by T. D. Steitz
Alistair’s anxiety grew. He wanted to get out, but the fog hadn’t cleared yet. There was nothing left to do but wait. Alistair sat on the dirty floor with his back to the great, stone tables.
Matana lay on the floor beside him.
The wind began to howl outside. The sound made Alistair’s skin crawl as it blew through the graveyard. For a moment, Alistair thought he heard a voice in the howl.
“Tooo the ooonnee who beeeaaarss…”
Alistair held his breath. “I must have imagined it,” he convinced himself. The strong wind grew louder. Alistair heard the voice again.
“The maaarrk…”
This time Alistair was sure of what he’d heard. He stepped outside and panic flooded his mind. There was no wind.
Alistair darted back inside the mausoleum. His heart raced. He gripped his staff tight. The howling grew, calling out to him.
“The Marked One, The Marked One, The Marked One,” the raspy wail drowned out even Matana’s deep growl. Then, it stopped. There was silence.
Alistair flinched when the voice returned; not as a howl, but as a whisper; a haunting, shadowy whisper. “Do you hear me, Marked One?”
Alistair shook his head, hoping beyond hope that the voice was in his mind.
“You and I have unfinished business. You didn’t think I would let you go, did you?”
Calamity’s voice made Alistair sick.
Matana’s spine bristled.
Alistair was terrified, but he tried not to show Calamity his fear. “You are right to call me Marked One,” Alistair said shakily. “The mark I bear is Ardent’s power; the power you can’t seem to defeat.” Alistair’s courage grew and his eyes began to glow as he spoke. “Why are you here?!” He shouted.
Calamity’s wicked chuckle echoed through the tomb. “Hahaha… Do you think you can shine your eyes at me, and I will run?” His voice swirled around Alistair. “Have you not learned that there is nowhere in my world that you can hide from me? That you belong to me?! You wish to know why I’ve come, and I will show you. But first, I want you to understand that Ardent is no friend of yours. If he were, he would have left you alone. When he marked you, he marked you for death, and I am death’s Lord!”
The caskets in front of Alistair trembled and their stone lids were ripped apart with a sound like boulders ground to dust. Alistair peered cautiously inside as tendrils of black smoke rushed over his shoulder and into the prone bodies.
The corpses arched their backs and sat up.
Alistair jumped back. The bodies stared at him curiously, without moving, and Alistair considered their decayed faces. They weren’t breathing. For some reason, Alistair expected them to be breathing. But these things weren’t alive. They were puppets. Calamity was their master.
One corpse started to smile. The smile grew as the corpse opened its mouth wider and wider until its jaws dislocated with a gruesome crack. Then it released an ear-splitting scream from behind its gaping hole of a mouth.
Alistair dropped to his knees and pressed his hands tightly over his ears.
The other three corpses leaped from their caskets and scurried up the walls.
“We have to go! We have to go right now!” Alistair screamed. He and Matana sprinted out of the mausoleum and scrambled blindly through the dense fog. The screams and wails of the reanimated dead echoed from deep in the mist all around them. Alistair’s eyes burned white-hot as Ardent’s power welled up in him. He twirled his shining staff overhead, and the fog cleared. Now he could see the horrific scene that surrounded them. Calamity had created an army of the dead.
The corpses that weren’t facing Alistair spun their heads around to face him. They sprinted towards him and Matana faster than any human could move and trampled each other in their mad scramble.
The possessed bodies closed in, and Calamity’s voice rang out through the trees. “Hahahaha! You seem surprised Marked One! Did I not say that I am death’s Lord?! Is it so shocking that I would wield it as my weapon?”
Matana roared and fought back the rotting horde.
Alistair stood with his back to her. His staff shone brightly as he swung it back and forth, beating back the undead. Jets of fire consumed many, but many more took their place. They couldn’t hold them off.
“Matana!” Alistair cried when he turned to see her struggling beneath a growing pile of bodies clawing and biting her. Alistair tried to free her, and the corpses turned on him. He collapsed under their weight and cried out in pain as jagged teeth sank into his shoulder, thigh, and side.
Alistair felt his heart fill with Ardent. His pupils cracked, and Ardent’s white light burst out of them. The monsters ripping into him howled and retreated from the light. Alistair held his staff tightly as it lifted him out of their midst. He landed on his feet beside Matana.
The corpses were recovering.
“Run!” Alistair yelled. He and Matana fled, but the dead were gaining on them. Alistair’s wounds slowed him down.
Matana saw him lagging and crouched down so he could pull himself onto her back. She grimaced and whimpered as his body slid across her wounds.
Matana sprinted forward despite the pain, with Alistair on her back, plowing through the corpses attempting to cut them off.
Alistair swung his staff back and forth and left a trail of broken bodies behind them.
The corpses snapped their broken bones back together and resumed the chase.
The sickly forest began to thicken, and branches stretched across their path. Matana broke through them, but they slowed her down. The branches got thicker and grew into interweaving brambles. Matana scrambled to navigate through the dense growth. The dead pursuing them scattered through the branches like insects. They were closing in.
Alistair slid off Matana’s back and tried to help her through the brambles, but there was no time. He and Matana spun around to meet the wave of corpses head-on. Alistair twirled his staff, his eyes ablaze. Matana bared her teeth and her roar echoed through the trees. The sea of dead faces, contorted in shrieks and snarls, descended on them.
Then, the wave smashed into a wall of white fire.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. Three more walls appeared around Alistair and Matana. The walls seemed to sway as their fire danced and swirled. They were safe.
The dead scrambled around the walls, trying to find a way in. They screamed with rage and slammed their bodies against them, but the walls did not budge.
Alistair stared in wonder at the barricade around them. It hadn’t come from him. He watched the rabid corpses pound on the walls, but he couldn’t hear them. It was like another world within the bright walls.
Hours passed.
The dead lay in broken piles around the fiery walls they smashed themselves against.
Alistair sat on the ground waiting.
Matana paced around the perimeter of the walls, never letting her guard down.
“Matana, it’s alright,” Alistair said. “Come here. Rest.”
Matana was reluctant to walk away from the looming threat just beyond the walls, but she too was exhausted and in pain. She walked over to Alistair slowly, and gently lowered herself beside him to lick her wounds. She stopped like she’d remembered something and scooted close to Alistair. She nuzzled her head underneath his hand and laid there, staring up at him. She was asking him to heal her again.
Alistair tried to. He tried to focus; to force Ardent’s power through his hand and into her, but nothing happened. “I'm so sorry girl,” Alistair whispered. “It doesn’t work that way. I am a servant of the light. It’s not mine to command.”
Matana closed her eyes.
“Try to get some sleep.”
Moments later, her body was rising and falling with deep breaths.
Alistair envied her sleep, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the writhing sea of dead around him. If the walls of fire failed, even for a moment, the corpses would be on them in an instant.
Alistair panicked and forced his eyes open. He
had dozed off, but for how long? He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the walls of fire still standing tall around him. Then he saw something that wasn’t there before. There was a light in the distance. The light drew nearer, and as it did, Alistair could see that its source was a man. He smiled and shook Matana gently. “Matana, wake up. Look.” Alistair pointed towards the light figure approaching. “That’s the one I was telling you about. That’s Ardent. You’re not going to want to miss this. It’s always amazing when he appears.”
Ardent walked towards them with long, strong strides. As he approached, the dead lowered their heads and backed away in terror. Ardent paid no attention to them. His focus was on Alistair. He reached the wall of fire, and it yielded to him. The fire parted, and Ardent passed through. The dead didn’t dare follow, and the fire sealed itself behind him.
Ardent sat beside Alistair. The warm light emanating from him washed over Alistair and soothed his exhaustion and pain. There was much Alistair wanted to say to Ardent, but he wasn’t sure how. So, they sat in silence.
“Alistair,” Ardent finally said. “Do you know why death is so powerful?”
Alistair didn’t answer.
“Death is an abomination. It is the corruption of everything I am, and it is Calamity’s strongest weapon because it is final. That is why you are afraid as you sit here surrounded by it.”
Alistair didn’t bother arguing. He couldn’t hide from Ardent. “Yes, I’m afraid,” he whispered. “I’m afraid to die. Isn’t everyone?”
“Yes,” Ardent replied. “Death is the cost of your choice to welcome darkness into the world. You have good reason to fear it, but one day, I will give you a reason not to. The price for humanity’s choice will be paid, and death’s power over you will be gone.”
Even after all he’d seen, Alistair found this hard to believe.
“Look at me, Alistair,” Ardent said.
Alistair did.
“I will not force you to continue this journey. If you choose to, I will let you walk away. It is the safer choice.”
Alistair thought in silence.
Ardent reached over with his bright, shining hand, took Alistair’s, and held it palm up in his own.
A large flame erupted in the center of Alistair’s hand, right over his scar. Alistair flinched but felt no pain.
“Tell me something, Alistair,” Ardent said warmly. “Have you ever looked at a fire and thought it was safe?”
“No,” Alistair replied.
“Yet, you still huddle up close to it against the night’s cold. Why do you think that is?” Ardent asked.
Alistair gazed into the fire in his hand and thought about the question. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
Ardent smiled. “It is because your heart knows the difference between what is safe, and what is good.” Ardent released Alistair’s hand, and the flame disappeared. “It’s time to make a decision. You can press on with me, or you can walk away.”
Alistair turned toward him. “If you’re with me, I will go on.”
“Do not answer lightly,” Ardent warned. “When I go, these walls will fall. Are you ready to accept it if my will is for you to die here today?”
Alistair glanced at the walls of fire keeping the dead at bay and took a long look at the rotting corpses violently thrashing and gnashing their teeth. He slowly realized what Ardent was offering him here; the chance to be fearless. It was the chance to trust in something bigger, no matter the outcome.
“Sometimes I remember what it was like before,” Alistair said softly. “When I think about my life before you saved me from the darkness within me, I know that I can never go back. If I walked away now, where would I go? There is no life for me away from you.”
Ardent smiled.
“Whatever happens,” Alistair added, “will you stay with me?” Ardent’s shining silhouette shrank into a small sphere that rushed into Alistair’s heart. A whisper permeated him.
“Never doubt this, Alistair. I am always here.”
Alistair clung to the promise as the walls around him faded and disappeared.
The corpses rushed in.
Matana let out a deafening roar.
Alistair breathed deep, and they attacked the horde head-on. Fire lit up the darkness as the Marked One stood against death. He fought with deadly, righteous fury. Inhale, exhale. Alistair’s breath echoed through his head, offering him peace and focus. He was a whirlwind, smashing the corpses back into the ground. His eyes shone like the sun. He was a weapon of the light. His staff flashed back and forth like lightning, and his enemies flew away in droves to the sound of thunder.
Alistair and Matana were surrounded by a wall of defeated corpses. The dead still coming in scaled the piles and leaped down on them from above.
Matana snatched them from the air.
Alistair sent volleys at them. The fire consumed them all. Then, it was quiet.
They stood ready for more, but none came. After a long silence, a blast of light shot from Alistair’s staff, into the walls of the dead. The fire spread and devoured every broken bone, every bit of rotting flesh until every trace of death was gone.
Matana prodded over to Alistair.
Alistair shook his head and chuckled. “Well, I did tell you,” he said, patting her back. “It’s always amazing when he appears.”
The next day Alistair and Matana walked through the last remnants of the forest. The woods had thinned to an occasional, scraggly tree, and scattered tufts of dead grass. Then they reached it; the jagged line in Terrene marking the transition from life to death; the border of the Shadow Lands.
“Well,” Alistair said with a tremor in his voice. “This is it. There’s no turning back now.” He took a deep breath and stepped across the line.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Forest and South Unite
Dust drifted from the dark sky like snow. Where tall, vibrant trees had once stood, only twisted skeletons remained. Their strength and life, torn away, floated to the black ground.
“This was your home?” Jacosa asked.
“Yes,” Amani answered sadly. “I, I can’t believe it’s gone.” She bent down and picked up a pile of black dust. “Everything we built, everything we fought for, it’s gone.”
The destruction around her laid a heavy sadness on Jacosa. She had seen this before. When she was a child, she had cried all night in a place that looked just like this. Jacosa put a kind hand on Amani’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me too,” Amani replied. “We just need to find them.”
Jacosa and Amani sat mounted on Sitara and Flyta at the head of a long caravan that snaked through the ghoulish trees. They were on a mission to bring much-needed aid from the Southern Villages to the Forest Clan. They had been traveling for weeks and had reached the end of the known road.
“Wymond said they would travel West from here,” Amani said. “They will have gone deep into the unexplored forest. That’s our best chance of finding them.”
If they found the Forest Clan, Jacosa would serve as the Southern peoples’ representative in the coming alliance. However, Jacosa also had a mission of her own; Ardent. The legend Amani had spoken of, the one about the great force of light named Ardent, answered so many questions. She yearned to learn more about him, and the Forest Clan was where she’d start. The feeling in Jacosa’s heart was a complex blend of sadness and excitement.
Her sadness remained throughout the following days. Even after they’d passed beyond the Forest Clan’s desecrated treetop village. The forest continued to grow cold and sickly. Jacosa had always imagined the woods as endless ranks of ancient, watchful giants. But these trees were bent and dying, like slaves to their dark surroundings. She was eager to find the Forest Clan. She envisioned vast halls and ornate dwellings in the heights of the forest canopy where a mighty people stood strong in defiance of the cold darkness around them.
“Stop!”
Three archers appeared in the trees, ready to release thei
r arrows on the caravan.
“Drop your weapons and go back the way you came!” The leader shouted.
A handful of armed warriors shuffled forward across the dead forest floor.
Amani slid off her horse and stepped toward them. “We are not your enemies,” she assured them. “I am Amani, Lord Wymond’s advisor. We’re here to help. He sent me to seek an alliance with the Southern Villages. Please, tell him I’ve returned.”
The archers lowered their bows as a coughing fit fell on one of the Forest Clan fighters, a young girl. The girl bent over, struggling to hold herself up with an ax that was too big.
Amani ran forward to help the girl as she slumped to the ground. Jacosa helped hoist the girl onto Flyta as Amani turned back to the archer in the tree. “Please, take us to Wymond.”
He nodded. “Follow us.”
The caravan followed him through the thin woods, to the Forest Clan.
They stopped in the center of a ring of rickety shacks built in the mud on the forest floor. Columns of graves lay beyond the shacks. There were more resting places for the dead than the living. Men dug graves in anticipation of their need, and everywhere Jacosa looked, people coughed and moaned in misery.
One of the Forest Clan soldiers ran to a nearby shack and shouted into the doorway. “My Lord, Amani has returned!” The soldier hurried back; followed closely by a tired, but powerful man that walked straight to Amani.
“Amani,” he said warmly, “it lifts my spirits to see you alive.” He embraced her.
“It is good to be back,” Amani said, looking around sadly. “We’ve brought food, hides, and medicine from the Southern Villages. They come from Sakina; Yetta of the Southern people; our new ally.”
Wymond smiled.
Dozens of people, Forest Clan and Southern, began stripping provisions from the wagons.
“Take care of the sickest first,” Wymond ordered, and then turned back to Amani. “Where is Captain Conall?”
Her eyes drooped. She knew that Wymond and the Captain were close. “The Captain gave his life to save ours,” she said solemnly. “It is only because of him and his men, that we have returned at all.”
