by J. N. Chaney
“How many do you see?”
He did not need to count them, for he knew the answer without thinking. “Sixty thousand, eight hundred and twelve,” he said.
There was a short pause. “Remarkable,” muttered Ludo.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Do you feel the strain?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Hold this for as long as you can.”
So he did, and it felt like days. The pressure of the thousands built upon his mind like the weight of a mountain. He fought the urge to let go, knowing how far he had already come. To do so would mean defeat, but most of all, it would mean Janice was right. So he did not relent.
As he sat there in the valley, a fleet of creatures surrounding him, encapsulating him, a swell of pain moved through his body, beginning in his feet and rising until it found his chest. He took shorter and heavier breaths, and for a moment, he thought he might black out.
Yet, he could not stop. Not until he—
A cold breeze hit him, caressing his lips and cheeks, bringing a calmness. He paused at the sensation, here in this place where there should be none.
Suddenly, the agony left him, draining like water from a jug, and he was empty. He wondered if perhaps the animals had vanished, if he’d somehow lost them…but such was not the case. The valley and sky were as full of life as ever, not a single creature missing. Only the strain was gone. Only the weight of the world.
He stood and walked, and he felt the tips of the grass beneath his bare feet and the morning dew which covered every blade. Another gust of wind blew, tugging his face and filling his ears, bringing the smell of Variant, sweet and pure. The light of the suns beat against his face and forearms, warming him.
He sensed it all as though it were real.
Maybe it was.
“Open your eyes, Terry,” said the farmer from beyond the sky. “Then, you will know what it means to fly.”
******
Come and see.
Terry opened his eyes. He sat in the light of a rising moon as it pierced his barred window and filled the darkness of his cell. Flakes of dust fell from the ancient stone, swirling in the silver beams like leaves in a storm.
Outside his cell, a guard grunted, and Terry knew exactly where the man was. Twelve meters down the hall, tapping his holster and biting his lip. Terry saw him without seeing, heard the beating of his heart like thunder in his chest.
Two floors above, the boot of a guard pressed firmly against the floor, followed by another. This one was walking, marching to…to somewhere…a dining room with forks and plates, bustling chefs and laughing men. The smell of bread and soup, hot and spicy like the chili Terry’s mother used to make. He could taste it in the air, and his stomach ached.
Far from the prison, deep inside the surrounding woods, a beavermite gnawed on the bark of a wooden stump, searching for food. Another squeaked nearby. A baby, begging for its dinner.
Terry saw every one of them. All he had to do was listen.
His time in the second world had given him focus, improved his ability to draw his strength. But he no longer felt the urge to run or fight. All of this, it came from something else.
Peace and tranquility. A quiet stillness.
He had to tell Ludo about this, to thank him for his guidance. Without him, he never would have been able to—
But Ludo wasn’t there. Terry listened through the barrier of stone, but heard nothing. No movement, no breathing. He was gone.
Or worse. Those men had beaten him so much for so long. Maybe he was finally—
Terry stopped himself. Worrying would do nothing. He had to stay focused. Stay in this moment and search. Find his friend. He scanned the building, listening for the sound of Ludo’s voice, for whatever sign of the farmer’s life he could find.
He listened through the halls and along the staircases, passing through dozens of people in the process. Some were laughing, snarling, coughing, sleeping, eating, talking, fighting. An orchestra of noise bleeding through the walls. Terry hushed them soon, filtering the hundreds, searching for the one.
Then he found him in the corner of a room, high above the rest. A gasping farmer, whispering a prayer.
“The Eye save me,” muttered Ludo, and then a stick fell against his neck.
“Coward, thief, and traitor,” said Gast Madeen, the man with the purple eyes. “You are not worthy to speak such words.”
Ludo’s pulse was slowing, his breathing quick and fading.
It was time to go.
Terry turned his attention to the six guards in the hall—two talking and three alone, one sitting on a bench and drinking.
He walked to his door, touched the metal with the tips of his fingers. The steel was ten centimeters thick, too tough to break through on a normal day.
He took a step back. He didn’t know if he could do this, but there was no other choice. Time to test these so-called wings. He formed a pair of fists and plunged himself at the door. The walls shook and the metal bent. The guards stopped what they were doing and looked in his direction.
He tried a second time, plowing into the barrier with the strength of his entire being, and this time, pieces of stone broke from the metal, falling to the floor like breadcrumbs. He did not relent. The guards arrived and shouted for him to stop, panic running through their bodies. Hearts racing. Blood pumping.
Terry pushed again. “What’s he doing?” yelled a man. “The door is breaking!”
“Stop! Stop!”
“Get your weapons ready!”
With a final push, Terry broke the door free, separating it from the wall. The metal exploded into three of the guards, knocking them against the hallway. The others stood gawking for a second before reaching for their guns. They aimed and opened fire.
Terry fell to his side, trying to avoid them. The first two missed, hitting the floor and wall. The third hit him in the arm, but there was no pain.
He leapt at the men, kicking one in the stomach and knocking him several meters away. He gripped the other two by the neck and squeezed, throwing them both to the side against the nearby cell. They did not get up.
He glanced at the place in his arm where the bullet hit him and found there was no blood. Had he been mistaken? Had the bullet missed? He wasn’t sure.
No time to think. He had to find Ludo.
Terry ran swiftly through the corridors, curving around the corner and into the stairwell. He climbed to the second floor, encountering a group of four guards along the way.
He didn’t stop, though, not for a second. He leapt from the stairs, hurdling over them. With the heel of his foot, he kicked one in the head, and landed behind the others. Before they could turn to see him, he hurled his body at theirs, flinging them against the far wall like stones. They landed in a pile, motionless.
When he reached the third floor and entered the next room, he found another swarm of soldiers. Unlike the last group, these did not hesitate. Instead, they drew their weapons and took aim. At the head of them were two familiar faces. Red and Scar. “What are you doing here?” asked Scar, squeezing the grip of his gun. “How did you get out?”
“Let me by,” said Terry.
Red scoffed. “Why would we do such a thing?”
“I’m taking my friend and leaving,” said Terry. “Let me go, and there won’t be a problem.”
“You mean the traitor?” asked Scar. He looked at Red. “He means to go through us.”
Together they laughed.
“Fine, have it your way,” said Terry, and dove at the nearest soldier. He hit the guard in his chest, slamming him against another and sending them both to the floor. He took the gun in the man’s hand and swung it around, slamming the butt of the weapon into another guard’s nose. Blood splattered into the air, landing on Scar’s chest.
“Stop him!” cried Scar, firing his weapon.
Terry was already moving. He l
eapt at the others, bullets hitting his legs and arms, though he felt nothing. He threw his fist into one man’s cheek, breaking it. With a firm kick, he knocked the wind from another. Then, he turned his eyes to the two brothers, to his would-be captors.
“You will let me through,” said Terry.
Scar unsheathed a knife. It was Ludo’s blade, the one he had called sacred. The one he had ordered Terry to find and use against Gast at the farm. “You will die now, little boy.”
Terry didn’t give a damn about the knife, whatever it was, and he attacked without a second thought. Scar dodged, jumping a few steps to the side. Terry ran headfirst into the wall, missing his target.
Red plowed into him with his shoulder, but Terry barely felt it. He took the man by his wrist and twisted, and Red fell to his knees, crying out in pain. “Stop!” he begged.
“Let me through,” said Terry once more.
Behind him, Scar was moving, shuffling his feet against the floor to right himself. Terry could sense him coming, so he released Red and stepped away. Scar swiped the dagger and missed, cutting the air.
“Stand still,” ordered Scar.
Terry said nothing.
“Kill him already,” said Red, clutching his wrist.
“I intend to,” said Scar. He twirled the knife in his hand and the metal shimmered, reflecting a distant beam of moonlight. He stepped towards Terry, swiping the knife at him chaotically. Terry dodged, letting the blade slide within centimeters of his arm, feeling the wind. When the weapon was down, he kicked Scar’s hand, knocking the knife free. Scar looked at him in shocked anger, then charged, wrapping his arms around Terry’s chest and forcing him aside.
Red ran for the sacred vessel, taking it in his good hand.
Terry wrestled with Scar, turning him on his back and holding him. Terry pressed his knees into the man’s chest. “Just leave me alone,” Terry told him.
Scar spit, hitting Terry across his chin.
Behind them, Red lunged with the knife outstretched. Terry sighed and slid to the side, avoiding him, but in the process, Red fell forward, tripping onto his friend.
The tip of the blade sliced into Scar’s neck.
Blood flowed quickly from the torn flesh, and Scar clasped the wound with both his hands. But it was no good. He writhed and twitched as air bubbles formed in the crimson river, stealing the life from him. He tried to scream, but all he could do was gargle as his own blood filled his lungs. He sounded like he was drowning.
Red stared in disbelief as his friend lay dying.
Terry backed away toward the wall.
Scar stopped moving rather quickly. As the last breath left his body, Red called out his name. “Garis.”
Terry stared at Red. “Leave now,” he said.
Red’s eyes were filled with tears. “You killed him,” he said in disbelief.
“You did,” said Terry.
Red looked at his hands, then at the place where the knife had entered his brother. “No,” he muttered.
“Leave.”
Red got to his feet and backed away. He looked at Scar, then at Terry. Without another word, he turned and ran, escaping through the stairwell.
Terry waited for him to leave, then knelt beside Scar’s body. He pulled the knife from the man’s neck, releasing more blood. He was going to need this.
******
The door slammed open, hitting the wall with the sound of a lion’s roar. Terry stepped forward.
He looked in the corner where Ludo lay, bound and tied by metal shackles. He was still breathing. At the other end stood Gast Madeen. Purple Eyes. One of the high priests of Xel and Lord of Three Waters. “So you’re the one making all the noise,” said Gast. He raised his wrinkled brow.
“Gast,” muttered Terry.
The old man smiled. “How nice to be remembered.”
“Let him go,” demanded Terry.
“But I’m not done with this one,” he said, motioning to Ludo.
“You are now,” said Terry.
“You speak with such confidence. All this from the same child I fought in the grasslands.”
“Things are different.”
“Are they?” asked Gast, tilting his head. “I told you once that our lives repeat. You have lived this moment before. What makes you think it will be different?”
“Because I’m different,” said Terry, and he lunged across the room at Gast. Gotta make this quick, before he has a chance to—
The old man dodged, touching Terry’s arm with the edge of his palm, throwing him into the wall.
Terry caught himself, kicked off the stone, and turned back around. Gast grabbed him by the leg, slamming him to the floor, knocking the wind from him.
“I see you’ve brought the vessel,” said Gast, nodding at the dagger in Terry’s hand. “Took it from my son, did you?”
Terry wheezed, trying to collect himself. He shuffled back.
“You think because you’ve learned to fly, it means you’re special. I am a high priest of Xel. My chakka is pure. My wings are wide. I fly with the strength of the Eye. You’re like a newborn to me. An infant bird.”
Terry got to his feet. “Shut up,” he muttered and ran at him for the second time.
The old man dodged again, but this time Terry didn’t try to hit him. Instead, he kept going forward.
Terry found Ludo in the corner, blood on his face and neck. He cut the rope binding his friend’s hands and gave him the knife to finish the rest. “Stay back,” said Terry, and swung around to place himself between the two.
Gast looked surprised. “You’d protect a dying man?” he asked.
Terry didn’t answer. He dove with a low kick, hitting Gast in the leg and stealing his balance. The high priest pivoted and caught himself, countering with another kick to Terry’s side, flinging him into the far side of the room.
Terry shifted his weight in the air, landing on his feet and hands. As he did, he saw his enemy fast approaching.
Gast launched high above Terry, extending his knee as he descended. Terry rolled and the knee hit the floor, shattering the stone tiles into dust.
This wasn’t going to be easy.
“Stop moving so much,” commanded Gast. He dashed at Terry, hitting him in the stomach.
Terry flew backwards from the blow, striking the wall. He got up immediately, no worse for it.
“You want to die then?” asked Gast, sighing. He reached under his clothing and revealed a knife similar to Ludo’s. “I didn’t want to kill you, but you aren’t leaving me much of a choice.”
Crap, thought Terry.
In a flash, Gast was on him. The weapon came at Terry’s neck, but he grabbed the man’s wrist with both his hands, barely deflecting it. The knife slid to the side, slicing Terry’s arm and ripping his clothes. A warm stream of blood ran along his arm.
Gast did not let up. He hit Terry with the force of a wrecking ball, cutting into his shoulder like a piece of cooked meat. Terry fell to the floor.
The room distorted. His focus wavered.
Gast stepped forward, grinning at his prey. “Poor boy. Look at you.” He grinned a thin smile. “I told you this would happen. I told you life repeats. You should have—”
An arm reached around Gast’s neck, squeezing him. Another slammed a knife into his shoulder. The priest moaned and twisted, blood spewing from his flesh.
Ludo, half broken and bleeding, fell off the man and onto his knees. The knife dislodged and landed in the crevice of the broken tile near Terry.
“You!” cried Gast, rage in his eyes. He gripped Ludo by the throat, raising him off the floor. “Have your death if you want it so badly.”
This was it. Everything was over. Ludo was going to die. Terry tried to concentrate, to call on his strength again. The pain from the knife was too much. He—
The knife. It was there, a few steps from him. If he tried, maybe he could reach it. There wasn’t much time.
Terry scrambled to the blood-soaked vessel. He grasped it with both his hands, fumbling with it for a moment before managing to steady his grip. Then, with every ounce of strength he could gather, he launched himself at the enemy.
Gast reacted quickly, dropping Ludo and turning to face the attack, but he was not fast enough. The knife pierced the old man’s back below the shoulder.
He backhanded Terry, knocking him down. “Enough!” cried Gast, trying to reach behind to dislodge the blade.
Before he could grasp it, Ludo gripped the handle and twisted it. Gast screamed.
Ludo withdrew the blade and stabbed him over and over. Again and again.
Gast dropped his own weapon, staggering to the floor, breathing heavily. Ludo, his eyes swollen with pain, did not hesitate with what came next.
The sacred vessel, guided by the hand of its owner, burrowed into the neck of the Lord of Three Waters, into the flesh of the man with the purple eyes.
Gast’s entire body fell against the tiles, soaking the stone with his blood, spraying crimson like rain in a thunderstorm. The hot liquid pooled around Ludo’s toes as he stood watching.
Gast’s eyes twitched, and he smiled a crooked smile. “Everything repeats,” he whispered. His lips trembled, and his eyes grew cold. A sigh left him, and a moment later he was still.
Terry ran to his friend, taking him by the shoulders. He looked like he was about to pass out. “I’ve got you,” he said.
“I killed him,” said the farmer, his voice shaking. “I never wanted to. He was Ysa’s flesh. He was Talo’s blood. I never meant to take his ghost.”
Ludo shook his head, staring at the dead man at his feet, at the body of the one who tried to kill them.
And he wept.
******
Terry had no idea how they were going to get out of the prison. He couldn’t fight off an army, not after his encounter with Gast. Luckily, Scar’s body was sitting in the next room in full uniform.
The other guards were also there, knocked out or otherwise. Ludo found one about his size and squeezed into the outfit with some success.
