After the World

by Maire Brophy

  A cleared plain could only mean the bloody day creatures were up to new things, reaching out far beyond themselves. I wove branches together tightly to block out the sun. I may have taken more than was necessary, but it’s better to be sure than to leave a tree with limbs, I always say. I covered the canopy with dead leaves ― the best kind of leaves! Then I sat and pondered my problem.

  As the sky began to lighten, I slipped into my shelter. The trees grumbled for a while, and I fell asleep ignoring their complaints. It felt like minutes later when my eyes flew open. What was it? The trees were quiet ― for once. I didn’t move. Suddenly, the trees were shouting. They were saying to look over here to find me. Those rotten, fetid things. I wish I’d hurt more of them. I felt all the hairs on my body stand up. They were near. Day creatures. So near. I could hear them. The noises they made, their rasping breaths, the jangling racket they made when they spoke to each other. The trees were screaming. They sounded desperate now. Desperate and frustrated. The day creatures moved away. Their voices fainter.

  Poor trees. No one listens to you. Maybe if you weren’t such complainers

  I thought I must have slept for hours, because day creatures were always reluctant to be out when it wasn’t full light, but the gaps in the canopy showed me that it wasn’t dawn yet. They had grown brazen, indeed. It would not be safe to spend any time here. I needed to cross the clearing, which I was sure was of their making. I stayed curled in my shelter as the day came in all its blazing fury, but I could not rest. The early morning interlopers were not the only creatures I heard that day. More came. Who knows why? The things they did, when not killing, have always been a mystery to me. At least killing was something I understood.

  They stood around the trees, lisping and honking at each other. I wondered what they could possibly be doing. Then I remembered how many trees I had scratched. I had advertised my presence. They would know my mark. They would know I was here. I felt damp sweat prickle my skin. I shut my eyes and curled tighter into a ball. I had never felt so helpless, cowering with my arms wrapped around my knees, holding them tightly to my chest. Even our young didn’t behave like this. Although those that still existed probably did now. Many of those that died had probably cowered this way too.

  More honking. The trees were yelling too, but they were not heard. I was actually glad the trees were shouting ― without that racket, the creatures might have heard my heartbeat. It clanged so loudly in my chest, it seemed impossible that they would not find me. But few of the day creatures are listeners. I was glad of that fact before, and I was glad of it again. They didn’t listen to the ground. They didn’t listen to the trees. They didn’t listen to my panicky breath or my pounding heart.

  I didn’t think I would sleep at all that day. The panic I felt ebbed and flowed like a tide. I would calm and then I would hear them somewhere in the distance, and panic would rise up inside me again. I would hold my breath and then nothing. It was so draining, I eventually fell asleep. My sleep was fitful, and I woke up with a start. It was full night.

  I pushed the cover off my shelter and looked around. The tracks showed how close they had come to me. So close. A few more steps, and they would likely have fallen over me. I felt the panic rise again, but I stopped it in time. I didn’t know how much night there was left, but I had to move. I made my way back to the cleared plain, watching for any movement. They were now alerted to my presence and may have posted a sentry.

  I wasn’t wrong. These idiots can’t see too well at night, but they often try anyway. They light giant torches in an effort to mimic their horrific sun, but it usually just serves to blind them further. At the tree line, I could see these markers in the distance. I dropped down low and sniffed the air. The wind was in my favor, and I could sense them.

  In my bolder days, I would have attacked, but now I just wanted to get past them. Who knew how many there were, and I was alone. I hoped the dark would cover me as I moved through the clearing. At first I went quickly, covering as much ground as I could. The ground was churned and crumbled. It crunched under my feet, as if I was breaking a crisp seal with each step. With a start, I realized I was leaving clear tracks. This land was impossible to cross without marking. It would slow my speed to a crawl if I tried to remove the marks I was leaving. I briefly created a couple of false trails and backtracked; it was too dangerous and exposed to do more. I ran on, skipping over the ground as much as I could while bowing low.

  The odor of the day creatures was growing. They had traversed this space a lot. I could see their sentry torches more clearly now, and sure enough there were figures around them. Experience told me that while I could see them, they would not be able to see me in the night. But my heart pounded all the same. I slowed and tried to make no noise ― the crispy ground was no friend to me.

  What was that?

  Some lisping came from behind me. I had been too fixated on the torches. Some of them were stationed elsewhere. They were now on either side of me. I crept forward, my hands on the ground. Too late, I realized I was between them and the light, and no shelter meant that they would see my shape.

  An alarm sprang out, first from one of their throats and then from a bell that clanged in the night’s silence. I saw bright blades raised, and one ran toward me. Out of old habit, I stood up to full height. The eager one stopped in his tracks. In that moment we both understood ― if I was to die, I would surely take him with me. He wasn’t one of their seasoned warriors. You could tell from his eagerness and his sudden realization that death was at hand. It was like it had never occurred to him before. This is the world of our making, a terrible legacy, when a day creature has grown to fear no death in a dark night.

  He shook. I had become his whole world, but he was not all of mine. I could end all his problems in an instant, but I would still have many to contend with. An arrow punctured the ground. It was quite far away from me. They were shooting, unseeing, into the darkness, their own torches blinding them. But still, it was a problem. They could hit me by pure luck.

  Only two of them could see me clearly ― the child one and his companion, who was honking so loud he almost drowned out the bell. I could smell their fear. It was delicious, but I had no time to savor it. I roared and barreled into both of them, pushing them over. I ran away from the light, zigzagging in case their archers located me from the sound. I ran like I had not run in years. There was no style or grace; there was no gait. There was just desperate scrambling and the need to get away. I ran for as long as I could. Eventually I slowed, panting and gasping. I tried to listen for followers, but my breath rang in my ears, hot and hard and desperate. I looked behind me. The sentry torches were tiny dots in the distance, and my keen eyes spotted no followers. I hoped I had scared them away. But they would surely come looking in the day.

  I lolloped on, sore from my burst of running but sure that I needed to be very far away come daybreak. Mercifully, the crispy ground came to an end. There was a bank of dirt and trees. Trees ― I was happy to see them! The trees weren’t happy to see me, and they groaned loudly in the night’s wind. You’d swear I’d been the one to cut all their friends down. It’s been long since they attacked any day creatures, and I’d like to point that out to them. But you can’t reason with trees.

  Even here there were signs of them. Their arms had stretched everywhere. I found the remains of campfires surrounded by their smell. I kept moving through the trees; I needed to keep going. The ground became rockier, sloping upward. I followed, even though I felt this would just bring me closer to the sun when it rose. I came to the crest of a hill and saw the land open up in front of me. In the distance, there was a range of high mountains. I liked the look of them; they poked the sky angrily. I liked to imagine them poking the sun.

  I took a deep breath of night air in through my nostrils. I could smell the mountains in it, even from this distance. I breathed out, some of the fear going out of me with it. Mountains! Mountains, like home. Home. Don’t think about it.

>   I regarded the plain again. Night was ending soon. Mountains might be in my future, but for now there was only this hill, and the coming nights might hold more dangers. I breathed in again, deciding the moments spent were worth the risk. I didn’t have time to make a proper shelter ― I had chosen distance over preparation ― my best protection came from being far away from the day creatures. I walked down the hill, listening. I heard the tell-tale babble of a stream. Nostalgia again. One of the earliest things we were taught is that mud can be very useful when you are in need.

  For the first time, I observed that the crispy, crumbly dirt from the cleared plain was caught in the hair on my arms. It crumbled at the gentlest of touches. Who would want that kind of dirt? Day creatures might be a curiosity to me, if they hadn’t wiped out my people. I followed the sound to the stream. It was only little stream ― a bit of water tumbling over some rocks. I dug my hands into the sides of the stream, and the fine silt slipped through my fingers as I pulled it out of the bank. I rubbed some on my legs, but it only left a thin film.

  New problem. I need to create a mud hole to bathe in, but such a mud hole would be a beacon of my presence, if the day creatures had sent their hunters after me. I stood up and looked around. The dark was on the wane. I followed the stream back up its course and found where it merged with the trees. This ground was good and brown. A mud hole would be less obvious here. I love good brown mud...you’d think the ground would be on my side, wouldn’t you?

  I clawed at the edge of the stream and splashed the water over the little banks. I churned the dirt and water, scraping with my feet. The dirt and leaves started to clump together and make a paste, and I splashed more water and churned again. Before long, I had the makings of a good mud hole. If only something had died nearby, then that would be perfect.

  I lay my back down into the cool mud. It squelched and farted as it clung to my skin. Oh mud, you feel so good! I rolled a little to coat those hard-to-reach places. I pulled clumps up and spread them on my arms and legs. This time, the dirt matted beautifully in my hair. I got to my knees and pushed my face into the mud, pulling it over my head and neck. It tingled all the places where the sun had burned me. How could I have forgotten how good this was? But I couldn’t linger. I promised myself a long mud bath would be in my future, and I stood up and gathered leaves. I threw them over my bath, so it would be less obvious, and then I pressed as many as I could to my body before the mud dried. Then I settled myself against a large tree and pulled more leaves and tree detritus on top of me. I turned my face to the ground and fell into a deep sleep.

  Stupid trees. Can’t keep anything secret. They were gloating.

  “He’s going to find you. He’s going to get you.”

  They woke me up with their cackling. I heard the glee in their leaves. It was night again ― my time ― time to go. I shook off the leaves. Despite the dying sun, some of the mud stayed on me while the top layer flaked away. I listened, blocking out the taunting of the trees. I heard nothing, so I breathed the air in through my nose. The trees were subject to the wind, same as me. They can stand against it, but they cannot change it. It brought me more than they would tell me. Day creatures! If they were chasing me, it must be warriors, not the scared younglings of the plain. I knew their warriors. I had come to fear them. A gust of wind brought me more news. They were three strong at least. The gloating trees told me they were somewhere in there. Although trees gossip so speedily, it was not clear how near they were. Near enough to smell. The trees said “he,” so one of them stood out. Trees are pretty stupid, so what did that mean?

  I could move while I pondered the problem. Away was better than here, so I headed down the hill again and faced the journey to the mountains. At least this wasn’t like the clearing; there was plenty of cover. I walked in the stream for a bit to mask my tracks and scent. Splishy splashy lovely cool feet. Of all the times to revert to feeling like a cub. If this is madness, it has its upsides. The water tugged at the mud caking my legs. My fingers skated the surface, sometimes dipping to get in on the fun. The chill breeze swirled around my wet ankles, caressing them. The stream widened to a river, and I couldn’t resist it any more. I dropped to my knees and pressed my face into the water. It hugged me, pulling me down into it, until I was lying flat and submersed. I was barely under, but my nose scraped the bottom. This was no great river, but it had extraordinary power. I felt alive again. After all this time, I was awake to the world. I lifted my head out of the water ― the mud slid off me. I’d miss it, but it was a small price to pay for this feeling.

  I am here. Still here after all this. After everything. The world is broken, but not me. Not anymore. I survived. I endured. I was stronger than the world. Stronger than all the parts that seemed so much greater than me. Stronger than those above me and those below me. I stood to my full height and stretched out. Every hair on my body stood up. I remembered what a fearsome sight I was. They had sent a warrior after me. The warrior had better pray to the sun that he wouldn’t meet with me.

  Part Two: The Mountain

  I continued on. Now upright, less stooped. This land was weird. There was something odd about it. Was it hostile or friendly? I would like to have sat and listened for a bit, but I’d wasted a lot of time in the river already, and there were hunters on my tail. I kept moving. Maybe it would become clear, or maybe I’d be gone before it mattered. I glanced up at the mountains. I thought the nearest one greeted me favorably, although it is hard to tell with mountains.

  There was something. Goblin, I thought. They’re pretty odorous, so the faintness meant the scent was old. But it must have been after the world ended. These lands would have been teeming with goblins before, but until now I had sensed none. I walked on, and it became clear. Just one little goblin, his corpse rotted and bleached by the sun. They struck him with one of their biting blades. Would it be weird if I hugged him?

  What had happened to me? Sometimes I barely knew myself. I stood there feeling affection for a dead goblin. I wouldn’t have even bothered to spit on him before. But the day creatures were everywhere, and in all the time since leaving the cave, I hadn’t seen any of my kind. This goblin survived when the world was torn apart but not the hunting that came after. He can’t have been much of a challenge for their warriors. He was no threat to anything bigger than a dog. Okay, he might have got some of their small ones, but if their young couldn’t fight off a goblin, they were certainly better off without them. Who couldn’t fight off a little goblin?

  Would I ever get away from the day creatures? Was there any place they hadn’t infected? I was bigger and stronger than a goblin, but would I meet the same end ― run down, slaughtered, and left to rot in the sun? I thought about it. An old voice in my head from long past declared it would have been better to die in battle, but the me that still lived and breathed was sure that it wasn’t. Could it be that there was no good way to die? I thought of all of my people I had sent to death. Good deaths, glorious deaths, righteous deaths ― or so I told them, and myself. We killed any that ran away. Don’t die like this sniveling wretch; die like a warrior in battle! I had never empathized with the sniveling wretches before now. But I was getting very comfortable with these new depths. I walked on.

  I walked on for nights; the journey was punctuated by days spent in shelters of debris and mud, sometimes in hollows, sometimes behind a rock, one time up a tree. You can imagine the nagging I got for that. Each night, I sniffed the air for signs of danger, but nothing alarmed me. I was getting used to the permanent scent of day creatures, but it was background here. They traveled through but didn’t dwell here. Nothing to trouble me, but my mind was active again, and there were times I longed for a bit of trouble to distract it.

  Since the cave, my survival mantra had been replaced with “find my people.” It went round and round in my head. It kept me moving, kept me going night after night, even though my feet were rough and blistered. I felt battered by the wind, gentle as it was, and I could see scars and
patches from the sunburns on my arms and legs. But I kept going because I needed to find my people. What happened after the finding, well that would be another matter.

  The ground rose higher again, becoming rockier. I was getting closer to the mountains. Their odor was now flavoring the land. I spotted a cluster of boulders that formed a natural shelter and thought I was finally at a place where I could take a longer rest. There had not been any sign of the hunters since the trees taunted me about them. Perhaps they gave up or they failed to follow my trail. I felt it was time to risk a rest, or I would soon risk just collapsing one night. I pulled more cover over to the boulders and fell asleep.

  It was day when I woke. I listened for the sound that had woken me. I could hear a scritching close to my ear. I grabbed the offender quickly. It was a large, juicy beetle. I munched on it and rolled over. The boulders shaded the worst of the sun, but the light still bounced between them. I was sleeping under sod and dirt, and I had been too tired to realize that it would bring crawlers with it. I lay there, tucking them into my mouth at a steady pace, their flavors bursting as I chewed. The alien sounds of the day carried on around me, and I fell back into a doze, with my mouth half full.

  I woke again after dark with congealed insects on my lips and stuck in my fangs. The night was still, and the moon was glowing. I pulled myself out of the sod and stood up. Every part of me creaked. My joints cracked as I stretched. I wandered away from my sleepy hole, looking for water. The river was much larger now, and I scooped up handfuls of water into my mouth, swirling them around with the last of the insect bits. I stepped into the water. It felt good, but it didn’t repeat its reviving magic again. Perhaps I was dead before and now that it had made me alive again, there was nothing left for it to do. The water eased my burns and blisters, and I took stock of myself.