by T. D. Steitz
On one wall he read: “He had given them the power to choose him, and the power to reject him.” And, “he loved them and wanted them to love and trust him back, but without choice, there is no love.”
On another wall, Alistair read: “They had chosen death over life.”
On the ceiling above him, Alistair read the words “Do not forget who you are. An intense struggle for the light in your souls is about to begin, but I promise you this; I will not let the darkness consume you. I will return and bring freedom with me.”
On the back wall of the cave were only three words. “Do not forget.” Just below the words, burning bright and unwavering, was the great, white flame.
Alistair thought about what the voice had said. “You want to know me?! Then step into the fire!” He stepped toward the flames. He knew the time had come to take a step somewhere. It was this step or the step at the edge of the cliff.
“I’m so proud of you, Alistair.”
Alistair spun around but he couldn’t process what his eyes were seeing. “Mom?”
Layla smiled. She looked so young and vibrant in her white dress. She had a beautiful yellow flower tucked behind her ear.
Alistair’s voice caught in his chest. “Am… Am I dreaming?”
Layla laughed. “No, Alistair.”
“But you're not here, are you?” He asked.
“Yes, and no,” Layla replied. “I'm not on Terrene, but I'm not gone. Your understanding of what is real is about to change.”
“I’m so sorry,” Alistair said, as he walked towards his mother. “I’ve made so many horrible mistakes. You must be so ashamed of me.”
“Alistair, I love you. There is nothing you could do to make me ashamed of you.”
Alistair found himself kneeling on the floor in front of his mother. “I don’t know what to do, Mom. I feel so lost. Please, help me. Tell me what to do.”
Layla knelt beside her son and looked at him with nothing but love in her eyes. “Alistair, you know what to do. Ardent loves you more fully and unconditionally than even I can. He is the answer, my sweet little boy. Trust him.”
Alistair raised his head, but his mother was gone. He dried his eyes and stood slowly to stare at the giant flame before him. He walked forward and raised his hand. His deep scar flickered in the light. Alistair stretched his hand towards the fire. The heat burned him. Alistair staggered back. His chest heaved as he breathed deeply. “Alright,” he whispered, “I trust you.” Alistair closed his eyes, braced his feet against the stone floor, and threw himself into the white flame.
Alistair’s body hit the flame and he felt himself get sucked into the blaze. He was yanked off his feet and suspended inside the white fire. Flames whipped around him. He had lost all control, but Alistair found that he loved the feeling. The fire burned his skin, but the pain was a different kind than any he had felt before. It felt like hatred and shame were being burned away. He cried out, and the flames rushed into his body. The cleansing fire burned inside him and consumed all the suffering, heartache, rage, and sorrow. He felt new and clean. He felt alive. The fire inside him had ignited hope that he had not known since he was a child. The burning pain faded away, and Alistair started to laugh. There was no real reason for it, but Alistair felt lighter and more alive than he ever had. So, the laughter burst forth. Joy filled his heart and when he felt Ardent’s voice booming around him again, he welcomed it like the warm embrace of a father.
“Alistair, I have missed you so much.”
Alistair felt like his heart might burst. “I’ve missed you too.” He didn’t know how the words could be true, but they were. “I feel… I feel like I’m home again.”
He could hear the smile in Ardent’s voice. “You are, Alistair, you’re home. There’s something I’d like to show you.”
Alistair’s eyes snapped open and the swirling flames surrounding him parted to reveal a familiar scene.
“I want you to see what I see, what I've always seen when I look at you,”
Alistair stared into the fire’s void. He saw a small cottage and a barn sitting among green fields. It was the Valley of Plenty. Alistair watched as a little boy ran out of the cottage. Alistair grinned. It was him. Alistair didn’t feel the way he expected as he gazed upon his past. He expected to feel happy and nostalgic. Instead, as he watched the boy run around giggling, he felt an immense sense of pride. He felt like this boy’s love for life was a love for him, even if the boy didn’t fully understand it. He loved this boy more than he could ever express. He was seeing things through Ardent’s eyes; feeling what he felt. It was strange and wonderful.
Then the scene before Alistair changed. It was nighttime. His heart sank. He watched Alvah’s Fallen army pour into the Valley of Plenty. He saw the faces of the Fallen soldiers, and his heart reached out to them. He was not angry at them. His heart was heavy for them. The scene sped through the night. Alistair saw the boy again. He was older now. Alistair saw him hiding in the barn. He was about to run. His father waited for him across the fields. His mother sat behind him. The boy ran. Alistair wanted to look away, but he loved the boy too much. He watched as a Fallen scout snuck up behind the boy’s mother. He knew what was coming. He felt an overwhelming sadness. Alistair’s heart broke as the boy that ran, giggling, in the sun, held his dying mother's hand. Great, bright tears rolled from Alistair's eyes. “It's alright,” he whispered.
The boy didn’t hear him.
“It’s alright. Don’t be afraid. I’m right here. I love you so much, and I’m right here.”
The scene changed again. The boy was a man now. He was kneeling in black dirt, weeping over the dead woman in his arms.
Alistair wept. He knew the man’s pain, even his thoughts. “It’s alright!” Alistair shouted between sobs. “You are not a lost cause! You have only forgotten who you are! Please, come back to me! I'm right here!” The scene faded slowly.
The man was back. He was laying on the stone floor of a cave with tears pouring from his eyes. The man rose to his feet and looked at Alistair with a glimmer of hope.
“Yes!” Alistair shouted as he watched the man. “Yes! That’s it! I’m right here!”
The man braced his feet against the floor and sprinted towards Alistair.
Alistair opened his arms wide. “I’m right here!”
The scene disappeared.
Alistair wiped the tears from his face. His thoughts and feelings were his again. He raised his head. The flames around him rushed together to form the silhouette of a tall man, with his arms open wide.
Alistair smiled wide as the figure spoke.
“I’m right here, Alistair.”
Alistair ran into his arms.
“I’m so sorry, Ardent! How could I forget you?”
“It's alright,” Ardent replied and squeezed him tight. “I’ve missed you so much. There is so much I have planned for you. I’m taking back my world. I want you to be a part of it.”
“I don't want to leave this place,” Alistair said.
Ardent laughed. “I know. But I will go with you from here. My presence and my strength are yours now. When you leave here, you will learn to turn to me in your time of need. You will learn to trust my guidance. You are mine again.”
Alistair opened his eyes. He was back inside the swirling, white flame. Ardent’s silhouette was gone, but Alistair felt his strong presence within him. The fire lowered him gently back to the cave floor. Courage filled him. He was a new man. He had a purpose. He stepped away from the white flame and towards the mountain’s calming storm.
Alistair passed by the buckets of water on the cave floor. He glanced at the water’s clear surface and saw his reflection. A flash of lightning lit up the cave, and in the light, he saw his eyes. They weren’t the weary ones Alistair expected to see. His pupils began to crack, and everywhere his eyes split, bright, pale light, burst forth.
Chapter Fifteen
Harvesting
Wybert hit the stone floor and the air rushed f
rom his lungs. The steel door slammed shut behind him as he struggled to catch his breath. He tried to stand, but the cell spun around him.
Wybert had been a prisoner in the dungeons of Malum for nearly six months, but to him, it had been a lifetime. Wybert and the other prisoners never saw the sky. Day and night blurred together. Most of the prisoners could rest in between harvestings so they would have the strength necessary to yield maximum pain. However, by Alvah’s orders, Wybert was only given enough rest to keep him alive.
The tattered remnants of his clothes clung to Wybert’s sweat-drenched body. Screams of agony filled the air as they always did. The noise faded away as Wybert’s head dropped down against the cold rock, and he fell out of consciousness.
Harvesting was a process of Calamity’s design. He gave power to the Harvesters that allowed them to inflict physical and mental torture on their victims. The Harvesters were skilled at customizing their tactics to maximize a person’s torment. The harvest chambers collected the fear and pain energy from each tortured person so that it could be released across the Shadow Lands in the form of toxic fumes. The toxins fed Calamity’s forces and destroyed everything else. The fear and pain also increased Calamity’s power which he could manipulate into monstrous beasts with no life or soul. Soon, he would flood the world with darkness.
Wybert gasped as a bucket of cold sludge hit his body.
“It’s time to go again.” The Harvester smiled wide.
Wybert had no strength to fight the Fallen guards that dragged him from his cell. Tears slid from his eyes and dripped silently on the rock corridor moving past his face. The guards threw him inside an empty harvest stall. His body was sucked in and suspended in the air as it crossed the threshold.
Wybert twisted slowly as the Harvesters bustled around him. Black tubes with sharp hooks spiraling from the ends descended. The Harvesters hooked them into his body; one in each thigh, one in each forearm, and one in his chest. The process was extremely painful, but Wybert did not cry out. He had grown numb to this kind of pain, and he knew that what followed would be much worse. The Harvesters stepped back and flipped a switch to release the toxin into him.
Every nerve in Wybert’s body exploded with pain. His eyes snapped open, and his screams echoed along the chamber to join the endless chorus of cries. He could feel the toxin spreading through his body. Soon, it would trap him inside his head and force him to hallucinate his worst fears. Wybert’s screams continued, but he couldn’t hear them anymore. He saw a great flash of red, and then found himself standing again. He was in his mind.
A wispy layer of fog covered the ground. Wybert’s feet carried him along a path, despite his objections. Sweat dripped down his face as he dreaded the horrors he would soon face. He was afraid to look around and afraid not to. In the past months, his mind had been transformed into a tortured wasteland he longed to escape.
Wybert heard the distant sound of evil laughter. He clenched his eyes and tried to steady his pounding heart. The laughter grew until it echoed all around him. Wybert dropped to the ground and pressed his hands against his ears, begging the laughter to stop. He felt a warm liquid run down his face and neck. He ripped his hand away and watched the skin split around his wrist. His hand disappeared in the fog around his feet.
The maniacal laughter rang through the air.
Wybert screamed, but he couldn’t drown out the sound. He screamed until his throat was raw, but he couldn’t escape it. Wybert struggled to his feet and ran, but the wretched voice followed him. Then Wybert’s stomach dropped as the ground crumbled beneath him.
Wybert fell through emptiness until his body slammed into the ground. He felt the pain of his bones breaking, but his torture was in his mind, so the hope of death was gone. Wybert groaned and rolled to his side. Light surrounded him and he discovered soft, green grass beneath him. He pushed himself to his feet and looked around. He was standing in the middle of a luscious meadow.
Behind him, Wybert heard a sweet sound. He turned to see a young girl, no more than six years old, singing beautifully. He stood still and breathed in her lovely song.
She started to twirl and dance, paying no attention to Wybert. Her golden-blonde hair was tied in pigtails with bright, pink ribbons. It bounced and twisted as she danced in the bright sun.
Wybert cleared his throat. “Hello.”
The girl stopped dancing and singing and turned to face him with a huge grin across her face. “Hi!” She shouted and waved.
Wybert waved back.
With the smile still on her face, she started twirling and singing again.
Movement caught Wybert’s eye. The outskirts of the meadow were growing dark. The shadows were closing in around the happy, little girl. The warm, sunny space she danced in was shrinking. Panic gripped Wybert’s heart. She didn’t know. He had to warn her. He had to save her.
Wybert tried to cry out, but he had no voice. He strained with all his might, but he couldn’t raise his voice above a whisper. “Run! Get out of there!”
She couldn’t hear him. Thick, black vines covered in large, curved thorns sprang from the shadows around her.
“No!” Wybert croaked helplessly. He ran forward. He had to get to her. The towering vines descended on her. He was almost there. He might make it to her in time. Then he hit the ground with a thud. His legs were tangled in vines. The vines tightened and their thorns dug into his legs. He tried to free himself, but he couldn’t. More vines attacked him and pinned him to the ground. Blood dripped from the thorn wounds all over him. He couldn’t move; all he could do was watch the vines wrap themselves around the little girl.
The vines squeezed her arms and legs until she couldn’t dance anymore. Wybert could see the fear in her eyes, but she continued to sing even as she struggled to free herself. Very slowly, another vine crept up her back and wrapped around her neck. The vine tightened and silenced her song. Her eyes bulged with fear, and she stared at Wybert. Her gaze pleaded with him to help her.
Wybert writhed and thrashed with all his might, but he could not free himself. His voice returned, so he spoke to the frightened little girl trapped in wicked coils. “It’s going to be ok.” He said to her.
Tears rolled silently down her cheeks.
“Don’t be afraid. It’s going to be okay.” Wybert did not believe the words coming from his mouth, but he didn’t know what else to say to her. It was not going to be okay. How could it ever be okay? He begged the dark sky. “Please, let her go! You can keep me. Do whatever you want to me! Just let her go!”
The vines released him.
Wybert leaped to his feet and sprinted to free the girl, but just as he was about to reach her, she disappeared. The vines withered away. Wybert dropped to his knees in the pile of scorched, dead vines. His heart burned with sorrow. The little girl’s terrified face was etched in his mind. His head slumped to his chest and he saw, among the thorns, a dusty, pink ribbon. Wybert picked it up, and his tears soaked it. He squeezed his fist around it and walked away from the wretched place.
Each step Wybert took was an incredible burden. He pressed on through the wasteland of his fears because he was afraid to stop. He lifted his foot to take another step and when his leg came down, it was buried in snow.
Fierce, cold wind stung Wybert’s face. His hair and beard whipped around wildly. Massive snowdrifts and gray skies were all he could see in every direction. He used his thick arms to dig a swathe through the snow and trudged forward. Eventually, he came to a place where the snow was flat and hard. The wind died down. Wybert caught his breath and as he wondered what to do next, he felt a tingling pain in his chest.
The pain was like a small bolt of lightning in his heart. The shock grew and a trail of energy rose from Wybert’s chest and turned into a young boy.
The boy looked around, scared. His little body shivered as he tried to warm himself.
Wybert was about to ask the boy where he came from when he had a strange realization. “Are you… me?”
> The child’s eyes darted back and forth. “I’m a part of you,” he replied. “It’s cold, and scary here. Are you scared?”
Wybert’s heart caught in his chest. “Yes, I am scared.”
The boy walked over to Wybert and patted him gently on the leg. “Well don’t be, ya know why?”
“Why?” Wybert asked.
The boy eagerly beckoned him to kneel beside him.
Wybert did, and the boy whispered in his ear. “Ardent will come and save us.”
Wybert’s heart ached with sadness as he looked into the boy’s hopeful eyes.
The shocking pain returned to Wybert, this time in his back. The trail of energy produced a warrior; a large, strong man wearing thick leather armor, and wielding a massive battle-ax with one powerful hand. Again, Wybert realized that this man was a piece of himself.
The warrior nodded at him.
The electricity hit Wybert again, and another energy trail emerged from his hand. The energy from his hand produced a young, simple gardener. Another shock and a ruler on his throne emerged from Wybert’s gut. Wybert stared at the two newest parts of himself.
The gardener looked unnerved by the barren wasteland around him. Wybert understood that the gardener wanted to grow things; to surround himself with life, and beauty.
The ruler, Wybert could tell, was a kind and gracious one, and wanted the best for his people.
Wybert gasped when the painful shock struck his lips. The dark energy produced a woman.
The woman was vibrant and beautiful. Her warm skin became pale and clammy as she stood in the cold.
Wybert saw her and longed to hold her. He wanted nothing more than to warm her and show her how loved she was. She was the part of himself that yearned to share true love with a woman. Wybert stepped towards her, and his feet exploded with static pain. He stumbled to his knees and watched a wanderer materialize before him.
