by T. D. Steitz
Anger, fear, and despair filled Alistair as molten lava poured into his veins. His gaze rested on his mother's body, then slowly raised to consider the gray eyes of the man Alistair now hated more than anything in the world.
The Fallen scout taunted Alistair, daring him to make a move. His lips parted once more in a mocking jeer, but the expression froze on his face.
A powerful shout met Alistair’s ears as though he was hearing it from underwater. Alistair’s father swung his ax with incredible force.
The scout’s revolting head fell. His body twitched and crumpled to the ground in a pool of black blood.
Alistair slowly regained control of his arms and legs. He dragged himself to his mother’s side.
Dalibor kneeled beside her and held her close.
Alistair grabbed her hand.
Tears of grief and pain ran down Layla’s face and arms.
She made a faint coughing sound, and Alistair felt her hand gently squeeze his own.
Alistair and his father stared into her eyes as they fluttered open.
She mustered the strength to look up at them and whisper. “I love you, Dalibor. I love you, Alistair, my sweet little boy. Please don’t be angry. Don’t give in to hate. Don’t be sad for me.” A coughing fit came over her. A thin trail of blood leaked out of the corner of her mouth.
Dalibor dabbed it up with his shirt.
“Don’t… forget…”
Her final breath escaped her lips, and Alistair felt her hand release. “No Mom, no! Please! Wake up!”
Dalibor put his arm around his son and pulled him close. They wept together.
At that moment, Alistair doubted that he would ever stand again. How could he exist in a world where his mother did not? Alistair felt his heart harden as rage filled him, and he began to understand. This would change him forever.
Chapter Four
The Forest Clan
Nothing remained of the Valley of Plenty. A gentle breeze blew through the tall grass around Alistair’s feet as he stared blankly at black fumes curling up from the wreckage. Nothing survived the onslaught Alvah and his Fallen marauders brought. Alistair saw it all, but he didn’t care. What did it matter if the Valley was destroyed or not? It seemed fitting that the ruins of his home reflected his heart. He felt like he would never feel again. It was as if the pain of an entire lifetime had been forged into one moment that took his mother and destroyed him. The vision of his mother lying dead on the cold ground clung to his mind, but he had no more tears to cry. So, he stared unblinking and unfeeling, into his despair.
A short distance away, Dalibor kneeled in the dirt, examining a yellow wildflower. He thought of what Layla would say if she were here. “Look, Dalibor! There is so much beauty in the world. Sometimes, you just need to find it.” Dalibor shuddered as grief welled up inside him. He plucked the flower from the ground, resisted the urge to crush it, and placed it carefully in the bundle he had gathered. He lifted the massive weight of the bouquet and turned to look at his wife.
She lay on the ground in a silky white dress. Her eyes were closed, and her hands lay gently across her stomach. From a distance, she could be sleeping. She looked at peace.
But as Dalibor drew nearer, he was forced again to see that her skin didn’t glow like it used to. Her hair didn’t billow in the gentle breeze. He would never feel her heart beating against his again. She was gone. Dalibor slumped down beside her, and with silent tears rolling down his face, placed the bouquet in her hands. With a deep sigh, he spoke. “Alistair, its time.”
A pang of resentment shot through Alistair at the sound of his father’s voice. He knew he had no reason to be angry at his father, but he was. It was the same anger he felt towards the Fallen, the same anger he felt towards his home, and the same anger he felt towards the air in his lungs. He turned slowly and faced the moment he dreaded.
With Layla in his arms, Dalibor lead Alistair to the fresh grave and together, they lowered her to her final resting place. For a very long time, the two stood in silence, gazing at her serene face.
Finally, Dalibor cleared his throat. “This world did not deserve you, my love. You were light and warmth in a cold, dark place. We will always miss you.”
Then, Dalibor started to sing:
Do you recall that cloud of gold?
The warmth of fire, our lives to hold.
Hear my song, evoke the words he spoke.
Arise, and remember.
Arise, and let the horns sound again.
Alistair quickly realized he was wrong before. He had many tears left to cry. Quietly, he joined his father’s song:
We knew that day, the most loving hour.
Saw in his face, the truest power.
Still away we turned, and now our sorrows burn.
Arise, and remember.
Arise, and let the horns sound again.
He beat darkness once, and he will again.
He’ll bring back the light, and our hope, with him.
So, let freedom ring, when we once more see our King.
Arise, and remember.
Arise, and let the horns sound again.
Arise, and remember.
Arise, and let the horns sound again.
Arise
With the song that she loved so much playing in their heads, Dalibor and Alistair scooped soft dirt into Layla’s grave.
The sun sank behind the surrounding hills. Shadows crept over the simple stone Alistair carved to mark his mother’s grave. It read: Layla – You were a light in the dark. As darkness swept over the Valley, Alistair felt it slinking into his heart. The darkness, the anger, it eased his pain. It protected him from the crippling grief. So, he welcomed it. The hopeful boy playing in the sun was gone. The storm inside Alistair had banished him to the depths of his memory. Alistair was glad to see him go.
Dalibor dumped a pot of water over the fire. He and Alistair had huddled in the ruins of their home all night. They prepared to leave, and Alistair hoped, never return. They gathered what they could; a few food scraps, cooking tools, and the old ax, still stained with black blood. With a heavy sigh, Dalibor looked at the life he and Layla had built together. It lay broken at his feet.
Alistair didn’t even glance back at the place he once called home.
They headed into the gloomy forest. They had no direction or destination, but there was nothing left for them in the valley. The days came, went, and blurred together. Alistair and Dalibor trudged on with no end in sight. All Alistair had was his hate, his fury. It fueled him. Dalibor felt hollow. He walked only for the hope that somewhere, he and his son would find a reason to live again.
The sky grew dark. Alistair and his father reluctantly prepared for another cold, restless night. Alistair thought back to when he slept in a warm bed, had a full belly every night, and all the love he could ever ask for. Those days were a lifetime ago. The memory burned, so Alistair blocked it out and accepted the calloused cold over painful memories of warmth. He gritted his teeth, pulled his pelts over his shoulders, and fell into a tortured sleep.
Alistair stood alone in a field of wheat. Rolling, golden hills spread as far as he could see in every direction. He ran his hands through the feathery grains and let them tickle his fingers and palms. Then, the wheat stocks shot into the air. The tips disappeared in the gray sky. A sing-song voice drifted to Alistair’s ears. He breathed in deeply. The soft voice, and the euphoria it brought, filled him. Soon, his name floated through the rhythmic whisper.
“Alistair, Alistair, where did you go? Why did you leave me? Come back… Come back… to me…”
Alistair moved towards the pleasant voice, parting the giant stocks of wheat as he went. He came to a small clearing where the wheat had been torn from the ground. On the other side, he saw a woman. She stood with her back to him. It was his mother. A clouded feeling that something was wrong clung to him. But she turned and opened her arms, so he pushed it aside. He stepped into her arms, and she hugged him gently. The str
ange feeling returned. “Wait,” Alistair said with sudden, horrible clarity. “You’re not here. You can’t be. I watched you die!”
He tried to pull away from the embrace, but the arms around him tightened. He fought with all his might to escape the crushing embrace. His eyes fell on the illusion’s face again, but this time, it wasn’t his mother. He stopped fighting. Terror gripped him as he gazed into Calamity’s leering face. The arms around him grew long and emaciated.
Calamity threw his head back and laughed hysterically. His black hood slipped off his head and released toxic fumes. Calamity squeezed Alistair harder, forcing him to stare deeper into his lifeless, void eyes.
Alistair’s ribs cracked. Pain flooded him, but he had no breath to cry out. He gasped for air, but none came. He resigned himself to death as his vision went black and his head swam. He tried to keep his eyes open, but Calamity had him. He could not escape his imminent death.
A blurry scene reached Alistair.
Dalibor’s face was inches from his own. Tears streamed from his eyes as he pleaded. “Open your eyes, son! Alistair, look at me!”
Alistair’s lungs filled with air.
His eyes flashed open, and he gulped the fresh air. His pounding heart slowed. He lay on his back, exhausted, staring up at the pale-gray sky. Alistair felt his father collapse next to him and hug him close. Alistair gazed up at the sky and enjoyed the sweet air in his lungs. He sat up. A wave of pain hit him, and he clutched the broken bones in his side. When the pain subsided, Alistair saw the thick coils of an enormous, black snake around him. The snake’s body twisted and convulsed in the dirt. Alistair felt the serpent’s dark blood on his chest. A broken ax, covered in the same blood, lay beside his father. “What happened?” Alistair asked.
“I’m not sure,” Dalibor replied. “I woke up and you were in the air, wrapped up in this…” He nodded towards the serpent. “I thought I’d lost you.” Dalibor’s voice broke. He pulled Alistair close and they sat in silence.
“We should keep moving.” Dalibor finally said. “There’s no telling what else is out there.” He helped Alistair gently to his feet.
Alistair found a sturdy branch and used it to steady himself. He winced as he tucked the ax head in his belt. He gritted his teeth, lowered his head and walked. In time he found he didn’t mind the pain. It seemed the only way for him to feel anything anymore.
Dalibor and Alistair traipsed through the forest. They rarely spoke. There was nothing to say. As they continued across endless miles of trees and rocks, Alistair slipped back into his haze. Evening fell again. He watched his father build a small fire.
“We should take turns sleeping tonight,” Dalibor said. “I’ll keep watch first. You get some sleep.”
Alistair agreed and leaned back against a tree to sleep. His dreams were filled with images of his home.
He and his father sat in their old kitchen. The air around them was blurry. Alistair looked aimlessly around the room. The front door creaked open, and his mother walked in. Relief swept over Alistair. It was so good to see her. “Mom, where have you been?” He asked.
“I’m sorry dear.” She replied. “I’ve been away.” She touched Alistair’s cheek lightly, but her hand was cold and clammy.
Alistair looked into her eyes and wondered at the white flames dancing there.
She smiled and turned to walk back out the door.
Alistair followed her. The sun beyond the cottage blinded him. All he could see was her silhouette. He called out to her. “Mom, hold on!”
She didn’t hear him.
He shouted louder. “Mom! Wait!”
She didn’t stop. Her silhouette shrank in the distance.
Alistair tried to catch her, desperate not to let her slip out of view. He ran with all his might, but she faded into the horizon. He fell to his knees with tears in his eyes. “Please, come back…”
Alistair’s whisper woke him.
His father looked at him with concern. “Did you have a bad dream?” He asked.
Alistair nodded.
“About your mom?”
A tear fell from the corner of Alistair’s eye.
“I get them too.”
Alistair wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Every time it’s the same. She comes back like she was only gone for a little while. I can always tell that something’s wrong. Then, she leaves again, like she knows she can’t stay.” Alistair’s voice trailed off. “Why don’t you try and sleep. I can’t anyway.”
Dalibor walked over to Alistair and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Wake me if you need anything.”
Alistair sat by the fire and stirred the embers. He looked deep into the fire and remembered the flames in his mother’s eyes. He heard her voice in his head, telling him stories of fire like that: “‘I am the Lord of everything… All that surrounds you, all that you are is from me. I love you more than you will ever know.’ So, the people called him many names, but the most common was Ardent, for his eyes were like fire; flames of warmth, comfort, and inescapable power.”
Alistair’s hatred grew. “Mom was wrong about him.” He told himself. “If Ardent cared, why did he leave? If he loved her, why did he let her die?!” Alistair’s tears rolled into the fire and sizzled. “I hate you,” he whispered. “Do you hear me, Ardent? I hate you.” Alistair’s head slumped between his knees. He sobbed until the pale sun peeked through the trees.
Dalibor stirred. It was dawn. “Alistair, why didn’t you wake me?” He asked.
Alistair didn’t reply. He sat by the fire and warmed his hands.
“How’s your side?”
“It hurts. I’ll be fine.”
“Let me see it.” Dalibor insisted.
Alistair lifted his shirt carefully. A deep, purple bruise covered his cracked ribs, and beyond that, the skin was dark red and hot to the touch.
“It's getting infected,” Dalibor said, gently touching the area. “We need to find help. You need medicine.” He helped Alistair to his feet. “Let’s go. There must be someone living in these woods.”
They made their way through the forest much slower than before.
As they went, the painful heat of Alistair’s injury spread across his body. Sweat dripped from his brow. His weak legs wobbled beneath him.
Dalibor felt Alistair’s pale cheek. “Fever is setting in. We need to find help now.” He sped up. He was nearly carrying Alistair now.
Alistair struggled to keep his eyes open while his father dragged him through the forest. They came to a small, clear stream.
Dalibor filled their water skins and Alistair drank his fill, thankful for the rest.
Alistair splashed water on his face and side. The cold water brought some relief from the searing pain.
Then, Dalibor froze. He held his finger to his lips. He rose slowly to his feet and whispered. “We need to move. Now. Hurry, and be as quiet as you can.”
As they hurried away, Alistair searched the surrounding trees. Then he heard padded feet behind him.
They were being followed.
Alistair saw flashes of black and glints of red as they ran. He stumbled along as quickly as he could, but soon, the gleaming red eyes and deep black coats closed in. Alistair panicked. He looked at his father.
Dalibor pointed ahead at a large rock formation. “Over there!”
Alistair ran with all the strength he had left. Feet pounded the ground just behind him.
Finally, they made it to the rocks and scrambled to the top.
Dalibor grabbed a large rock nearby and lifted it over his head.
Alistair pulled the old ax head from his belt and frantically sharpened his crutch into a crude spear.
Dalibor and Alistair stood back-to-back as a ferocious pack of wolves climbed after them.
Alistair glanced over his shoulder. A massive, black wolf sprang over the rock’s edge, its teeth bared in a vicious snarl, its sharp claws extended. The beast sprinted forward.
Dalibor let out a mad s
hout and brought the massive rock in his hands down on the wolf’s head with a sickening thud.
The forest erupted with barks, snarls, and howls. Dalibor and Alistair watched in despair as dozens of huge, black wolves swarmed the rock structure.
Dalibor pulled a small hunting knife from his belt. The wolves scrambled up the rocks, and one leaped in front of Alistair.
Fear took hold of him. He stumbled backward. The wolf pounced. Alistair lifted his spear and squeezed his eyes shut. He heard a whimper and opened his eyes. His spear was lodged in the wolf’s shoulder.
The wolf snapped and snarled, spewing saliva on Alistair’s face.
Fear spread through him and his heart pounded in his ears. He knew this fear from the day he watched his mother die. It was the fear he hated. Alistair pictured her face, warm and vibrant. Then he thought of her cold. Hatred boiled within him and numbed away his fear. Alistair screamed and drove the spear forward, ignoring the pain in his side. He struggled to his feet and drove the spear further.
The snarling wolf on the end gnashed its teeth wildly.
Alistair gathered hatred and rage and put all his strength behind the spear. The wolf reached the rock’s edge, and with one final shove, Alistair sent it careening to the forest floor.
Alistair retreated to his father who was yanking his knife out of another wolf. They pressed their backs together again in the center of the topmost boulder as more bristling wolves emerged. They were surrounded. The ring of bared teeth closed in.
“I love you, Alistair,” Dalibor said.
Alistair breathed in deep. He felt powerful. He welcomed the wolves. His hate was not yet sated. He gripped his spear and chose his next target.
Alistair’s eyes met the gleaming, red eyes of another wolf.
The wolf sprinted forward.
Alistair’s pace quickened as fear threatened to creep back into his heart. He thought about the darkness that ruined his life. He forced himself to picture the Fallen Army that destroyed his home, and their leader Alvah. He remembered the sound of necks breaking in his hands. He stared into the face of the Fallen scout that murdered his mother. The hatred ignited and flowed through him. It moved him. It drove him forward as he sprinted at the oncoming wolf. He poured all his fury onto that wolf and wanted nothing in the world more than to slaughter it. He raised his crude spear but was denied the chance to kill again.
