by T. D. Steitz
The wanderer was an old man. His shoulders were hunched, and his skin was leathery, but he had obvious strength in his heart.
One final shock erupted in Wybert’s head, and he collapsed in the snow. When the pain subsided, Wybert lifted his eyes to see that a poet had joined the growing circle.
This last piece of Wybert was a young man, drawn to loveliness. He was someone who sought out beauty even in the ugliest places of the world. He wanted to share the story all around them with others, the story he was part of.
Wybert stood slowly and looked around at all the gathered pieces of himself. “Why are you all here?” He asked.
The voice that responded did not belong to any of them. It bubbled up from the ground and echoed through the air. It was a voice Wybert had become familiar with, but it still sent a dreadful chill up his spine. “They are here because of you, Wybert,” Calamity roared. “I want you to watch them die as I rip you apart!”
Wybert’s face fell as fear, anger, and defiance spread across the faces around him. Wybert’s mind raced as he searched for any possible way out, but he knew there was no escape. This was his torture; to be trapped in his mind and forced to endure pain and terrors he didn’t even know he had. There was no way out. Wybert looked around the circle, into the eyes of each person there.
He stared into the proud eyes of the ruler, the gentle eyes of the gardener, the lovely eyes of the woman, the steely eyes of the warrior, the expectant eyes of the wanderer, the hopeful eyes of the poet, and the innocent eyes of the little boy. “I… I am so sorry.” He whispered through the crushing sadness in his heart.
“Let him come!” The warrior shouted, with his battle-ax ready. “I will…” His words were cut off. He put a hand to his throat. His ax hit the ground as he fell to his knees and clawed for breath in silent agony. His blood-shot eyes darted to Wybert one last time before he dropped dead in the snow.
Wybert screamed in pain and lurched forward. The flesh across his back split open, leaving a gaping hole with black, putrid smoke leaking out.
Wybert struggled to lift his head, only to see the pieces of himself falling one by one.
The ruler slumped in his throne.
The poet and gardener thrashed on the ground.
The beautiful, young woman pleaded with him. “Wybert, please help us.”
Wybert struggled to his feet. Desperate to get to her. “Hold on! I’m coming!”
She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Horror flooded her face, and she grasped her throat.
“No!” Wybert screamed. Pain exploded up his legs from the holes being torn in his feet as the wanderer ceased his flailing. Wybert fell but kept dragging himself towards the woman.
The gardener succumbed to death and a hole ripped through the back of Wybert’s hand. He strained to see through the black smoke seeping from his wounds.
The ruler’s eyes went dark, and he collapsed in the snow in front of his throne.
A hole tore out of Wybert’s stomach. He screamed in pain and fought to keep his eyes clear. His head swam when a hole burst out of his temple, signaling the poet’s end. He heard a thud beside him as the woman, his desire to love, collapsed in the snow.
With the last remnants of her life, she stretched her hand out to Wybert.
He slid his wounded, trembling hand toward her and gently stroked her fingers with his. Then through his tears, Wybert watched the light fade from her eyes. His lips became a gaping wound, and black, putrid smoke seeped from them.
Wybert moaned in pain, and a soft voice reached his ears.
“Ardent? Why… Why didn’t you come? I thought you’d come. You said… You said you would…”
Wybert rolled his head to the side so he could see the little boy speaking to the cold air.
“Where did you go? You were supposed to save them. Will you… Will you save me?”
Wybert could hear the boy sniffling, trying not to cry, trying to be brave. Wybert wanted to be with him. He wanted to tell him that everything would be okay. But his body wouldn’t move, and his mouth couldn’t call out to him. Tears streamed from Wybert’s eyes as he squeezed them shut. Then, he heard the boy’s sniffles stop. Wybert let out a scream of rage as a hole appeared in his chest.
All Wybert wanted was to die, but he knew he couldn’t. He would never be allowed the release; not here. Slowly, the white wasteland gave way to darkness.
Wybert lifted his head. His wounds were gone, but the air around him was still alarming. He was not free from his mind yet. He stood up. Inky blackness surrounded him. He turned around slowly and found a faint trace of light in the distance.
Wybert stared at the light. He wanted to move towards it, but despair rooted him to the spot. The light continued to beckon until Wybert gave in and staggered toward the glow. As he drew closer, he realized that the light came from a single candle on the dirt floor. A calm voice rose from the small flame. The voice was repeating something familiar to Wybert.
“Long Live the King. Long Live the King. Long Live the King.”
Wybert thought of the book entitled Long Live the King. He remembered the feeling of hope the book had inspired in him. This voice repeating the words did not inspire him in the same way. There was something suspicious about it, and as the voice grew louder, Wybert grew uneasy. He watched the candle flame dance and sway. He breathed in the tendrils of smoke. By now, the repetitive voice was booming, until it suddenly stopped.
Thick, coarse ropes shot out from the darkness beyond the candle and wrapped around Wybert’s arms and legs. The ropes tightened and held Wybert, sprawled out, over the candle. The small, gentle flame exploded into a torrential pillar of fire that engulfed Wybert’s body. Wybert screamed as the foul stench of seared flesh filled the air. No matter how much his skin burned, there was always new skin to replace it. The pain was so overwhelming, that Wybert hardly noticed when the ropes dropped him on his back.
Wybert’s trembling breath slowed, and as his breathing quieted, the voice returned.
“Long Live the King. Long Live the King.”
The ropes around Wybert’s wrists and ankles tightened again, pulling harder and harder until his joints dislocated. The recurring voice reached its loudest level yet.
“Long Live the King!”
Then, it ceased. Wybert’s groans as he hung limp in the air were the only sound. The voice returned, but this time, it was right next to him. The ropes lifted Wybert so he was dangling upright. He watched with horror as Calamity stepped into the flickering candlelight.
He spoke with a thunderous, rocky voice, “Rejoice at the sight of your King!” Calamity grew until he towered high over Wybert. He wrapped his emaciated hands around the ropes binding Wybert’s limp arms and legs and yanked them back and forth. “Dance for your King!”
Pain flooded Wybert as Calamity raised and lowered his useless limbs in a morbid dance.
Calamity laughed over his screams. “What’s the matter? Are you not glad to see your King?” Calamity taunted. “Bow to me, Wybert. Beg me to forgive your insolence!” Calamity slammed Wybert down on the hard ground.
Wybert slumped over his knees.
“There, that’s better,” Calamity whispered.
As he kneeled before Calamity, Wybert’s face rested beside the flickering candle and the new whisper that spoke from its flame. “Don’t be afraid, Wybert. Remember me.”
The candlelight soothed him. He felt courage in his heart. The voice gave him peace. He looked up at Calamity with anger in his eyes.
Calamity lowered his massive head until his wicked sneer was inches from Wybert’s face.
Wybert mustered all the courage and passion he had left to speak in a hoarse voice. “Y- You- are not my King!”
Calamity tilted his head and smiled evilly. “You think you can defy me, boy? I own this world,” he chuckled. “I own you and I want you broken. So, you will break.” Calamity whipped Wybert’s ropes over his head and flung him through the air.
> Wybert crashed through a wall of glass. The shards pierced his body as he crumpled to the floor. Calamity’s voice echoed again from behind him.
“You may withstand the pain in your body, but none withstand me. How strong is your mind?” Calamity laughed. “The bravest ones suffer most from a shattered mind.”
Calamity’s sick grin faded away as giant mirrors surrounded Wybert.
Wybert lifted himself. His arms and legs were no longer dangling uselessly. He felt strength in him again, but also fear of the plans Calamity had for him. Every direction Wybert looked, his own battered face peered back.
Chapter Sixteen
Long Live the King
Wybert stared at his battered face in hundreds of reflections. A labyrinth of mirrors was the newest scene to develop in the prison of his mind. There was something peculiar about one reflection. It began to blur and morph until it became Alvah. Alvah’s face shared Wybert’s horrified look. Wybert lifted his hand to the glass. The reflection followed his movements. He looked closer.
Alvah’s face broke into a wicked smile.
Wybert smashed his fist into the glass, shattering Alvah’s face. But then Alvah’s sneer appeared all around him as each reflection transformed. Wybert panicked. He punched and kicked wildly, smashing every image of Alvah. The broken glass sliced his skin, but he didn’t stop. He punched another reflection and gasped when a large hand came through the glass and caught his fist. The glass rippled as a man stepped through it.
Alvah the Breaker was standing right in front of him.
Wybert stumbled backward as Alvah advanced on him. All around him, more Alvahs sprinted out of their glass panes. Wybert tried to fight them off, but they were everywhere. They hurled themselves at him. He couldn’t move or breathe beneath the crushing weight of the growing pile. They pressed him into the dirt. He felt the ground crumble beneath him. The ground gave way and Wybert fell through darkness. He hit the ground with a resounding thud, and then, only silence.
Wybert rolled to his feet, ready to fight, but he was alone in a dark cave. A drop of sweat fell from his brow and hit the cold, stone floor. The drip echoed through the cavern. He stumbled forward, feeling his way along the cave walls. A pale beam of light appeared before him, revealing a basket of rags. Wybert walked towards the light and froze when he heard muffled cries. It was a baby! He ran to it as its cries grew louder and more pitiful.
Wybert reached for the baby, and the column of cold light disappeared, leaving him to grasp at empty air. Wybert was alone in pitch blackness again. Then, the cold beam of light and the baby returned, further away. The baby’s strained cries filled the cavern and Wybert ran to its aid. But as he reached it, it vanished again. Then, the baby reappeared in the distance.
Over and over, Wybert ran to help the poor baby, and over and over it vanished, only to reappear further away. Desperation took over Wybert’s mind. He would never be able to help this poor, lonely child, but he had to keep trying. The light appeared again. Wybert ran with all his might to the baby’s side, and this time, he made it.
He fell to his knees, reached into the basket, and lifted out the screaming baby before it could disappear again. Just as he did, the light went out.
Wybert and the baby were in darkness.
Wybert bounced the baby gently and hummed the lullabies his mother sang to him when he was a child. Soon the baby quieted down. Wybert smiled at him even though it was too dark for the baby to see. Wybert whispered to him. “That’s it… That’s it. You’re alright. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”
The beam of cold light returned in the distance.
Wybert held the baby tight and stepped cautiously forward as a familiar face appeared in the light. “Buddy? Buddy! Come here, boy!”
The white wolf pup stared at Wybert and didn’t move.
“Buddy? What's wrong?”
Buddy's lips parted in a vicious snarl and he sprinted at Wybert.
“Buddy, no!” Wybert shouted. “Buddy, what are you doing?!” Wybert laid the baby back in his basket and faced the wolf.
Buddy ran past him. He was going for the baby!
“Buddy! Stop!” Wybert shouted as he tackled him to the ground. The two thrashed back and forth on the floor. Buddy was desperate to get to the baby, and Wybert had to stop him. He pleaded with the young wolf. “Buddy, please stop! Please, don’t make me do this! Please!”
Buddy wouldn’t stop.
Wybert heard the baby’s cries again. The sound helped him do what he knew he had to. He pulled Buddy close to him and wrapped his powerful arm around his neck. He squeezed tight. Tears streamed from Wybert’s eyes as the young wolf’s fight diminished. Wybert’s jaw tightened, and the tendons in his neck bulged until Buddy stopped moving.
Wybert sobbed over Buddy’s limp form. He tore his eyes away and crawled back to the basket. He picked up the baby and held him close to his chest. He looked down at the baby’s face, and a thick snake peered back instead.
Wybert’s stomach turned. He dropped the bundle and backed away.
The snake sprang at him and buried its fangs in his neck.
Wybert ripped the snake off and threw it away, but the venom was already spreading through his body. His blood turned black and rigid in his veins. He couldn’t move. He fell against the hard floor beside Buddy. Now he understood. Wybert stared helplessly at his loyal friend, and tears fell from his frozen eyes.
Any defiant strength Wybert had mustered was gone. He was utterly alone. He was defeated. The blackness around him flashed to brightness, and the damp cave floor turned to sand.
The blazing sun beat down on Wybert, lying paralyzed in a scorching desert until his throat was raw and he was desperate for water. Then his paralysis was lifted.
Wybert stumbled towards a shimmer on the horizon. It was water. He fell to his knees at the water’s edge. He cupped his hands, lifted the cool, clear water to his cracked lips and drank deeply. The refreshing water ran down his throat until it turned warm and thick. Wybert fell on all fours and wretched blood into the clear pool.
Wybert cupped his hands again and brought clear water to his lips. Moments later, he spit out blood.
Wybert tried to slake his thirst several more times, more from desperation than hope, but every time the water turned to blood in his mouth.
Wybert quivered with despair and whimpered to the empty air. “Please… Just let me die…” He wasn’t granted the sweet release of death. Instead, the dessert sped past him, and when it stopped, he knew exactly where he was.
Wybert screamed at the sky. “No! Not here! Do you hear me?! Take me somewhere else!”
Nothing happened.
Wybert turned reluctantly to the scene before him; a cozy, log cabin nestled in the Forest. It was just like his father described in his stories. In the window, Wybert could see a woman. She was sitting at a wooden table with her baby.
“Don’t worry, Wybert.” She whispered playfully. “Daddy will be home soon. He went to fight the bad things in the woods, so we stay safe. It’s time for you to go to bed, but Daddy will come say goodnight to you when he gets home.”
Wybert heard a faint growl behind him, and his shoulders drooped. He knew what was coming. He’d imagined it many times. He felt hollow as he watched the woman look outside.
She saw the big, black wolf approaching her house, and disappeared. Wybert knew that she had gone to shut the door of her baby’s bedroom. Then, she grabbed a knife from the kitchen and stood guard behind the door.
The wolf walked right past Wybert. It couldn’t see him.
Wybert saw its red eyes flash in the dying light.
The wolf charged the cabin on swift, silent feet, and threw itself against the door. The door splintered under its weight. Then, it was through.
Wybert covered his ears, but he couldn’t block out the snarls of the wolf, or the woman’s screams. Wybert squeezed his eyes shut when the wolf stepped over her body and went to find the child.
A shout rang
through the trees. “No… No!” The boy’s father drew his sword and rode hard at the wolf.
The wolf spun around and leaped at him, but Wymond thrust his sword deep into it. The wolf hit the ground, dead.
Wymond rushed to his wife’s side.
She whispered urgently with her last, shallow breaths. “Wybert… Get Wybert.”
Wybert was weeping on his knees as he watched his nightmare unfold. Then the scene froze with the baby in the cabin, and Wymond kneeling beside his dying wife.
Wybert wrenched his eyes away. He glanced down and realized he had a shield strapped to his arm, and he gripped an ax in his hand. He heard shouts behind him and turned to see hundreds of Forest Clan soldiers gathered in a large clearing.
One of the soldiers shouted. “My Lord, Wybert, what are your orders?”
Every soldier turned to face him.
Wybert opened his mouth but didn't know what to say as a thick wall of black arrows rose from the horizon and filled the sky.
Only Wybert saw them and he shouted frantically. “Run! Run, or you’re all going to die!”
The soldiers didn’t move. They didn’t understand. The arrows descended.
“Run!” Wybert screamed.
Every soldier hit the dirt, riddled with thick, black arrows. They were gone; snuffed out in an instant. But not Wybert. He survived, and that was the worst torture of all.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he thought. “I should have died with them.” He could not help these soldiers any more than he helped those in the Shadow Lands, so he turned away.
As he turned, a deep rumble came from the field of dead soldiers and three gravestones rose from the ground. Wybert waded through the bodies toward them. One had Ahian’s name carved into it. The other two had Anujah, and Serilda’s. Wybert slid slowly to his knees before the stones and wept. “I am so sorry!” He cried. “I am so sorry! I should have fought harder for you! You shouldn’t be gone! Please… Please forgive me!”
