Interlude 9

The wind through the trees was a springtime song, a lullaby from another world, and the pale, colorless man standing on the edge of the fields could feel life rising anew at the hands of a boy.

The man reached up, blinked briefly-blue eyes, and he smiled. The boy was kneeling, hands cupped around a tender shoot, coaxing it to life. Blue-gold energy poured from the boy’s fingertips, bringing the shoot higher and higher, pushing it toward growth.

Then the boy’s father shouted, and the boy scrambled to obey, and the man knew another healing time had come.

Interlude 8

Three wounds had healed, and a fourth was starting along. That they healed one at a time was aggravating, but he had the world enough and time. That last flash of fire had sealed this chapter, and when he turned his gaze toward the southwest, his eyes flashed sky-blue.

Whenever he looked at her, his hollow chest ached, his eyes flashed green, but he remained pale and lifeless, bleeding from deep wounds as he was. He turned from the shore and began to walk. He would walk and walk again, and he would feel the rain on his face.

Interlude 7

He stood on the edge of the field and watched the flames crackle and dance, golden-bright against the black of the sky. His eyes glimmered green, briefly in the glow, before turning sea-blue once more. He’d roamed for several lifetimes before settling here, where he was meant to be, near the sea.

The man stood at the edge of his small farm, clutching his squalling infant son and staring, wet-eyed and terrified, as his home burned down.

The village would know the truth of the man’s wife, the cause of the fire, and always suspect his son.

Interlude 6

The third wound in his shoulder had half-knit and no longer bled, but it still burned with every motion. He stood on the windy steppes, gazing down at a freshly-dug grave. In the distance, two figures walked. For one moment, his eyes flashed golden-bright, but then they returned to lifeless, dark brown. He closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. The moonlight turned his hair ageless white, and for one moment, he seemed little more than a ghost. Then he opened his eyes - now sea-blue, glowing with trinity-fire, and turned toward the ocean.

Interlude 5

Rain turned his colorless hair into moonlight-white. Lightning flashed in the sky, sharp slashes of energy reflected in the momentary pitch-black of his eyes.

The mother’s cries pierced above the ominous veil of thunder, and he had to strain to hear the voice of her child. The third wound in his shoulder began to tingle and itch when he heard the first lusty cry of infant life.

He sensed it, moments later, when the mother’s life flickered, then faded, as if swept away in the driving wind. In the distance, a caravan approached. They would find the child.

Interlude 4

He stood on a slender outcropping on the face of a sheer drop, overlooking the valley. The sheer number of dead made something twist in his gut. That so many of them were women made it all the worse. But watching her in all her battle glory made the fractured pieces in his soul want to sing, a discordant ballad of longing and love.

Pain lanced through his shoulder, and he looked down, checked the wounds there. Another had healed; five more to go. His colorless eyes flashed brown momentarily, and then he stepped off the edge and into nothing.

Interlude 3

One of the wounds in his shoulder had healed, and another was coming along slowly. He sat on the banks of the river and watched the army train and grow. One night when the army returned, it was without a general, and the village wailed for days. He tilted his head back and enjoyed the whisper of the wind through his colorless hair, and when he smiled, his eyes glinted brown again. The new general would be fantastic indeed. His time had come.

White robes billowed in the wind as he rose, and he set off for the next healing.

Interlude 2

He stood on the mountain and stared down at the world, at two armies springing to life in river valleys. Women rallied and danced, swords high in the air as they spun in perfect precision. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine the first clash, and it made him shiver.

The army in the Indus River valley was ragged with crooked lines, but the men there had spirit, and with the right leader would become fearsome indeed. He brushed a lock of colorless hair out of his eyes and smiled down at the armies with bright, momentarily- brown eyes.

Interlude 1

He stood over her and watched the blood pour out of her, stain the ground. Then he knelt and pressed cool fingers to her throat. She had to die all the way before he could know, so all he could do was watch and wait.

He ran a hand through hair bleached-white from the sun, colorless in a colorful world. The wounds at his shoulder - seven slashes, as from a seven-clawed beast - bled sluggishly. Gingerly he tugged his sleeve up to cover the wounds and waited for her to die. For one moment, his colorless eyes were blue.