Under My Skin (short story)

This is a creative work set in the world of Elanthia, attributed to its original author(s). It does not necessarily represent the official lore of GemStone IV.

Title: Under My Skin

Author: Yukito

The rain poured down over the sides of Yukito's upraised umbrella as he navigated the darkened evening street. It was coming down so heavily that everything looked misted and grey. He wasn't aware that Mist Harbor had a monsoon season, and indeed, it seemed as if this pattern of weather wasn't a common occurrence; the plant life seemed nearly drowned, and he could see where people had begun to spread tarps over the ones too delicate to survive the deluge.

With his basket of ripe fruit and fresh honey from Fickle's stand dangling from one arm, Yukito picked his way over and around dubious-looking puddles, trying to keep his clothes dry. As he wandered past a particularly large puddle, a brief reflection in the water caught his gaze and made him turn curiously to see who was behind him.

Nothing.

Brow furrowed, Yukito squinted and lifted his umbrella higher, his usually keen vision impaired by the less than ideal conditions.

There it was again! A strange shadow kept flitting in and out of his field of sight. Suspicion swamped him, in light of other events on the island, but he attempted to keep his calm and perhaps catch a glimpse of what was causing the furor. If it was a friend, he'd scold them for playing around, but..

Hefting his basket carefully, Yukito kept moving. His steps took him past the slaughterhouse and had him turning down a quiet road while he kept his pace brisk. He couldn't hear anyone following him; the pointed little tips of his ears twitched anxiously as he attempted to get a better sense of his shadow, and oh yes.. it was still there, and yet not. Pushing past the gate, he maintained speed, trying to casually find a decent place to stand and confront the possible threat. As the gated portal swung wide, he could almost swear that he heard a child softly singing in a dreamy monotone punctuated by hysterical giggles. He went cold all over and stopped short.

In that moment, darkness fell over his eyes, blotting out the road and the row of cottages ahead. The sing-song chanting grew frantic, and the child-like voices whispered soft pleas for light and safety. Disoriented, he dropped his basket and fell into the old habit of reaching for the dagger at his hip. Snatching it free, he scrambled back to where he knew the nearest house had been, slamming his back to the wall. His fingers snapped three times in an effort to summon light and clear his gaze, but the dark veil remained impenetrable.

"Failure of an elf..."

"Such a disappointment.."

"Why won't he talk?"

"Better to have never been born."

"Weak."

The tone and pitch of the voices was changing, echoes of past taunts, spilling out their wicked venom.

"His father was barely one of us.. and his grandmother..!"

Abruptly, the voices went completely silent. Yukito shook his head, disoriented. Strange. It was completely silent. He could no longer hear the chants, and the whispers no longer assaulted his senses.

However, he could no longer hear the rain. He couldn't hear ANYTHING.

Distressed, Yukito touched his ear and passed a hand over his face. He couldn't comprehend what was happening, but a sense of terror began to rise inside. He whimpered softly, then called quietly into the darkness. Nothing. His whole body was cold, making him feel numb. His umbrella fall from his fingers. He should feel the rain, surely?

His hand crept down and he slid a butcher knife from a loop behind his back. Immediately, the jeering returned, louder, almost deafening.

"Speak to me, your ungrateful brat!"

"Your family will take care of you, like any family should handle their embarrassments."

Under normal circumstances, he might have been able to shrug off the words, been able to stand tall and spit the ugliness out. Being deprived of his every sense struck a cord of horror so deeply inside of him that he could only cower in place as it washed over him. He couldn't... He just COULDN'T.

The world warped around him, tearing Yukito away from the physical plane as he ripped away at his magic in an effort to break free of whatever curse had befallen him. As he reappeared, he stumbled over something he could not see and fell to the ground. A feeling of something heavy and oppressive settled over his chest and he began to scream loudly - yet to his own ears, soundlessly.

"Ronan!"

He called and called the Arkati's name like a talisman, straining to be heard. Beyond his limits, Yukito slashed out wildly with the blades in his hands, fighting back angrily and unable to tell if he hit anything.

The veil over his eyes lifted and he gasped as sound rushed back over him, almost making him flinch away. He heard pitiful murmuring and realized he was the one making the sound; his broken cries were as dead and eerie as the songs the children of the Harbor sang in the night. Gathering himself with grim determination, he clenched his jaw and willed himself to stop.

The second thing that he realized was that he was sprawled out in the middle of the road, floundering in a shallow pool of water that had collected from the rain. He was filthy and soaked, and now he truly felt every icy drip of rain as it splashed down over him. If he had actually managed to used his magic to teleport, the spell hadn't worked; he was in the middle of the same quiet street. To the side, his beloved umbrella lay with one of its ribs snapped, folding it slightly inward.

Confused, heart pounding, Yukito sat up and pushed himself to his feet. The he realized that he wasn't holding his blades. Patting himself down frantically, he found them sheathed right where they should be, at his hips. The realization almost made him lose it again, but he gulped large breaths of air and ruthlessly swallowed down the soft whimpers attempting to rise in his throat.

Bending to take his umbrella, he pushed his wet hair back, bewildered as the long strands stubbornly clung to his face and neck. Was it real? What happened?

A sense of devastation washed over him and he physically turned away from the windows of the nearby cottages, too ashamed to possibly meet anyone's gaze. Chaeye had been right. If this were some kind of nightmare, he'd succumbed. The idea of not succeeding would ordinarily have brought him up short, spitting and fighting like a cat to prove himself. The collision of the past and present was simply too much for him to handle right now. The attack had been completely devastating. There was no way to express how horrible he felt.

All he had left was numb silence.

That, and a deep desire to slay whomever or whatever had dared to tear at those raw and private wounds.

He reached up and caressed the smooth worrystone around his neck, giving it a quick twist. Fog rushed in over the cobblestones and embraced his form, sending him swiftly away from the island.

"I've Got You Under My Skin" - Seether (originally by Frank Sinatra)