Fanfic:Brec's Three Arches
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First Arch
Brec stepped through the first Arch, not entirely knowing what to expect. All his thoughts fled as he found himself in the middle of a street, with a ring of boys around him. They were all bigger than him, in height and breadth. He was confused for a second, but quickly got his bearings. The boys were shoving him around their circle, which was growing tighter. Taunts were yelled at him, and he couldn't come up with anything to yell back at them that would make them stop.
The circle started to move, slowly forcing Brec to move to a doorway. He knew that if they got him into a room, they would beat him up brutally, and not stop until their sick senses were satisfied. He pushed and shoved at the boys surrounding him, but that only made them laugh harder. Nothing he could do would help. Be steadfast. Brec wasn't sure why that thought had come to his head, but it must mean something. He couldn't puzzle it out quickly, and this was not the best time to stop and contemplate.
The boys had finally succeeded. Brec was through the door, in a house. Nobody else was there, just the group of boys and Brec. "What do you want?" Brec cried out desperately. He knew it was foolish to ask. He already knew what they wanted. Seeing the malicious looks on the faces, he amended the question. "Why?" he whispered. One of the boys laughed knowingly. Tears formed in Brec's eyes, and he wiped them away hurriedly. The boys laughed even more.
One boy stood at the doorway, peeking out every so often to make sure nobody was coming. Another tall boy stepped closer to Brec. Before Brec could step back, the circle pressed in on him, preventing any avenue of escape. The boy kicked toward Brec's sternum, the air whooshing out of Brec's lungs. Brec wanted to cry out, but it would do no good. No one was coming to his rescue. His parents could care less, and his brother and sister would think it was funny. Brec didn't have any real friends that would save him. He was on his own. For some reason, it was still implanted in his mind that he should not fight back. He did not know why this was so deeply instilled in him, but it was. So he stood there and took the punches and the kicks.
Something flashed in the corner of Brec's eye. He thought it was just a tear, but it stayed, flashing silver in the shape of an arch. Brec knew he had to go to this silver arch, but his hope fell as he saw the only way to get there. It was outside the doorway, and Brec would have to go through several boys to get there. He shook off his jacket with the swarming hands, and fell to his hands and knees. He squirmed between the legs of the boys in the ring. The only obstacle left in his path was the sentry at the door. The boy turned and saw Brec's attempt to escape, and stood firm. Brec couldn't squeeze past the guard, and his mind flashed in realization that he would have to fight this boy.
Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Brec lunged at the boy, fists swinging in frenzy. The boy was surprised at the attack, and fell after the third punch. Brec leapt over the fallen boy and sprinted to the arch, weeping at his violence. Blood trickled down his chin and out of his nose, but he did not wipe the blood or the tears away. He stumbled through the arch.
Second Arch
Brec warily stepped through the second arch. Again, all thoughts of fear and curiosity fled his mind, and he found himself standing in the kitchens. It was obviously the Grey Tower Kitchens, for Mistress Maytree was approaching, brandishing her wooden spoon. Brec bent over the sink he was standing at, and began washing dishes. He had obviously been doing it for quite a while now, since his hands were already wrinkled. It didn't really matter how long he had been washing, though. He was washing now, and that was what mattered most.
He pulled a knife off the counter of dirty dishes next to the sink and plunged it into the soapy water. Picking up the dish rag, Brec soaked it in the soapy water beside the knife. He ran the rag down the blade between his thumb and other fingers. The blade slipped and sliced through the thin dish rag, and then the skin and tissue down the palm of Brec's left hand. He gasped in shock and pain as blood began pouring out of his hand. He quickly tore the sleeve of his shirt and tied it tightly around his hand. His mind tried to reach out to something, he didn't know what it was, but his mind hit an invisible wall. He was apparently cut off from whatever it was. He felt like he was missing something, but couldn't remember what. Maybe it had something to do with the wall. His mind was too focused on the pain searing through his palm to try and remember.
The Mistress of the Kitchens was coming back, and she looked mad until she saw the blood from his hand. Grabbing his other arm, the woman propelled Brec to the Infirmary, where a kind Yellow healed his hand. With the pain gone, Brec thought back to the barrier in his mind. He mentioned it to the Yellow Aes Sedai, and she frowned slightly, thinking. "You had a block didn't you? Maybe it came back when you retriggered the stimulus."
Brec furrowed his brow. He was very confused. "My block... returned?" he asked skeptically. She nodded slowly.
"I think so. From what you have described, the wall in your mind, it sounds just like a block from the Power. I think you should probably go find Daimenin Asha'man and speak to him about this oddity. I think that he is your only chance of channeling again."
Brec left the Infirmary and sought out the Indigo Head. After explaining his conundrum, Brec waited for the huge Indigo's response. The man shook his head slowly. "I've never heard of a block returning. It might take some time before you'll be able to rebreak your block. You should go to Aleatha Sedai, she is adept at helping people break blocks. She might be able to help. In fact, I'll go find her. You go on to the Channeling Yards and wait for us there."
Brec nodded and went off to the Channeling Yards. He waited for a few minutes, and then saw Aleatha and Daimenin approaching. A silver arch appeared in the direction opposite where the two channelers were coming from. Brec looked back and forth between Aleatha and Daimenin and the arch. Be steadfast. The way back comes only once. Brec knew that he was supposed to go to the arch, but he didn't want this condition to be permanent. If he ran away from Aleatha now, and he missed the arch, or it was just a fake, she would probably refuse to help him in the future. And what if the block remained after he went through the arch? Was it a big enough benefit to outweigh the risks? He didn't know what to do.
After several agonizing moments, the arch began to flicker slightly. Brec made his decision. Sprinting for the arch, Brec heard Aleatha calling and rebuking him from behind. He stopped and almost turned. Time was running out if he wanted to make it through the arch. The arch started to fade, and Brec wasted no more time in his lunge through the arch.
Third Arch
Ready to be done with the test, Brec stepped through the final arch. Someone poked him in the small of the back with a pointed stick. He tried to swat the stick away with his hands, but the movement caused a biting pain in his wrists. His hands were bound tightly with a sharp rope. A rag had been tied around his head, a make-shift gag. Raising his eyes from the dirt, Brec saw a horse with a male rider on top, and a rope leading from the horse's bridle to Brec's neck. Brec kept plodding along behind the horse. His clothes were covered in dirt and soaked in sweat. His skin and hair were in no better condition.
The pointed stick dug into his back again, and Brec sped up. The stick whacked him across the shoulders, and Brec flinched. This was not fun. Be steadfast. The way back comes only once. The thought seemed random, but Brec made himself more alert to his surroundings. An arch appeared about fifty paces to his right, but Brec was in no position to get there. He knew that the arch was his goal, though. It didn't feel right, but it had to be where he needed to go. He tried swerving right, but the rope around his neck had no slack, and he couldn't get far. The man behind him gave him two more bangs on the top of his head with the stick. Brec sighed silently and continued trudging along the path.
The arch flickered and began to fade. Brec tried to cry out in desperation, but the gag prevented any noise. His dry tongue felt like it was huge in his mouth. The arch disappeared completely, and tears began to form in Brec's eyes. One tear slid down each cheek, making small trails through the grime on his face. He had missed the one chance that he had to get through that arch.
The sun set slowly, and the men decided to make camp after dark. Three other men had been traveling behind Brec, but he hadn't seen them till they started a fire. The man with the pointed stick sat by the fire, glaring at Brec with a menacing grin. He was sharpening the stick with a belt knife. Two men slipped the rope over Brec's head and shoved him over to a tree. He tried to run away, but it was difficult to run with his hands tied behind his back. The men quickly caught up with him and dragged him back to the tree. They untied his hands for a moment. Brec felt the circulation return to his hands, but only for a short moment. One of the two men gripped both of Brec's wrists in one hand, pulling them above Brec's head. Another man bent a tree limb down a bit, and tied Brec's hands so the tree limb was between his forearms, above his head. The man let go of the branch and laughed as it pulled Brec up to his tip-toes.
All of the men returned to the fire and cooked their meal for the night. Brec tried not to pay attention to the smell of the food, but his mouth watered nonetheless. After the men ate and talked for a while, they gathered around the tree that Brec was painfully attached to. Brec didn't like the looks on their faces. They cut his shirt off his body and laughed at his emaciated frame. He had not eaten for several days, and only a little on each of the days before the forced fast. The men took turns hitting Brec. Some used their fists to beat on Brec's chest and back, but others used sticks or their belts. Brec cried and screamed at the men, but they did not stop. If anything, his cries of pain renewed their strength.
After what seemed like an eternity, the men quit. They showered him with dirt and mud and then returned to the fire. Brec waited till they slept to try to escape again. Though it was painful, Brec rubbed the bond against the tree limb back and forth, trying to create enough friction to cut through the rope. After a couple hours of fraying the rope, Brec nearly gave up. He didn't want to keep traveling with these men, but he was too tired and sore to keep going. He had no hope anymore, especially since that arch had disappeared. Wallowing in despair, Brec tried to sleep.
Beyond the fire, a silver arch appeared. Be steadfast. The way back comes only once. The thought wakened Brec from a restless doze. He saw the arch, but thought he must be dreaming. If it would only come once, why would it have disappeared earlier, and be back now? The arch earlier hadn't felt right, but this one seemed to compel him. He wanted to go to it. With renewed vigor, Brec overcame the stiffness and pain in all his muscles. He completely frayed the rope holding his hands and dropped to the ground. Now all he had to do was get by the men sleeping around the fire. Brec bear-crawled quietly in an arc around the fire. When he was close to the arch, Brec stood up to sprint the rest of the way. His legs and lungs protested, but he didn't slow down. He heard a stirring at the fire, but he was going to make it. Brec only slowed down once he reached the arch. Sighing in relief, Brec stepped through.
