by K M McGuire
Voden’s grandfather grinned and pushed firmly on his knees. After a moment’s struggle with gravity, he stood erect, peering at the door. “Come.” He waved to Voden, walking to the door and opening it. Light poured from the setting summer sun, painting warm amber palettes across the stone floor. “Look at this world! What a marvel we can share in every breath! Can you imagine, if we were told, and actually believed, that this was all meaningless? To think that when my hourglass finally stops spilling sand, it made little difference since the first grain fell. Well, I wouldn’t want to live in that world! That kind of world should not exist!”
Voden gave his grandfather a blank gaze. This seemed too much for Voden to fully come to terms with. His grandfather beamed at the warm fields of wheat and grey stone structures congregated together to form their beloved city, and still further across the lake, held the island they called home. His eyes vacantly continued on, right to the horizon, and perhaps he urged them to look further. The sun began to nestle itself behind the lavender mountains, as if the celestial vanguard regretted setting, but it knew what the world needed.
“Doesn’t it feel, at times, that the world is made just for you?” his grandfather blurted out with a quaint smile.
“I don’t think that would be fair to everyone else,” replied Voden. His grandfather eclipsed the sun, smiling at Voden, running his archaic fingers through his hair.
“I mean that just as much for you as I do for everyone else!” He placed his hand on Voden’s youthful shoulder. Their eyes lingered on the peaceful landscape, and Voden leaned firmly against his grandfather’s knobby body. The birds began to settle, tucking in their offspring, and the adventurous children returned to their families after an eventful day splashing in the cove. “Come on, son, it’s time for bed. You have quite the day tomorrow.” He nudged Voden back inside.
The candles sputtered wearily as he closed the door, and they returned to their careless twitching as though they had not noticed the influx of air. Voden’s mother awaited them in the basin room, beckoning him over to bathe.
“You haven’t been trying to confuse the poor boy, I hope, Dad,” Voden’s mother said. “He’ll have his fair share of that at the academy when he starts tomorrow.”
“You know me, Maci,” he grinned. “Always looking to push the mind.” He hugged her tenderly and kissed her forehead. “Well, I do suppose it’s time to hit the trail.”
“When will I see you again, Grandad?” Voden cried, struggling to pull his shirt over his head.
“I can’t be sure, lad. Let’s hope to the Beyond it will be sooner rather than later.” He bent down and hugged his grandson. He squeezed with every ounce of love he could muster. He righted himself and walked out the threshold, hobbling his way down the road, along the neighboring homes, and disappearing into the city.
Chortles of cracking fire burned silently in the hearth, like cheery adolescence that played kindly in the corner, mindful of the presence sitting snug in their wing chair. The chair faced the kindle dancing in its pen, gentle red glows perturbing the shadows from around the dully lit room. The flickers pulsed against the adjacent wall and along rows of books jammed like bricks on a shelf, their spines speckled with clusters of grey dust. The candles joined the fire’s cavort, now drained of much of their life, dripping the teardrops of their flesh onto ivory stands.
It was in that large chair that Voden had lost himself; in deep with the ink that gave character to the pages. He could nearly drink the words off the page, as if the ink had barely dried before he had plucked the book for an evening read. He was on the verge of adulthood, though adolescence still tried to keep a strong hold on him. He was no longer the little boy old enough to sit on his grandfather’s lap, listening to tales which breathed life to the smolders of his wonder, fully stoking the flame. His eyes held a disc of the sky, the blue separated by slivers of whites strewn across his iris. Their presence was like a distant star, a twinkling of sorts, that made the blue almost visible even in the dead of night. He furrowed his brow over those globes, scanning diligently the white parchment before him.
The great revelation I have had, I must make known to my readers. It is minimal to what follows, mounted in the near future. The world is stirring, awaiting the king to return to us and strike justice against all who stand in his way. It is quivering like the wind at the breaking of the storm, whispering, “Soon the rain will come.” Do not fear the times that follow, as the storm seems treacherous to wait out. There will be peace after it all, for those who embrace the king, whose chariot is built from the ashes.
Voden found himself staring at the hissing embers. They jeered and mocked him, making their insults blatant. Yet, even in the advent of their cruelty, he still found his feeling towards the text disconcerting. The questions frolicking in his head were at best blasphemy, knowing the text was written by the High Priest Eigan; the man endowed with wisdom from the Great Beyond. But the feeling could not be reconciled. Eigan could not write something that felt so…wrong.
Could he?
Voden sighed to comfort himself. Perhaps he was overthinking it. The fire chattered against his brain, beating its snaps through his thoughts. It was mocking him, calling him daft in its own demented way.
Among those thoughts, he heard a faint sound breaking the orchestra of fire. It seemed to grow in volume the more he became curious about it. Soon, he forgot his questions and replaced them with the deep crescendo, fearing it was the sound of the earth splitting.
Still, it grew louder. His eardrums reverberated, unable to ignore the pestering buzz. For now, the text could wait. He carelessly threw the heavy book onto the short table beside the chair. It thudded dully against the top, as he began for the door. He feared the disturbance, his heart screaming against his ribs. A new sound entered the growing noise, as if a wailing baby had been born behind his door. The moment lingered, suspended by time. It ought to end, but that was only a hopeful wish. The blood drained from his head, causing him to lose his balance. Screams of loved ones became clear, pounding the echoes in deeper as they tore into his heart.
He trembled, thinking on what monster brought their agony just beyond the door. They found personality in the volume of their pain, but that, too, seemed to be a means to distill the suffering if only they would scream loud enough. On the vibrations of their pain, his imagination groped the dark corner he wished to avoid, hoping what lay there was not what caused their trepidation. Voden felt the anguish seeping into the walls as he drew closer to the door. His finger brushed the brass handle, unable to control his trembling limb, and discomfort washed over him. He held his arm tightly, pleading with himself to hide and keep away from the looming disaster that tarried beyond.
A woman screamed, labored and pained, ringing with a chorus of what sounded to be babies. “No! Don’t take him! Not my little boy!”
He clicked the door open, where he found himself facing a world of…silence.
From sky to ground, the world sat drenched in a palette of dismal grey. Snowflakes of ash fell noiselessly against the charred streets. Voden’s house stood as the only vigil left on top of the hill. Fire burned homes and trees, shaking purple legs of flames that reminded Voden of spiders creeping along, finding a path to its prey. The wind remained absent from the calmness, unable to whisper any form of kindness to him. He stared across the landscape, words uncollected and unknown caught in his throat, and his emotions shoved his heart behind his eyes.
Silently, he continued through the streets as he wrapped his arms around himself. Nothing proffered him any comfort. The world rested soundly in a state of ruin. The walls surrounding the city had crumbled to smoldering piles of broken stone. The domiciles of his friends had been reduced to nothing more than carbonized supports, hardly withstanding the weight of memories, burnt with the remainder of words unsaid. Smoke held the atmosphere in a state of despondent decay, wrapping itself around the metropolis claimed as its own.
Deeper he crept through the city, d
esperation moving his legs. Perhaps there was another still here, but only purple flames snapped in response to his presence. Every sign of life eradicated, and it felt as though whatever lay outside dome was no longer. He coughed. The ash tasted stale against his tongue, bitterly tickling his lungs. The echo carried through the city, hoping to be heard, but the only response came from itself.
He paused, shivering from the loneliness.
Voden looked around and felt his heart racing yet again. He had ventured into the heart of the city, unaware of how his feet had brought him there. He looked up at the parapets of the Blue Keep with its cobalt walls, crippled and broken, exposing vacant rooms without the glow of candles in the windows. All that moved were amethyst flames, hungering for wood and parchment. The decorative dome over the main vestibule had collapsed, leaving only a small fracture that seemed to wail over the loss of its former glory. The doors to the keep, once standing proudly at the entrance, were now broken and burned to obsidian charcoal. The square he stood in fared no better. As he took everything in, his eyes turned to the jewel of the city, the great gift of their preservation, the Well of the Will.
The water flowing up through the ruby heart no longer filled the pools surrounding it. The ruby heart was broken, with only a decrepit finger of a curled gem left, scattering the rest across the ground as molten gold sizzled on the crimson pieces. The center mass had fallen into the crag that replaced much of the well, crumbling the beautiful marble into the maw of the void.
Here, he felt the pang that executed his hopes. Everything he knew, everyone he had loved had been slaughtered here, left to the silence of death, echoes without peace of the grave. His eyes flooded with tears, and now that hope had abandoned him, he didn’t care to repress it anymore. Not a thing could console him, and no one would know. His world, now desolation; his bed, now sorrow. He collapsed under the weight of his broken world. He seemed to cry forever, shaking with the anguish that pressed against him.
Finally, Voden found a tiny ounce of strength and lifted himself up. He wasn’t sure of what convinced him, but he trudged back through the city, trying to find his way home. It proved slow, if not difficult, as though his memory annulled the knowledge. All he had were repeated horrors burning within his retinas. Finally, he saw his house, the only place left standing, the last vigil still resting on the hill, stark against the silent city. Not far now.
A sudden shifting caught his eye.
Out across the horizon, a tiny swatch of light grey streaked across the static sky. He watched the splotch, perplexed by his own sensation of trepidation following in its wake. It was a cloud but quite unlike any he had seen before. It looked oddly perfect, a puffed ellipse laying on its side, cutting a path through the slate horizon. Voden could do nothing but watch, his eyes focused only on the cloud, transfixed by its esoteric nature. It could not be more than a few stories above him. It drew close, unwilling to shift from its course, and then it passed Voden, continuing its mysterious quest through the air.
He could breathe deeply now.
As suddenly as that feeling came, it hastened away, casting his heart into his knees. The cloud had abruptly stopped, rejecting the laws of physics. He felt a gelid ice filling his veins. The cloud turned slowly in the air, and burning terror filled him as it scanned the landscape. A purple light gleamed from somewhere in the center of the cloud, the ominous eye searching ravenously for life. In Voden, it found an answer. The violaceous orb penetrated Voden, like an odd, fiery spear, crushing the bones in his body. He felt as if the cloud tried to snare him.
Gravity lurched, pulling him off the ground. He floated up towards the inscrutable cloud. His mind flooded with consternation, trying to fight against its will. Just as his body knew to resist the nimbus, his feet snapped back to the tangible earth, causing his weary knees to buckle. He anxiously collected himself, trying to piece together the events, but the cloud had already moved onward toward the horizon. Relief swept through him as he turned to take in what lay behind him.
Black bled from off in the distance, plunging splinters of the world into definitive nothing. Tendrils devoured traces of light, draining out the hope that still lingered in the world. The blackness fixated on destruction, working efficiently to absorb each atom before tearing apart the next.
This would be it. It was all over for him.
A soft breeze rustled against his cheek, as if a gentle echo whispered from home. Though he could not hear words, he knew it urged him to run. His body switched into a state of panic and began racing back to the sanctity of home. The tentacles of the void twisted forward, decimating matter to nothing more than broken quarks, where memories became like the bituminous construct that followed. Vacancy stretched and constricted, merging after each molecular victory, moving from different sources to feed what could not be satisfied, weaving a mesh of emptiness. Each stride Voden took seemed slow. The void had swallowed whatever carried time forward. Prayers were the only thing to press him on, though his thoughts tainted his faith and hope. He needed to run harder if he planned to escape the caliginous wrath.
It lashed against the sun, ink dripping around it, eager to block out the shimmering orb. Again, he looked back and regretted it immediately. Absolute black shattered and fragmented the world, and it horrified him to think what would happen if that darkness touched his skin. He needed to get home, whatever that meant. Whatever that had to mean, there was only that choice, or the decision was left to a collapsing world. His bones and muscles ached. The tendrils encroached, creeping around his peripherals. They craved him like a malignant cancer in search of healthy cells. He remained the last thing left to eradicate into that silence of nihility.
Voden could not comply with its will. He wouldn’t.
Memories swelled in his tears, pooling at his eyes, ready to break free and join that cold night and the void that crept towards his feet, but he held them back, fearing he would lose them too. He could not allow for even those to be undone. Cracks burst beneath him, slithering out like vicious snakes along the path, digging deeper into the unfathomable chasm. Voden widened his stride. His house seemed close, but why could it not be closer? He could see the brazen knob shining defiantly against the veins of soot. That was where his grace resided.
Closer now, only steps away from the door that opened to sanctuary. His back brushed against utter vacancy. A rush of air pulled at him, cold and filled with doubts, groping at his arms. Now his legs. His teeth grit with pleading urgency, hoping his body would force its way forward. The blackness dragged him into the fading place, tingling along his brow. The door still rested alone in front of him, the final bastion of hope. Screams for redemption left his mouth, but not even echoes replied, no matter how he yearned for restoration.
Please, don’t take me!
The darkness lingered as a smoky sprite, gnashing at the door.
Please, save me!
Wings of demons draped around the frame, claws ready to tear it asunder.
Please!
Its eyes set on the keyhole and maliciously smiled, trying to take the door from Voden.
Beyond! Save me!
The door clattered against the stone wall, and Voden whipped around, slamming it back against the darkness. A calm pulsed through the room as the fire chanted mindlessly in the hearth, the candles playfully dancing as if he had never left. He glanced at the walls, the same vermillion glow kissing the stone.
“Are you okay, my boy?” came a gentle voice.
Startled, Voden’s eyes darted across the room, settling on a man who nonchalantly swept the floors. His hair was brown in color and short and trimmed with acute precision. He wore clothes as banal as the work he performed, adorned with a neat, sand-colored tunic and tidy, dark brown pants. He happened to be as plain as the dirt beneath the grass.
“What are you doing?” Voden asked.
“It appears I’m sweeping your floor,” the man responded. He smiled, his eyes sparkling with the potential to ignite the cosmos. �
��It would be a pity to see such a lovely library consumed by filth.”
The man wore calmness like a perfume, and Voden felt the tension drift out the door. The man continued his cleaning, and Voden found his eyes tracing him as he pursued his quest for cleanliness. He finally seemed satisfied with his sweeping and lifted the large book that Voden had been reading, placing it among the others on the wall.
“But…why?” Voden asked, finding his composure after awkwardly staring at the man.
“I’m making the proper preparations,” the man said, carefully dusting the spines of the books. He finished and gave his attention to Voden. “A house must be clean before you can be fully ready.”
“I don’t understand,” Voden muttered, searching the man’s eyes for reason. “There is nothing and no one left but you and me. If I were to open that door, I would think we, too, would vanish. It’s just us, stuck among these books and walls. Can you help me understand why?”
“This is not the time to know that,” the man confessed, eyes laced with an unusual grief. “There are things stirring, the times are shifting, and you will find answers when you become sound.” He pulled Voden in close, and a stern tone emanated from his lungs. “Be warned: Many are not who they say they are. They are water feeding the Seed’s thirst. The Seed will draw in all that it can, and when finally, enough has fed it, the shell will break and surface. Be careful, Voden, lest you find yourself among those consumed.”
Voden looked to the man, hoping for an answer to break his confusion. But the man’s eyes roared with flames, glowing bright as the light spiraled, captivating all of Voden’s thoughts. He could not pull his eyes away from them. What they purged, he did not know, but perhaps they grew something that had been dead before it was even alive. Stronger the light grew, and shadows faded, becoming fleeting thoughts. Still the light spiraled, and the shadows dissolved further away from that beautiful center of light. If only he could see.
