The Great Beyond- the Vile Fate

by K M McGuire

  Maybe that was all that space was. The lights of creation that fell too far away, set in the sky as a reminder of how far one could fall. It could be upside down, these kingdoms that the sentients created. The bigger the pillars they created in their own name, the further into the void they peered. Their vanity was the sentiment of the void. How often would the Great Beyond give warning? Did he really care?

  Voden tried to collect his thoughts as his mind touched deeper into the void. He felt a snag against his hopes as he looked bitterly up at the stars. In his loneliness, a silver ribbon sliced a glowing thread across the sky, the dash to pause a sentence with a change of thought, a tail of miracles that lined the expanse with a defiant clarity. He smiled at its wake, now ready to close his eyes. Tomorrow would have better questions. He sighed drowsily, as his dreams began to seep like a fresh spring welling in his mind, hiding within his subconscious. The night was for the beasts to feed.

  The journey to Septium was long. They had learned the name of the river they were following, which was called the Embosso River, though they only followed one of the forks that divided the forests of Septium. Voden had little expectations, though his eagerness made the journey feel it had been stretched out longer just to spite him. It wasn’t to say he hadn’t enjoyed the journey. In fact, he had become rather partial to the experience.

  He felt spending time with Yael was going well. She was puzzling to Voden, and he found unraveling the mysteries about her to be exciting. He hardly noticed the bursting colors of leaves awakening through the forest. It erupted at the first paroxysm of cold wind, the leaves now the last bastion against the coming change, morphing to the final fires of the summer that kept the grip of winter at bay. Voden marveled at the skills Yael possessed as a merchant. Every time they came to a new village (which was every few days or so) she found a way to make out better then when they had begun, though as it grew colder, trying to barter for warmer cloaks proved a difficult task.

  “We’ll be there by tomorrow,” Yael commented after she sold some grain to a local baker. It was a sweet little village, where the people were fat and jolly. Voden found the place strange since it held mostly Tasmians. Yael hopped back onto the caravan next to Voden, pressing him tightly against Vec, who had recently decided to join them in the front.

  “Thank Beyond!” Vec sighed, hardly moving to make way for them.

  Voden shook his head as Yael snapped the reins and sent the horses down the main street. The cherry-faced citizens scattered out of the way. Vec claimed being in the back was much too boring, though Voden had a fleeting suspicion he wanted to snoop on his relationship with Yael, hoping for some juicy gossip to share with Andar. Unfortunately, Andar seemed much more intentional about reading than sharing gossip. He stayed in the caravan’s room most of the time, reading from the books stacked inside.

  The horses clopped across the cobblestone, pounding through puddles of water that drowned the valleys surrounding the stone. But even with the muddy puddles, the town still held a cleanliness that seemed impossible even without the rainwater caught in the street. The sky was dreary, unable to decide if it wanted to be black or white, unwilling to pick a side. Even the weather could not make up its mind. The air was fine on its own, but when the wind began to move, it bit with a damp cold that Voden wished to avoid.

  They were near the edge of the town, when Andar peeked his head out of the small window. “What can you tell me of the Zemilia?”

  Voden jumped, nearly falling out of his seat. “Geez, Andar!” Voden shrieked.

  “Sorry,” he said quietly. Vec furrowed his brow and shot Andar a look. Andar mindlessly stroked his arm, where the polygons responded to the touch, “I’ve…I’ve just been reading about it. I just want to know more.”

  “If you stay long enough for the full moon, you can see it,” Yael said, staring deeply into the memories. Voden gave Yael and Andar a curious look. Andar just nodded and pulled his head back inside the caravan. Vec shook his head and pulled his cloak tightly around himself. The wind worked at slicing through the thick material, causing Vec to pull it tighter round himself.

  “I hate the cold,” he muttered, his mouth covered by fur. All that could be seen of him now was his angled brows, cutting into the eyes that hung on the edge of the pelt.

  “Lighten up.” Yael chortled, her cheeks rosy from the wind’s abrasive touch. “Fall is wonderful. Besides, it doesn’t even get that cold here. Try living in the Zaztik mountains.”

  “I have,” Vec uttered, shivering. He shook his head, burying it deeper into the thick layers, becoming a white mound of fur. “And it’s hard to find anything more brutal than the Uskar, but the cold is one of the many things there that scares even them. I’ll admit, they did make some of the finest beer I’ve ever had.”

  “You lived with the Uskar?” Voden asked, shocked. He had heard fragments about the race; much of what he had learned was on their ferocity and how little they cared for anything other than the sea and battle.

  Vec nodded somberly, appearing uncertain if he should speak. The caravan finally pulled off the cobbled road, opening to the final stretch toward Septium.

  “Yeah,” Vec said calmly, pulling the fur off his mouth. “It feels awfully long ago. They are not so kind to outsiders. You have to earn everything with them. They are the most loyal culture I’ve ever experienced.” He grew quiet. Voden decided to avoid prying further.

  Voden stole a glance at Yael as he usually did, though her attention was focused on the road, and she breathed cheerful, smoky plumes that billowed from her rising chest. He caught himself staring at her and turned to Vec, but the old man had curled up inside his cloak and closed his eyes, falling into another nap. Voden leaned against the bench, and it creaked with his comfort. The road was damp with soft mud, textured with stamps shaped like boots, and many furrows ran like rails in ragged patterns, leaving scars in the road.

  The sky was dull and weakly yellow, though even as the light broke out of the mass of clouds, the sun hung mournfully, asphyxiated by them. Even in this, Voden found something that felt like hope, no matter how the wind whispered of the coming death. All the color left in the landscape quivered at the lamentation of the wind, where the amber leaves could take no more, descending like impressions of falling stars to the cold grass below.

  The caravan traveled as silently as cargo could within the wake of the leaves, unfurling its ochre blanket across the earth to comfort it for what awaited in future days. A swirl of yellow blossomed along the trail, swiping a swatch of browning leaves over the road, turning to a snow globe of blazing yellow fire.

  “This is why I favor the time of Sedar,” Yael whispered to Voden, her eyes struck with an almost blinding awe. Her eyes were the same likeness of the leaves, like flames sparking with the dance of the season that Yael’s people called Sedar. Voden had learned a portion of their culture from Yael. She shared and explained the casual conversations she had with patrons. She had pointed out the Blind Moon, the moon sleeping before the world changed, only to awaken to the fullness of the rising season of winter. She explained to him that Zagala, the mother to all, graced the Earth with the cornucopia of life, and bore sentient races that inhabited the world. She explained that her sister, Pylea, tried to take her kingdom, wishing to plunge Zagala’s dimension into the realm of chaos. So Zagala broke her heart into six pieces, known as the Yarias, to prevent her sister from entering Zagala’s realm. The breaking of her heart created the season and brought order and balance, disrupting Pylea’s chaos. Each, in turn, was a state of emotion Zagala felt for her sister but separating from them made it so she could rule fairly over her creation.

  Voden found it fascinating, the lengths people went to when explaining the world. The symbolism he appreciated, though he viewed it quite differently. At least it allowed for things that would always remain a mystery to be held with reverence. But as he watched the dancing leaves, part of him almost wished he could believe in Sedar, whose ancient breath and spi
ndly fingers knew most about sacrifice. Still, there was something he failed to understand at the root of the stories. It was then he felt a warmth and knew he loved the bony trees, while the sparks of leaves reminded him of fire that could no longer consume. It was satiated, and they were plucked from the praying hands, hoping grace would come after the dormant times stirring quickly around them.

  Voden observed the trees and breathed the fullness of Sedar as he felt a shiver in his pocket that made everything seem out of place. But the shiver only made him more alert. It was a strange spark of light that caught his eye, as though someone held a mirror to reflect the sun, but he could not make sense of it. His eyes stalked between the trees, wondering what had made that light, when he spotted a blur he thought may have been a creature. It was only in blurs that he could rationalize, and it surprised him each time it moved, and how it moved baffled him. He wanted to blame his imagination for creating the gloomy shape, but the shiver in his pocket grew more intense, convincing him otherwise. He followed the dark purple form, which now paused behind a tree, flashing yellow, beady spots towards him.

  He thought it must be the eyes that burned the shiver further through his bones. As suddenly as he saw the shape, the strange figure blended away into the shadows, and then it appeared further away in the woods. He tried to remove it from his mind, but he felt he was not allowed to forget; each time it was nearly gone from his thoughts, the form made enough of an appearance to flutter Voden’s heart. The shiver thickened into paranoia.

  “Yael,” Voden whispered, hoping not to disturb Vec. He nudged her to ensure her attention.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He shifted his eyes to the trees, but whatever was out there seemed to know he drew attention to it because now there was no longer evidence of its existence.

  Voden felt his blood pulsing with frustration, “I suppose it’s nothing now,” he murmured, disappointment clenching his throat. He huffed his concerns to the air, while Yael gave him a worried look. She turned back to the road, almost irritated by the distraction.

  “I swear I saw something.”

  “It’s okay, Voden,” she acknowledged, her hair whipping across her face. “There are many stories of the trees’ shadows watching travelers. They watch the weary. I had once thought I saw them a long time ago, especially when I had begun traveling on my own. I found it easier to pay it no mind. It goes away if you don’t let it trick you. I think sometimes the mind wants to add some drama to a long journey.”

  He remained quiet. It would be nice to be able to ignore it. He glanced at the woods again and saw nothing. He breathed heavily and rubbed his face. His palm pressed against his eyelids, and he began to rub them to erase the memory. Finally, he sighed again and relaxed. Voden stared out along the road, eager to keep his eyes forward. He tried to push the queasy feeling down, but its cold hand gripped his throat again. He tried to find shelter behind closed eyes, but even here, in the dark realm of meditation, the yellow eyes stared at him with an unshakable curiosity that made his flesh squirm. Here, it was brighter.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  The sky was lit with the final paroxysm of the day, the sun burning the last of the day’s red before it set for the evening. The caravan halted near the river, churning sputters of tides against the rocks that jutted out of the riverbed. Voden could see the hazy purple of the Zaztik mountains, crowned by the sun, as the cool wintery wind dropped down from the north, seeping into their clothes. Yael unhitched the horses and led them over to the river’s bank where they noisily slurped up the slate colored liquid, as if they were breathing in the crystalline drink.

  “The good news is that this will be the last night to make camp,” Yael stated, and she pointed upstream. “You can see the Eternal Tree from here.”

  Voden, Vec, and Andar’s eyes followed Yael’s finger, tracing along the ribbon of dark blue, which led to a tree that rose well above the forest. Its foliage was still a dark green, defiantly apart from the sea of embers surrounding it. It stood alone, as though it were a solitary mountain amidst the forest. Voden knew the look in Yael’s eye twinkled with memories, spawning a smile that could not contain her relief. Voden went over to the caravan and grabbed the bag of oats, handing them to Yael.

  “Thanks,” she said as she attached them to the horses’ bridle. Andar nudged Vec, and they found a spot to build a fire. Voden watched Yael, finding the gentle way she cared for the horses enamoring. The horses munched happily as if thanking her for the rest. She patted each one and gave her attention to Voden. They looked out over the land to see the darkness begin to bury the colors. Voden stood quietly a moment, collecting his words, wondering what he might say to her, when he heard Vec chuckling, followed by the sharp crunch of teeth cutting into an apple.

  Andar struggled to light the kindling, and Vec was no help. Yael walked over and waved her hand, erupting the branches into a firm conflagration.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly, his head never turning up towards her. She smiled and placed her hand on his back, but her action was met by Vec snorting gruffly.

  “What?” she demanded, her eyes sharpening her words.

  “Can’t expect him to learn if you just do it for him,” Vec responded, biting again into the apple. “It’s not easy to learn independence that way.”

  “You’re much more a fool to believe you can do everything yourself,” said Andar crossly. “You always want to diminish help, or to find ways to disembark from helping others. Maybe being alone for so long has made you forget how to build relationships.”

  “No,” Vec said heatedly, “relying heavily on your relationships to solve your problems is where exploitation seeps in.”

  “Then you have devalued every person you know to almost the point of being worthless,” Andar cried, shaking his head. “It’s no wonder you can hardly listen to anyone other than yourself! You’re too paranoid to embrace visions other than your own!”

  The fire flickered as though echoing Andar’s words, and Vec’s sullen eyes darkened. Andar and Vec stared at each other, Vec unable to fill his tongue. Yael quietly nudged Voden, her eyes filled with discomfort.

  “I need help gathering some food,” she whispered, and began to walk to the back of the caravan.

  He nodded, almost too vigorously, eager to leave behind Andar and Vec.

  “Why are they so hard on each other?” she asked. She handed Voden some food.

  “I don’t think I have a good answer,” Voden responded. He placed some vegetables in the crook of his arm. “I guess they see each other so similar, except for a fundamental area they can’t come to terms with.”

  “Vec is much harder on him, though,” she muttered, looking back at them. Vec had started to sit next to Andar, talking now about something mundane, trying to wipe the cold feelings away from each other.

  “I don’t know,” Voden shook his head, thinking of some answer to give her. “I think Vec feels he is closest to Andar mentally, and maybe in his own way is trying to protect him, where Vec had gotten hurt. They are two very different spirits, which has divided them. Vec wants Andar to agree with him because he respects him; he almost thinks he’s steps ahead of Andar, hoping Andar will see as he does.” Voden and Yael watched the two of them, and though Andar and Vec never said sorry, they now seemed okay with one another. “I guess it’s their odd way of showing their concern.”

  “A bit funny if you ask me.” Yael chuckled. She gathered the rest of the supplies, and they made their way back to the fire. They prepped the food while Voden began to ask more questions concerning Septium, feeling his excitement awakening. “We’ll have to take care of some things first,” Yael said, roasting her food over the fire. “Once we get through the Gate of Thorns, we have to take our merchandise to the Scales.”

  “I don’t know if I understand,” Andar said.

  “The Gate of Thorns is the main gate to the city. It’s named after our military that protects Septium. They are the first line of defense for
the city.” She pulled her food out of the fire. She looked over it, nodding her head. It was ready to eat. “The Scales are what we call those that control the commerce of Septium. They manage taxes.”

  “Seems they run a tight ship,” Vec said thoughtfully, biting into his food.

  “Probably for the better,” Andar agreed.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much,” Yael said, taking a large bite and chewing for a moment before swallowing hard. “As long as you don’t appear nefarious, you should be okay. Don’t disrupt the flow.”

  “I’ve never been one for government,” Vec said, “but I can play along.”

  Yael nodded in agreement. “I feel the same way. There are many dark things in the deep woods. There are many shadows at the tops of the trees.”

  For the rest of the evening, Voden remained silent, wondering what Yael had meant. Yael had helped them finish pitching their tents, and she turned to him, wishing him a good night. She lingered for a second, biting her lip. She stepped up into the caravan, looking back one last time, as the light from candles covered her in a veil of shadows. Then she extinguished them. Voden tried to sweep away his thoughts as he lay down, flushed with an emotion that filled him with anticipation. Eventually, his concerns abated, and he found sleep.

  The morning rose as if Tibijat (the Yaria of summer) had poured its final ounce of strength into the dawn, before it had to concede to Forux (the Yaria of winter) entirely. The sun burned pale through Voden’s tent, gently kissing his face through the slit in the flap, wafting the dreary scents of the shifting season to his nose. The aroma of browning leaves curdled with the cool morning moisture, an almost bittersweet smell that would sizzle if it could utter a sound. He pulled himself to his knees, furs still tightly wrapped around him, and left the tent to awaken the embers buried beneath the snowy remains of the fire.