I threw paint at the wall, bringing life to the images in my mind.
I had to bring them into reality!
I had to!
What I saw I knew not, and I saw not what I was painting.
When the fit passed, I sagged back on the bed and slept.
When I awoke, I sat up cautiously. It had been Tych's idea. Odd fits had come upon me of late, and I would see people, places, things, that obviously came from my past life. Tych suggested that I take paint and keep a record of the images that came to mind. So I did. The walls of the quarters I shared with Wes were covered with paint. The Rogues had taken to calling my fits "fuges," and sometimes I would come upon them talking in low voices that abruptly shifted when they saw me.
I looked around, studying the paint that I had cast about earlier. The images on the wall were bizzare. In the center, dominating everything, was a giant red eye wreathed in flame. But surrounding this eye were nine symbols, set with each on a point of a nine- pointed star. The symbols were diverse, and a riot of color. The first was a irregularly shaped, slightly curved pice of metal painted plain white superimposed over an image of a tower. The second was a grouping of five stars: one white, one silver (or grey: I couldn't quite tell), one brown, and two blue. The silver star was brightest and seemed to be the focal point of the arrangement, even though the stars were set in a circle and were of equal size and spacing. The third was a pair of cupped hands holding a mound of dirt, from which sprang a flower. The fourth was a white tree with seven stars hanging from its branches. The fifth was a mountain with a sunburst at the base. The sixth was a golden tree with silver leaves. The seventh showed a bag, tied tightly at the top, but had light streaming out of thin patches in the fabric, especially at the bottom. The eighth showed a hillside with a hole delved in it, from which flowed amber-colored liquid and light. The ninth showed a pair of dancers upon a green field. Around the points of the star was a gold circle that seemed to weave around the star, so that the symbols were at once on the star and on the circle. Streching out from each symbol was a thick cord that wrapped around the eye, strangling it. The white tree was repeated at the bottom, minus the stars, and that the branches were positioned differently: previously they had curved gently up, now one curved sharply down while the others were as they had been. Around this central symbol were images of many things: a gold circle figured prominitely, as did a cluster of leaves. At one point, there was an image of an erupting volcano, upon which nine shadows played. In another, there was a pair of grasping hands stretching towards the ever-present gold circle. Only slightly less frequent than the circle was an image of a white tower.
"You awake, Hobbes?"
I turned to see Wes standing in the doorway. "Yeah."
He walked in and sat next to me on the bed. He looked at the wall, taking in new parts and sighed. "Do you know the significance of any of this?"
He sighed again, then turned and hugged me, holding me close. "We will figure it out, Hobbie. We will." He stroked my hair while he murmured gently. I felt his chest rise and fall and his heart beat as he held me to him. I felt his head drop so that it was just brushing the top of mine. He stiffened suddenly and pulled back. He opened his arms and pushed me away. "You *stink* Klivian! Didn't your mother ever teach you not to rub oil paint in your hair?!"
Wes laughed, a sound I loved, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as his body shook with mirth. "Go bathe!"
Obiedently I stood and headed for the door of the 'fresher. As the door hissed shut behind me, I heard him sigh, "Will he ever know?"
To be Continued...
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