“It is time to end this.” Hunter struck the blade into the marble floor and a mighty fountain of flames shot straight into the ceiling. Stone from the roof fell down around Hunter. A giant serpent of fire rose from the floor. It coiled itself around him in the air, spinning and spinning. It was an intense fire that burned with a terrifying beauty. The soldiers stood transfixed. They warily edged closer to the flames.
The serpent coiled faster and faster, spinning in a vortex of fire. Now unwilling, the soldiers began to be pulled closer to the flame. The maelstrom of flame was sucking everything toward it. The benches snapped from their supports and flew into the fire. With a bright flash and a loud pop they were consumed. One of the soldiers closest to the flame lost his footing, and he fell into the flame. He did not scream as the flame consumed him.
It the middle of the swirling flame Hunter hovered in the air, his face stoic with pure concentration. His arms and legs were flung backward as his chest pressed out to the front. He took deep steadying breaths.
With each brick or soldier that was consumed by the insatiable fire, the flames grew. They swirled wider, faster, becoming unstable. Flames leapt from the spinning vortex. The balls of fire whizzed around the room, exploding into the marble architecture.
Blaise turned to Max. Both men stood braced, trying with all their might not to lose their footing. Blaise said nothing.
“I will stop it.” Max broke the silence.
“No.” Blaise looked sternly into the younger man’s eyes. “It is not yet your time. My time has come to see beauty in one instant I have not seen in all my years.”
Max nodded his head in solemn understanding. He could not dissuade his friend. This was where their path would diverge. It was time to say goodbye.
“I pray I shall see you again, good friend.”
Blaise could not answer as if perhaps he was already someone not of this world.
He took one step and then another. As he gained speed his feet were lifted from the marble floor. He rose with grace through the air toward the flames. As he crashed into the fire a mighty hiss resonated through the room and the ceiling began to fall around them and the walls crumbled. The embers seemed to flow through his pores into his very being. From within he glowed like the sun for a moment before the ravenous fire swallowed him with a flash. Yet through the smoke Max saw a sword emerge from the flames and pierce into the breast of Hunter.
Max’s eyes seared with pain as a massive explosion rocked the room. He was thrown back headfirst into the wall behind him. His vision was white though he was unsure if it was it was from the fire or the bump to the head. As the fire burnt out and the smoke lifted, Max was left with a grisly sight. Burnt stone and ash covered most of the chamber. The bodies of the soldiers were burnt and crushed by the debris. In front of the throne lay a gasping figure.
Hunter.
Max rushed toward the prince, moving quickly over the uneven wreckage. Reaching the body he saw the puncture wound through the chest. With each breath Hunter took bubbling blood oozed from the wound.
“Max…” Hunter spoke weakly gasping for breath so he could continue. “What have I done?” He lifted a quivering finger and pointed back behind Max.
A pile of ash lay next to a charred sword, dipped in blood.
“My father, my brother,” Hunter paused, his eyes fading as his breaths grew heavier. “Myself.”
“You cannot die, Hunter. Who shall be the king?” Max looked on finding mercy for the tyrant.
Hunter’s lips curled weakly in a half smile. “I told you there were twelve of us. There are still a few left to take the crown.”
Hunter reached his hand out and Max took it. He could feel the pulse as it steadily slowed with each beat. Hunter’s head rolled to one side as if he were about to succumb, but he fought it. Straightening his head he spoke. “I trust to you my name, to find it better honor than it has while I have borne it.” After a brief pause he added, “I made exactly thirteen mistakes.”
Hunter’s head rolled back but this time he did not fight the eternal weariness that assailed him. He let calmness wash over him, the tide dragging him to his resting place. As the last light faded from his eyes a mighty rumble echoed in the heavens. A power was stirring. The power Hunter had bound to his servitude was now free, and it sought revenge.
A mighty bolt of lightning shot down from the sky and crashed through the open roof of the chamber. The lightning streaked across the room smashing into the throne causing it to explode into a thousand tiny pieces. As more lightning struck, Max ran from the chamber and sprinted down the hall. Pieces of the ceiling and walls exploded as the lightning bombarded the palace. As Max reached the first corner a massive column toppled. He dove backward as the pillar crashed into the floor before him.
Max ran as fast as his legs would carry him toward the palace exit.
Max didn’t waste time preparing a balloon for takeoff. He grabbed onto to one the ropes that tethered the balloon to the ground and slid down its length. Through the open city gates Max flung his body. He could hear towers and walls crumbling behind him. He wanted to run to escape this place, to be home once again, but weariness overtook him. He collapsed onto the cool evening grass.
Chapter 21
Mist hung heavy in the air. The smell of spices and herbs floated through the air rousing Max from his slumber. He heard faint voices and footsteps all around him. Hushed words passed from one mouth to another as a slow bustling moved all around him. Max felt curiosity attempt to bring him to full attention but he fought to let his drowsiness prevail, just for a few more minutes. Half awake and half asleep he felt as if he were somewhere between a dream and reality.
He still resisted rising, even when he felt a strong hand gently touch him. He turned over, wrapping the blanket around himself. The hand pushed harder, shaking him out of any hope of sleep. Max sighed.
“What can’t wait a few more hours?” asked Max.
“It is nearly over.” A somber voice replied.
Max sat up. He rubbed the bleariness from his eyes. Crouched down beside him was King Victor. In the background soldiers milled about, carrying supplies and food.
“What are you talking about?” asked Max, befuddled.
Victor looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “Come with me. I shall explain on the way.”
The words seemed innocent enough but Max could sense a terrible weight to them. His stomach sank as he followed Victor through the muddy marsh. Suddenly Victor stopped and turned slowly to Max. His eyes were red and puffy tears, welled within his cheeks. “We found Ava. We found my princess.” He paused, choking back the tears, struggling to stay on his feet. Max leaned closer to him, placing his hand on the king’s shoulder and steadying him.
“We must hurry. There is not much time left. She has asked to speak with you, one final time.”
Both Max and Victor proceeded with renewed speed, neither one speaking. A heavy silence hung between them, broken only by the occasional call of a bird somewhere overhead.
Max saw a tangled mess of wood and vines ahead. A deep crevice marked the impact spot of the craft, while the fragmented remains were scattered across the area. A large board of wood lay floating in the water. Several trees had been knocked down or uprooted. Through the chaos Max searched for Ava. Then with horror he sighted her face among the wreckage. He rushed to her side. A massive tree had fallen and pinned her as she had attempted to escape the balloon. He looked down at the beautiful face. It was pale almost blue, as oxygen struggled to fight its way through her crushed lungs. Blood had covered her once white gown.
“Help me! We can lift the tree and save her.”
The king shook his head and spoke solemnly. “It is too late. She is in peace now. Let her rest without pain.”
Max turned back to the pale blue figure. He felt a rush of emotion wash over him. He gave in to it and began to weep. Tears streamed down his face as he knelt next to Ava.
“I feared you wouldn’t come in
time. There is much I would change if I could, but now is not the time to dwell on the past. This is no time for words. Take my hand please.” Ava smiled.
Max grasped her cold, near lifeless hand. He shuddered as he felt the weakness within it. He could almost feel the life fleeing her body. He could see eyes growing tired and knew it would not be long. He watched as her chest rose and fell. The last breath escaped her lungs, and she passed into the next world.
Max bowed his head, as tears streamed unabated down his face. He felt a strong hand grip his shoulder. He turned to face the king. Without thought he embraced the distraught father. Unimaginable were the king’s feeling.
The king pushed back from the embrace and looked Max deep in the eyes. “I will be holding a combined ceremony for all those who have perished. I would be honored if you would attend as the guest of honor.”
“No. I have seen too many die today. I have watched those I cared for deeply leave the world while I held them in my arms. I cannot be made to relive the pain.”
The king nodded in understanding. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?”
“Bury Hunter as a hero.” Max looked away toward the shining sun. “Leave his name from the tombstone though. Inscribe it thusly, ‘Here lies the fairest son of the kingdom. He fell before his time but now lays here a hero.”
“Why should we not include the name?”
“He has relinquished it; he has not served it in life and it shall not serve him in death. He has entrusted it to me.” Max spoke but his mind wandered to an old face.
“What will you do with the name?” The king asked.
“I know a deserving soul.” Max only nodded as he turned and walked. His legs would have to carry him a great distance, but they were eager, for his journey was almost over.
Chapter 22
The wind whispered soft as it blew between lines of tombstones. The sun was resting on the top of a hill preparing for a descent into sleep. The final rays of day shot out across the landscape, bathing them in a silver light. The warmth began to ebb. Max felt a chill in his bones that had nothing to do with the nightfall.
Each step was followed with another, as it had been now for hours. No thought entered into his mind as he plodded along one step after the other. He should have been exhausted by now, but he felt nothing. He was driven by a gentle pull to a spot at the end of the graveyard.
In the background he saw the remains of the moss-covered castle that had once served as his prison. The walls that once stood tall and intimidating had been toppled and crushed in the battle to free him.
He came at last to the end of his long march. The calmness was replaced with an acute awareness. His legs now ached for the first time. His mouth screamed and his dry tongue moved across his parched gums.
Before him lay a tomb adorned as each other one in the graveyard was. It had the same orkish inscriptions, and the same crude drawings. It was identical save for one small detail. On the top of the tombstone there was not a name scribbled crudely.
He knew he stood before the grave of an orc he had once known. One who had shown him compassion when he was taken by despair. One whom he would call a friend. One without a name.
Max knelt down and placed his hand at the edge of the tombstone. He was overtaken again by a sense of complete focus that wiped away all external concerns. Seconds passed and then minutes as he reached out past the grave. It was almost as if he could again speak to the lost soul. But just as he reached out he felt something slip just beyond his reach.
A gentle humming rose up from all around him. It blinded his senses as it drummed in his ears. The wind rose to a squall as it flung the dried leaves of autumn across the cemetery. A sense of heaviness grew in the air to a near unbearable level. It reached a pinnacle of immense gravity and broke. Max was broken from his trance and collapsed exhausted to the ground.
He gazed up to the tombstone before him. The garbled runes and scribbles had been wiped away. Etched now in the soft bright stone were these words:
“Here lies Hunter, the kindest of orcs, and friend of Max.”
As Max saw these words he could not understand the weight they held on him. As they had left him and traveled forth to the resting place he felt as if he had been unburdened of a great load. He could not comprehend the effect the orc had had on him. So little had their time been and so minor had the actions been. Yet, like the branding of a cattle iron it had in seconds seared into him a lasting mark he would bear forever.
“It is time to go.”
Perched on a branch on the tree behind Max was a familiar creature of avian persuasion. Cocking his head the bird opened his mouth oddly, which Max guessed was his attempt at a smile.
“You are not surprised to see me?” the bird inquired.
“I have learned that nothing is as it seems. Your death appears to be no exception.”
The bird straightened his head and stood taller on the branch. An air of sternness descended onto him.
“You have lingered too long in this world, and it cannot hold you any longer.”
“Will I ever see this place again?”
“It is not for me to divulge such information. All I may impart to you is to say that your desire and your destiny shall lead you where they will and if they should bring you back here you will be welcomed, most assuredly.”
The last words echoed around Max as he found the world swirling past him. Miasmas of every color floated around him as he faded back into a world of familiar scenery.
He lay wrapped in his blankets, a heavy sweat coating his body. The sheets were twisted and knotted as if he had turned in a nightmare through his sleep. For a moment he felt a horror grip him. Had he been dreaming? He sat up in the bed. As he did he felt the subtle strength infused within his body. His muscles stretched taut as he flexed them. Deep in him he felt an inner calmness he had not known before. He knew it was not a dream. The sun was beginning to rise. He rushed to the window and threw back the shutters. He watched the rays of light fill the grey sky and turn it blue. Perhaps the world wasn’t as dreary as he had imagined.
Copyright 2011 Steven Belskie
Maxwell's Closet Page 17
