Garinor’s thoughts whirled in his mind and he felt as if he had been broken into countless pieces. A shining silver light spouted from the center of his back. Though it was behind him, he was able to see it clearly.
Something was terribly wrong. He couldn’t understand what had happened to him. He remembered frantic parts of his life all jumbled together like a massive stew.
Trees coming forward. Men brawling. Rocks strewn along the ground. His friends in a forest. His mother preparing dinner. A letter with a purple seal. The sky on fire. Swimming in the river. His siblings. A guard with arrows in his chest. The village bridge. A horse thundering underneath him. The Elder Dorin. A searing pain blasting into his back.
He remembered that last fragment clearly, for it was the most current memory. It floated before his consciousness and he was afraid to know what had become of his body if the dagger had truly found its mark.
Another sensation was there. Burning. Fiery heat but without combustion. He cherished the sudden warmth even though it was too hot for him to bear. But he reached for it and pulled it to him. It was the only thing he could hold onto then and from there he pulled his memories together, recreating the timeline of his life.
Garinor’s eyes opened timidly and he stared at a line of trees overhead. He heard horse hooves pounding dirt just barely away from him. He could see the man leading the two horses onward; if he turned around, he would see that he had not killed Garinor.
But he couldn’t think about that. The burning sensation was getting worse. His thigh felt ready to burst into white-hot flames. He reached into his pocket and he pulled out the stone he had claimed from the rocky enclave, the stone upon which his blood had fallen when he had sliced his fingers.
He stared at it and felt the heat move through his body and focus on the mortal wound in his back. There the heat gathered and fused the edges together, healing him. The bloodstone cooled during this process and as its heat dissipated, so too did the stone itself. It fell away to dust before Garinor’s eyes until he was no longer certain that he had even been hurt or had ever found the stone itself. But he would always know in his heart from that point forward that, magically, the stone had taken his death as its own.
It was no wonder that Elder Dorin had suggested he pursue it. Without its power he would now be dead.
Amazed at this discovery, Garinor peeked again over his shoulder and he saw his killer vanishing into the distance. It was a pity he had discovered the stone’s power so soon, for now it was gone forever.
His body was healed of its wounds and he stood up, not even stiff or bruised. He was much further to the north than he had been before and so he felt himself fortunate for that at least. The sun was close to setting and he needed to find shelter and food, and, with any luck, information about getting to the king.
He turned west into the woods and plodded through them, still sorting out all the images of his life that had passed through his consciousness in that awkward state between life and death. There had been too many memories there to experience them all at once, but as he dwelled on them he smiled at many happy times he had had.
The trees were not particularly thick at that part of the woods and he passed through them easily. He saw, not far away at all, the edge of a ramshackle town, surrounded by several paths and fields of wheat. He jogged forward and entered the town, hoping he could barter somewhere for food.
The town proved even more run-down when he was walking through it, but the people put on airs as if they were living in the castle itself. He strolled around the streets briefly, looking for a tavern that was not dilapidated or reeked from the street-side. His prospects weren’t looking good.