by Ivory Autumn
Lancedon sat on his horse that Coral had somehow managed to steal out of Morack’s stables. He held onto the saddle horn, feeling the wind on his face. He sensed the warm sun shining down on his skin. He could smell the sweat of the horse as it worked hard to keep up with Coral’s horse. He leaned down and pressed his face against the head of the horse, feeling its powerful muscles heave back and forth as it ran. Coral had tethered their horses together, to keep Lancedon safely by her side.
They had been keeping a steady pace all day. He liked the feel of the wind, of the sky, the sun. To be moving, to be working for something again, made hope touch the cloud of darkness that had shrouded his world. Yet, even with this small shred of hope, his inability to see caused him to feel frustrated and dependent, like a child. He could do nothing without the aid of his friends.
He sat tall in his saddle. His brown hair hung in loose locks around his face. His eyes stared ahead, unseeing and clear. Yet his face was full of passion.
The sun shone through the tall trees, bathing the world in a relentless, inescapable heat. This was something he did not need to see, to understand.
“Where are we going anyway?” Lancedon asked.
Sterling brushed sweat from his brow with his shirt sleeve, and scanned the horizon. “A grand and beautiful place. I’m not sure if it still exists anymore. But if we can get there, and if it is like I remember, we may find allies and friends, people that will help us.”
Lancedon stared ahead with unblinking eyes. “I have little hope that we have allies anywhere.”
Sterling glared at Lancedon with hard eyes. “It is only because you cannot see. Just because you are blind does not mean everyone else is. There are still many left. Many who will come when the call is sounded. They, like us, are biding their time.”
Lancedon grabbed a large strand of coarse horse hair, and wound it up in his fingers. “What makes you think they’ll listen to me?”
Sterling breathed out in disgust and shook his head. “I don’t, at the moment. You must believe in yourself first. Just because you can’t see doesn’t mean you must act like you are in the dark, groping for something to hold on to. You already have a great purpose to grasp hold of to keep your feet steady. All you need do is keep your hold on it, and everything else will take care of itself. You must sharpen all your senses, so that they are quick and deadly. You must make your weakness your strength. You must feel, taste, touch, smell, and hear better than any of us, now.”
“How am I to do that?”
Sterling pulled his horse to a stop, and he shouted for Coral to do the same.
Lancedon felt his horse stop with the others. “Sterling…” he called. “What are you doing?”
There was no answer. He clenched and unclenched his fists anxiously turning his head in all directions, listening. He heard the crunch of feet on the ground, then Sterling yanked him off his horse. He tumbled to the ground and rolled onto the grass. He flailed his arms, and cried out in anger, quickly standing up. “Sterling!”
“Defend yourself,” Sterling cried, shouting to Lancedon.
“Defend myself?” Lancedon shouted, his voice full of wrath. “I cannot see you.”
“Hah, but that is the point. If you cannot see me, you must listen all the harder.”
Lancedon slowly straightened himself, and drew his sword. He stared straight ahead, brows pushed together in hard lines as he listened for the sound of Sterling’s breathing. He heard nothing except his own heart pounding. Angry, he stepped ahead, swinging his sword at the empty air.
“Ha, ha ha!” Sterling’s voice boomed from behind him. “What are you doing over there? I’m over here.”
Lancedon swung round in the direction of Sterling’s voice. There was a loud swishing sound, just as Lancedon lifted up his sword, and caught Sterling’s sword, midair.
Clang!
Lancedon tightened his grip on his sword, and pushed back, feeling sweat trickle down his forehead and into his eyes.
“Not bad, for a blind man,” Sterling breathed.
Lancedon heard Sterling shift positions. He grunted as he thrust his sword in toward him with a loud swish. On instinct, Lancedon stepped back, and caught the blade just before it hit its mark.
“Close,” Sterling murmured, “But you’re going to have to be better than that to be leading an army into battle, much better.”
“Who says I’m going to be leading an army?”
“I do,” Sterling prophesied. “And I also know you can fight much better than you have been.”
“I’d like to see you do better, blind!” Lancedon growled, pinching his face into an angry scowl.
“Fine, if that’s the way you want it,” Sterling shouted. “Coral, blindfold me.”
“Sterling,” Coral protested, “don’t you think this is going too far?”
Sterling shook his head. “No! I don’t. Now, please just blindfold me, and I’ll really show Lancedon how it’s done.”
Once the blindfold was in place, Sterling and Lancedon faced each other, both listening to the other’s breathing.
“Be careful!” Coral called to them. “If one of you comes too close, I won’t hesitate to strike you both with lightning!”
“Fair enough,” Lancedon said, laughing.
Sterling lifted his sword, testing it in the air like graceful strip of cloth on the wind.
“Alright, Lancedon, we’re both equal now. Fighting blind. We both have enough experience with the sword to know what we are doing. I do hope you are ready, because I am.”
Lancedon wiped his face with his arm, and grunted. “Yes.”
They both stood there facing each other, breathing, listening, sensing but not seeing, like two tigers on the hunt.
“AHHHHHH!” Sterling suddenly shouted, running at Lancedon.
Lancedon heard Sterling well in advance, and moved to the side, letting Sterling run on by him. When Sterling realized his mistake, he stopped, and twirled round.
“Ha, ha!” Lancedon laughed. “Not so easy as it looks my friend.”
Sterling grunted in irritation, but made no answer. Lancedon lifted his sword and stepped in the direction of Sterling’s footfalls. Lancedon could hear Sterling’s heavy breath, the sound of his clothes as they brushed against each other as he moved.
He could hear a bird far above him. The wind. Coral’s gasps, as she watched them. He could feel the heat from the sun pounding down on them. As he approached Sterling, he could smell Sterling’s sweaty body, and the heavy smell of mint that he had been in the habit of chewing on. In that moment, it was like a switch clicked on in his mind and helped him to see but, not with his eyes---with his mind.
The way Sterling’s footfalls fell, everything began to take shape in his mind. From the Sterling’s clipped movements, to his sweat-covered clothes.
Almost without realizing it, he raised his sword and brought it against Sterling’s with jarring clash of metal.
“Be careful!” Coral cried.
Ignoring Coral, Lancedon forged ahead. Anger, furry, and something strong and powerful welled inside him---it was a feeling he didn’t know still existed inside himself. One of competence, of skill, of strength, and stability. He was still a great warrior and leader, though blind. He brought his sword down against Sterling’s with such force the sword was knocked from Sterling’s hands and flew back against a tree.
Lancedon loomed before Sterling, his unseeing eyes proud and undefeated. “Do you yield?”
Sterling turned his lips into a thin smile. Without making reply, he flailed out his legs and knocked Lancedon to the ground.
Sterling breathed in excitedly, and quickly picked up his fallen sword, pressing it against Lancedon’s neck, pinning him to the ground.
“I think you’re finished!” Sterling said, his voice filled with triumph. He leaned over Lancedon, his hot breath blowing in Lancedon’s face, his sword pointed at Lancedon’s neck.
Lancedon could tell by the way Sterling spoke, that he
had a big grin on his face.
Disgusted, Lancedon, grabbed Sterling’s long, curly hair and yanked, him to the side, then kicked out his leg, bringing him to the ground.
Thud!
Sterling hit the ground hard, the air expelling from his lungs with a loud whoosh. Lancedon loomed over him, with his sword in hand, and pointed it at his throat, then quickly lowered it. “I think I’m beginning to understand what you were telling me earlier. Thank you, my friend, for helping to see what I had missed.”
Sterling threw off the blindfold, and stood up, dusting off his soiled clothes. “Don’t mention it.”
From the tone of his voice, Lancedon could tell that Sterling was anything but thrilled.
“Sure, anything for my friend.”
“You did well, both of you,” Coral said placing a warm hand on Lancedon’s shoulder. “However, as for Sterling, I cannot tell, for I saw him peeking.” She raised her brows, and shook her head at her brother. “Several times.”
“What!” Sterling protested. “I did not peek.”
Coral laughed. “Really, Sterling, I’m surprised at you.”
Sterling threw up his hands. “Fine! I peeked. But only a few times. I didn’t want to kill him, after all.”
“That’s what they all say,” Coral said, linking arms with Lancedon, directing him towards his horse.
“Did he really peek?” Lancedon asked.
“Yes,” Coral replied. “He did. But…” She leaned close to Lancedon and whispered, “I think he needed the extra help. You however, did not. Now that you are blind, the playing field is a bit more equal now, but not by much.”
Chapter Eight
The Land Of The Dead
Gogindy trudged over the piles of sharp lava rocks until his feet were raw and bleeding, his body tired, and his mind numb with pain.
“I am a bell ringer,” Gogindy consoled himself, climbing over a set of jagged rocks. “I’m an amazing bell ringer.” He struggled over another heap of rocks. “I am…” his voice faded as he stood upright. He gazed below him, overcome with amazement and relief. “Water. Earth. Wonderful!”
The endless heaps of rocks petered out into a moorish land where a silvery river spiraled through the rugged countryside where The Drought had not yet touched. He let out an exclamation of happiness, and stumbled over the stones, until the stones were no more but earth, with little scraggly bits of grass and frost-touched vegetation poking from it. He kissed the soft ground and rubbed his raw feet over the dirt, digging his claws into the ground. He dragged himself over to the edge of the river, and stared into the glistening water. “Yes,” Gogindy told himself, dipping his fingers into the water and drinking his fill. “I am a bell ringer of great distinction. I am very clever. After all, I found my way out of that land of rocks.” He looked at his reflection, analyzing his drooping whiskers. “I am GOGINDY THE GRAND. GOGINDY, THE GREAT!” his smile faded as he thought of Ivory and Talic. “Yes…grand,” he murmured obliterating his reflection with a harsh swipe of his hand. “I suppose I am only just a foolish Twisker. But I shall be an honest one, and a brave one from now on. He ambled along the edge of the river until he came to a bridge. He was about to cross it. But he stopped. His ears began to twitch, and tingle.
He stopped and glanced from side to side. Not far in the distance, he could hear the distinct trop, trop, trop of heavy footfalls.
“Soldiers,” he murmured glancing behind him, seeing a hoard of black men marching in neat rows towards the bridge.
“Quickly,” Gogindy told himself. “Hide, hide. But where? Oh dear. Where do I hide? There’s nothing, no bushes no hidey holes.” Out of desperation he bounded over to the bridge and instead of crossing it, he crawled underneath it, and clung to the wood like an upside down baboon.
The bridge began to shake as soldiers crossed it. Thump, thump, thump. Gogindy choked back a sneeze as dust and pieces of mud fell into his face.
“Very nice,” he murmured, fanning the dust and peering through the cracks in the bridge. In the darkness, all he could see was the underbelly of horses, and their ugly hooves. He pressed his eyes closer to a crack and poked his fingers through, just as a horse stepped down. Pain shot through Gogindy’s smashed fingers. He let out a muted yelp, let go of the bridge and fell into the freezing water.
Luckily, the sound of his splashing in was not heard over the thunderous footfalls of the army.
As soon as the army had crossed the bridge, Gogindy swam to the other side of the bridge and sat on the shore, watching the vast army retreat into the night. He felt wet and miserable, body and soul.
“Smash my fingers will you?” he fingered his bruised hand and then shook a fist in the direction of the retreating army. “You’ll pay for this, you, oafs.”
“Brrr,” he murmured, wringing out his drenched fur. “This won’t do. Won’t do at all. I’m c-cold, and m-miserable, and h-hungry, and a-alone. But you are a Twisker, even if you are alone, you are good company to yourself.”
He frowned and shook his head.
“No, I’m not good company. But it really doesn’t matter, now does it, when you have a rock footprint for a friend. He patted his pack with his trusty rock poking out from it, an item he had gathered just before Ivory and Talic had been so cruelly taken from him. He shook his whiskers, one more time, and after checking to make sure no one was watching him, he took off in the opposite direction the soldiers had gone. He was not sure where he was going. He had somehow misplaced the map Skaff had given him. He had lost it the day Ivory and Talic had been so savagely taken and eaten by the lava monster. Perhaps the map had fallen from his purse and the creature itself had gobbled the map up as well.
His only map now was his instincts, and a feeling deep inside him that told him that the bell tower he was looking for was in the direction he was heading.
Though his feet ached and throbbed, and his heart was heavy from the loss of his friends, he continued on.
As he walked, he kept reaffirming his pledge to fulfill his task, to be a better Twisker, and to never forgive himself for giving Talic that cursed piece of Twisker Zolic. He was sure that if it hadn’t been for that, both Ivory and Talic would still be alive and safe. Not eaten by that awful lava tube monster.
When he was sure he had put a safe distance between himself and the soldiers, he rested on the smooth ground where there was nothing but soft feathery grass as far as he could see. It was a quiet land, almost too quiet. Almost as if the dead themselves would be disturbed by the silence. With the coming of night, fog drifted over the land, hugging it in a quietude that even Gogindy could not compete with.
“It’s too quiet,” Gogindy said, setting the heavy footprint on the ground beside him so he could talk to it. “It’s too quiet here. And the dirt is too soft here, too nice for my bad feet. I would have been glad to walk on sharp rocks forever, just to punish myself for being such a bad Twisker. I’m not brave at all. I killed them. Killed them all. Wish I was dead, wish I was dead, dead, dead, dead.”
His nose twitched. He rubbed his tearful eyes and moaned. “The world is so gray. So full of nasty things, so wretchedly dreary when you have no one to share your troubles with. Only a stupid footprint.”
In tears, he took out a bit of cracker from his pack and nibbled on it. Still the tears fell, and he could not contain himself. He continued crying and eating until almost all his food was gone and his tears dried up. He whimpered and sniffed. The night was dark and filled with the creepy sounds of nothing. The worst sounds of all to a Twisker.
Nothing was the perfect place for the mind to fill with words, and sad thoughts. Nothing was the perfect atmosphere for the brain to conjure up all sorts of wild, frightening beings with teeth, and fang and claw.
“Oh…” Gogindy moaned, covering his ears and curling up into a tight ball. “I can’t stand it.” He hid his eyes and buried his face in his whiskers, gradually calming. Slowly, without even knowing it, he drifted away into a troubled slumber.
; Sometime during the night, his eyes flew open. His ears trembled. He held his breath, listening. The ground around him had formed to his body, a bed made of sand, making him feel especially comfortable. He waited a long time, but hearing nothing, he closed his eyes and fell back to sleep.
A second time his ears began to twitch. His eyes flew open. He jumped up, alert and afraid.
“Gogindy,” a voice whispered. “Gogindy.” The voice was soft, beautiful, and hauntingly mournful. The sound of it caressed his ears like the chilly lips of a corpse. “Come,” the voice sang in a pleading soprano voice.
The ground had grown soft and crumbly around him. He backed away. He grabbed his trusty rock footprint and hugged it close. “Did you see anything?”
The footprint made no answer.
“Yes,” Gogindy nodded. “It was spooks.” He looked around him warily, and then lay back down. “Spooks, spooks. They’re all just in your head.”
Just as his eyelids drooped shut, a voice murmured, “You rest where many brave and noble now rest. You will you soon rest with them if you do not move.”
A crumbly mound of dirt fell onto Gogindy’s face and ears. He sat up and shook the dirt off his body and face. “What’s happening?” Gogindy asked, gazing at the wall of dirt around him. He had sunk still further into the earth as if it was quicksand. Above him he could see the outline of the sky and moon.
“The ground, it’s eating me!” he yelped. He looked round him for his things, trying to find his footprint. But it had vanished. He cried out in dismay, and dug around in the dirt until he found something hard. “Don’t worry my friend,” he cried, pulling it up. But it was not his footprint. It was a skull. He let out a frightened yelp and tossed it away. “Oh my footprint, I will save you,” he howled, sifting through the dirt until he came up with his rock.
“There you are,” he cried, hugging it tightly to his chest. “I told you I’d take care of you.” He placed the footprint in his sack, and clawed at crumbling earth. But with the added weight of the rock, he was too heavy to pull himself up.
