely older than 20. He was fit, but not overly so. In truth, he was plain and rather unmemorable. Were there some townfolk present, they would certainly recognize his face from the streets of Myrken Wood; but, of course, they were not here and it was unlikely that Galacia would be amongst those who would knew its owner.

"Nothing hardens faith like persecution, Galacia. They will be martyred and with every death the survivors will grow more steadfast in their resolve. You think fear will test their faith and cause them to waver? I have stood before them and shown them horrors. When their cattle are blighted, I am said to be the disease. When their crops fail, it is I who is blamed for poisoning their roots. When their wives die during childbirth, I am named the father who cursed their wombs. Death is easy, Galacia. Suffering is hard. And they have grown to Believe that by appeasing me, I will release them from their suffrage.

"So they will die." The slender young man who is Baie shrugged. "The faithful will Believe that those who died had no faith or I would have protected them. They will only become more faithful, more resilient, and more devout."

He paused for a moment. His stormy voice still reverberated through the hallway.

"Dhrin and Renne were too sloppy for too long. As a result, too many people are talking too loudly--the constable and his crusade of death and, of course, Ariane and Altias, two fools who walk into the lion’s den again and again and think that fire can burn away their stench. All they speak of is murder and sacrifice and eyes cut from skulls. Let them keep their eyes so that they may watch me as I cut out their tongues!" He spat upon the stone floor crafted by dreams.

"Silence is what is required now, Galacia."

"Silence."

[Galacia Tarin]

"You are wise, old friend. As I knew you would be. This is your time, and I have only come to wish you well in this endeavor. So carefully constructed for so long...I would hate to see it end badly."

She must mean, of course, how he had carefully set things into motion by his capture of Thadius Dhrin some years ago.

"Silence is what you wish...then silence you shall have. Know this...I await your bidding, should you have need of me. I remain as I have always been. You know where to find me."

She would turn in the shadowed halls of the dreaming, a look over one slender shoulder, making sure he wished he to go.