The Great Beyond- the Vile Fate

by K M McGuire

  The only sound now was the hiss of liquifying snow. The storm turned to still flurries, and they could now see the ground splashed in varying shades of red. The steam rose up like souls through the trees, brushing against the branches. Voden decided it time to regroup, when Andar placed his hand on his chest.

  “Andar, you’re hurt!” Voden exclaimed.

  Andar looked up, his eyes sullen. Voden could see the heavy clouds of breath, and though he wished it to be only exhaustion, he knew it was more. Andar’s hand was firm against his chest. His fingers glistened with dark plasma. He held his hand there as though he needed to hold it back before it took him to the grave. His hand dropped in defeat, as his sword slithered back up his arm, his clothes torn open where deep claw marks shredded his chest.

  He let out a nervous laugh.

  “A little,” he said dully.

  Voden looked at his friend, wishing he could reverse time. His feet refused to move. The more his mind tried to find a solution, the more the reality set in. His mind turned blank. Not Andar. He could not envision a future for this to become better. Voden had no medical experience and no idea of how to find someone who had any. Each drop of blood was like a grain of sand in Andar’s fading hourglass. Time was wasting in the snow. Voden was about to move towards his friend when he saw a smoky figure drift behind him. He had forgotten about the other wolf. Voden’s veins turned cold. But the figure was humanoid and danced behind him, nearly placing its fingers on his shoulder. Was it death? Voden shook his head, and the spectre was gone. It must have been an illusion. He turned his mind from the thought and rushed to help his friend.

  Voden was within arm’s reach of Andar when a rush of air brushed through Voden’s hair. He turned behind him but saw nothing. He swiveled back to Andar, now bent over, head facing the snow, as if he meant to kiss it. He scanned his friend and noticed a shining stone protruding from out of Andar’s shoulder. Panicking, Voden took hold of his friend, unable to bring himself to words. “Andar, no, no, no! Andar! Hold on, I have you!”

  Andar lifted his head and looked up at his friend. His eyes were pale and glossy, unable to fully focus on Voden. He lifted his hand, pointing over Voden’s shoulder, and Voden quickly turned to see a tall Tastin standing over him, covered in a thick grayish pelt.

  He smiled cruelly at him, and in a thick, gruff voice said, “About time the queen gets some visitors.”

  He introduced Voden’s face to his thick fist.

  “Andar!” Voden shouted, nearly falling off the horse he was tied to.

  “Silence, cur!” responded the Tastin walking next to the horse.

  He jabbed the staff of his spear into Voden’s side, causing him to buckle against the annoyed horse with a wheeze. He shot the Tastin a mildly dejected glance, though the Tastin had already turned his attention elsewhere. Voden could see the man’s strong, feral features catching the ripples of light fuming from his torch and decided it best to leave him be. Voden wasn’t sure how long he had been out, but he knew it was still evening. He looked around the thin shadows cast by glowing auras, flickering against the cool snow, listening to the softness of the horses pressing their hooves almost noiselessly through the powder.

  He counted four gruff looking warriors riding with him, two skewed in front, the others behind. There was little peace to their faces, and the torchlight deepened their brooding brows with vagrant shadows that made much of this journey feel like Voden being led to an execution. He looked at the horse behind him. Andar sat slumped over its neck, only swaying to the rise and fall of the horse’s shoulders, his breath shallow but at least there, trailing from him in soulful clouds.

  Flashes of the blood and snarling teeth thundered suddenly to his thoughts. The horror of Andar’s chest cut open, blood pooling over his fingers. “Tell me he’s okay,” Voden croaked at the Tastin. The Tastin shot him a pestered looked and brushed it off with a grunt. “Is he okay?” he repeated trying to put as much venom in his words as he could.

  That did not sit well with the Tastin. The Tastin pulled the horse to a halt, whinnying at the sudden jerk, and he gripped Voden’s jaw, grungy nails scratching the first layer of skin off his cheeks. His grip was unnervingly strong, his eyes reading every bit of cowardice that hid inside Voden.

  “You’re in no place to ask questions, are you?” said the Tastin heatedly. He threw Voden’s face away from him in contempt, “He’ll be fine. At least until the queen decides what she is to do with you.”

  Voden saw the rest of the party had stopped to stare at them, digging at him with beams from cold, white pupils, as if hoping the Tastin would smack him. They seemed to almost anticipate it. They received no satisfaction and continued along the snowy road. Voden sighed, leaning his head back to stare off at the moon. At least he wasn’t dead yet. Only the Tastins warriors spoke to one another, occasionally breaking out into fits of laughter from some kind of juicy gossip, but they spoke in some language that was far removed from Voden. It was several minutes before Voden decided to try speaking again.

  “Why are your friends excited?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could muster.

  The Tastin next to him turned, still flushed with annoyance. “Hopefully, you two are who she’s been looking for. Everything we have been waiting…” he trailed off and his face turned hard again. “This time I doubt she’ll have mercy.”

  Voden nodded, unsure how to swallow his words. He turned back to Andar who had begun to stir. The Tastin leading his horse called something out, and the party again stopped and crowded around him, checking his stitched chest. It was a rather crude job, but it seemed good enough to stop the bleeding. Andar groggily lifted his head as the Tastins backed away to give him space. Andar suddenly tensed up, pulling at his cords around his wrists. He nearly fell off the horse but was stabilized by the Tastin at his side.

  “Settle, boy!” the oldest Tastin said. His face was slightly wrinkled, and his hair looked as if it had been shocked white. “You are in no condition to act as a young buck!” He turned his horse and rode over to Andar, separating him from the other Tastins. “Drink, boy. You need your liquids. It’s not poison, Zagala knows we would have slain you and the wolves if you hadn’t meant anything! Ralus, would have much to explain if we brought you back dead!” He shot the Tastin guiding Voden’s horse an intense frown, his eyes burning brighter than the torches.

  “I was aiming for the wolf,” he said defensively. “Besides, they would have run if I hadn’t subdued them!”

  “Then your eyes see as slow as you think!” the older man yelled, slapping the younger Tastin’s head. “The boy…what’s your name?”

  “Andar.”

  “Andar, good name. Andar had clearly gutted the beast well before you shot! And you had thought these two capable of outlasting our horses? Your brains are clearly worth about as much bread as you could spread them on! I hope for your sake the queen is merciful!” The older beckoned the party forward. “I should scalp you!” he muttered, passing Voden.

  Voden tried his best to hide his smile from Ralus, only to see his forlorn eyes held amid a fearful face. Voden started to feel sorry for the Tastin, but only for a moment. They remained quiet as the journey went on, and every so often Voden would cast a glance back at Andar, unable to speak, watching him dolefully sway on the horse’s back.

  “You okay, Andar?” he finally asked, hoping it would be enough to spark some sort of comfort. Andar hardly nodded. He gestured with his shoulders to show his wrists firmly tied to the horse.

  The party eventually made their way to the wall of what looked like a rather crude outpost, talking briefly with a Tastin, and surprisingly, a human guarding the gate, before they let them proceed. Voden was rather surprised to see the vast array of people within the gates, as if preparing for war. Campfires burned ever watchful, even though Voden was quite sure it was late in the evening, and the ring of molten steel still caroled on with the drone of edges sharpened on grindstones. The settlement was composed entirely of t
ents, many of which had their own fire, lighting the tables and beds that filled the tanned canvas, thick with furs to keep the warmth from wandering out.

  It was so alive in the tight valley, though every sound created rang with something somber and serious quite unlike Septium. A flurry of warriors rushed by, and few of the younger soldiers carried notes from tent to tent. Voden became keenly aware of the stares many had been giving them. Andar and Voden became aware of the murmurs flooding the encampment surrounding their arrival. A small crowd followed behind them, lingering more in the shadows, as if they were pigeons waiting to steal bread they had dropped. Every time one of the Tastins from the party noticed the crowd, they shouted something at the gathering group, and they would disperse to the fringe of their line of sight. Most of the following were children.

  Voden looked at the mountains sitting behind the tree line, powerful like obsidian dragons protecting the camp, standing proud with the yellowed moonlight. He had never been this close to any mountain so Voden could not help but stare at the monolith of rock that was defiant to the sky. The textured triangle sloped to a mighty lake, sparkling like a blanket of glass, shifting with the cold breeze that kissed its surface. They walked towards it, following a trail lit by stone lanterns which led them to a staircase that marked the way down. The older Tastin helped Andar off his horse. Andar tightened his face as he seethed with pain. A raw bead of blood bloomed through his shirt. They then pulled Voden off his horse, hands still tied by the thick cord.

  “Down we go,” Ralus said, prodding Voden in the back.

  The stone stairs were slick with snow, which made for a slow descent as they stepped gingerly through the powder. The trees were stretching hands of worship up to the moon, praying to the celestial beings while they melded with the snow, graced with plump, white furs of winter, sparkling with glory. The wind shook the powder free, like a transparent veil falling from the crown of Forux, dancing to the desolate tone that the wind breathed.

  They stepped off the stairs and onto a platform of smooth stone curling into the tide of the lake, and the icy waves scratched against two massive pillars that stood at its edge. As Voden looked out through the pillars, he saw the lake framed between them, and it was like a snake whose scales were mirrors lain out for the mountains to look down on, and the reflection of themselves would entice even them to drown to its majesty.

  The group stood near the edge, staring across the lake, while it called out to the moon with subtle hushes, having all the time in the world to put even the moon to sleep.

  “Ralus, redeem yourself, please. Call her,” the elder Tastin said.

  Ralus nodded alertly, swinging his tiny satchel as he reached inside it, pulling out a white gem the size of an apple, faceted with several tight planes, spherical in shape. He rolled it in his hand as he pulled out his bow. One of the faces was sunken in, revealing a compartment filled with odd, hexagonal stalagmites, protruding towards the mouth. None of them were the same length. Ralus turned his eyes up to the pale, saffron moon, wind brushing through his tangled hair, eyes calculating. He then cast the gem into the sky, glinting as it spun, until it was all but a dot against the moon. He had already notched an arrow and shot it towards the falling gem, a shadow slinking through the sky. A dull clink rang out, and a silent explosion of white light flared in the sky.

  Voden shrank back, expecting to hear a massive sound that came with the paroxysm of light, but he felt rather silly about his sudden convulsion when none came. The light fluttered and trailed down, in long strides that wept in arches of chalky white. The ribbons sputtered like dying fireflies, fading into oblivion, leaving only a faint burn on Voden’s retina. The light now faded from their eyes. They watched the lake, gently waving against the shore, as creaking branches whispered quiet hymns.

  “Do you see it, Voden?” Andar asked weakly.

  Though he was surprised to hear Andar speak, he looked out across the black, shimmering mirror, searching the shore for any sign of motion. A bright orb bloomed into existence near the center of the lake, flicking a dull yellow glow across the surface underneath it. Voden felt his heart slap against his chest. The orb hovered over the lake, unmoving and eerily alone. It was like a lesser moon, lost from the sky, signaling to its mother, though she could not see its youth so far away. All he could do was stare at the orb looming over the water. It was then he saw a mist of white move inside it, shifting along the floor in a weak smoldering motion. His heart began to beat so profusely he felt it would soon work a hole through his chest, when…it vanished, leaving a plume of smoke swirling silently in its wake, its remnants fading from existence.

  A prick of light blinked nearer to them, the sphere materializing in a strange wave, as if turning and expanding all at once, and a pale-yellow sheen curled around the surface before flashing clear. A woman rested against the bottom of the translucent globe, curled as though she were asleep. Smoke still wrapped the globe like living filigree, obscuring Voden’s sight, as if the smoke offered the globe to the Beyond. Reddish hair, like tangles of liquidized roses, waved within the sphere, drifting throughout the orb as if she was submerged in the gentle depths of the lake itself. She lay prone, holding her face, hiding it from the piercing glow of the moon. Something in the orb made her skin glow yellow as if the light of the Beyond poured out of her pale skin, draping her in mysterious layers of brilliant luster. Even curled inside the sphere, her form was breathtaking, her legs tucked under her in the solitude of what Voden thought was sleep.

  The Tastin dug in his satchel again and pulled out another ivory orb. He cast it into the sky and fired another arrow at it. The pearly light now caught the attention of the bewitching dame, tilting her delicate head towards the light, hair fluctuating lazily around her pale form. Her hand slid to her side, and she bellowed a rueful scream, resounding vehemently out of the yellow dome. The noise was something beyond human—beyond sentient. The roar of dying spirits that could not yield yet to death surged through the air, firing the dusty flakes of snow violently away from her sphere. It shook every branch surrounding the lake, threshing the snow clean off. Even with hands squeezing against Voden’s head, the banshee’s wail pierced through his skin, and it seemed to sustain for an unearthly length of time. Perhaps his fingers pressing against his eardrums would be less painful.

  The lake was now silent. The specks of snow lingered in the air, petrified she would destroy them. The illuminated rondure vanished. The only movement was the trail of smoke left behind in the shape of the orb that was no longer there. Everything had become so muted, Voden couldn’t tell if his ears had ruptured, and he noticed that the warriors were now quivering violently on their knees. He became very aware that he may not be as afraid as perhaps he should be.

  “Wha…what was that?” called Andar, clearly unaware of the volume of his voice. The warriors remained with their faces turned away, and they gave him no response.

  The elder mustered a bit of courage and spoke. “That is Blossum.” He turned a near sad eye to Andar. “Pray to your Great Beyond you can help her.”

  Voden felt his knees become weak, staring back at the dissipating smoke, hardly a wisp. His voice crept down inside, hiding any response from his mouth. Andar, too, was shaking, his eyes as inconsolable as Voden felt.

  A sudden rush of air drew close to Voden’s body, and he unwillingly turned to the noise, where the orb blossomed into reality, splintering veins that stitched the shape together, casting him backward against the ground, fear igniting his body as though it terminated the marrow inside his bones.

  “WHO ARE YOU?!” bellowed the ethereal voice of the witch and her fury crumbled his courage.

  The voice somehow permeated with seduction, almost enticing Voden towards her, yet it still aroused the deepest, bone-chilling fear that wove itself further through him, reverberating not only against the bubble she screamed from, but channeled the echo to ravage the inside of his skull. She seemed capable of conquering even the most sacred place of his m
ind, atomizing his most fortified walls. He found the solidity of the sphere as it pressed against him, forcing his chest to compress against the stone of the floor. He could not turn his timorous eyes from her, his breath hardly coming into him. Though trapped, she stood above him, pale and proud, staring with eyes that could be mistaken for daggers twisting into this pitiful form.

  She was an enigma of duality, suspended daintily to the center of the spherical terrarium. Still, she held a presence that caused giants to weep in fear. Perhaps what stifled his breath was her carelessness for clothes; the audacious composure of one so highly esteemed baring every inch of skin and curve so unabashed. The closest remnant to fine silk was her gently swirling hair, flowing like a slow-moving fire or hastily growing crimson vines. Upon her brow was a band of dark, wine-colored flowers woven into a diadem of vines, leaves, and petals, entwined through the sea of crimson locks. Voden wondered what could vex her hair to flow like fiery seaweed. His eyes locked with her deeply acidic emerald eyes, which seemed to fade to burning white at the pulse of her fuming rage.

  They rested almost divinely in her face, like seeds plucked from the finest garden, and there was nothing more worthy to beset her features. She was visibly soft, if one was fortunate to be graced by her touch. She was shaped smolderingly feminine. Down the side of her face, to the supple chin, along the slender neck, and her subtly arching shoulders, no angle had ridge. Voden’s eyes unknowingly traced her curves, tapering in with her hips, awestruck by the fullness of her figure. He could almost feel the lenses of his eyes steam the more he examined the matriarch. Her full hips flowed seamlessly to her knees, and careful dimples notched behind them. Wrinkle or blemish dare not find its way to her skin. This intimidating beauty was perhaps the most potent being Voden had experienced.