by Stephan Rogers
Earthquake? It couldn’t be. Not now. Not in the heat of battle.
The sound of steel on steel rang out, as he deflected a blow meant for his face, only to be thrown off his feet by the shaking ground. The sun shone bright and the sky was a clear vibrant blue. Sweat dripped down his forehead, beginning to sting his eyes and cause an unwanted distraction. It was an awkward moment.
“Hold onto your sword,” he told himself. “Just hold onto your sword and everything’s going to be okay.”
Sprawled on his back, sword still in hand, he impaled a would-be assailant. As long as it was a mortal wound it didn’t matter where he hit. This one, much like Bryne himself, had been kind enough not to wear heavy armor.
The weight of the dying body pressed upon him, as he tried desperately to hold onto his weapon. Successfully tossing it to the side, Bryne got to his feet. He smiled to himself.
Still alive, he thought. Bryne, five. Bad guys, zero.
The sounds of fighting were everywhere. A quick glance he took to get his bearings revealed bodies that already littered the battleground. He had to continue to save his own neck. Now was the time to fortify his position.
Suddenly, the earth shook again, catching him off balance and serving as a momentary distraction. So much so, that he never saw the thing that slammed into his side, until it was too late. It was the enemy again. But this time his hand was empty, and so was his confidence. Where was his sword?
A searing pain burned into his side and he realized some ribs must have broken. An abrupt shortness of breath followed, before his sword arm failed as a result of the impact. He quickly found himself on the ground again. Not good. Not good at all.
“Stay focused,” he told himself. Where was the attacker?
Then something lifted him off the ground, with his feet dangling in the air as if he were a child. His weight, supported only by his shoulders, aggravated his complaining ribs and made it hard to focus. Definitely not good.
Get a grip, he thought. There was time enough for idling in the grave. How could anyone be so strong? His mind began to wander again, but he was able to bring it back through sheer strength of will. Focus!
Fetid breath assaulted his nostrils, as a caveman of sorts with wide dark red eyes, came into view. It was covered in a full suit of plate mail, which would only make it harder to kill.
“Prepare to die,” it said, menacingly.
Bryne let out a defiant battle cry in response; screaming and fighting with everything he had left. He punched and kicked at the monstrosity before him to no avail, hitting both metal and flesh. Even when his brutal assault did not faze the beast; when mere men would have fallen. Even when the creature bit into his neck and the whole earth seemed to swallow him up, still, he would not relent. He continued to kick and scream, and punch and fight, until he lost consciousness and darkness found him.
Sometime later he awoke, greatly relieved to still be alive. His opponent, mysteriously decapitated only a few feet from where he sat. Their struggle had apparently put them in a cavern of sorts, with a dim light streaming in from the opening overhead. Trying to get up proved a bit of a chore, as he found himself favoring his right leg.
Bryne processed all of these things as if through a haze.
Alive by the skin of my teeth, he thought. Better that than the alternative.
Struggling with exhaustion and an aching body, he barely managed to climb up the steep hill, leading out to the surface; with black spots floating before his eyes for his efforts. In the light of a setting sun, Bryne saw bodies strewn about, crushed by rocks or landslides; victims of mother nature’s fury, as much as their enemies.
This was the aftermath. He was the silent witness of a historical event, fresh with the blood staining the rocks and the earth. With that realization, his body relented, succumbing to its own weariness, and Bryne’s grip on reality slipped away.
#
Bryne found himself walking along dark rocks in the night, heading towards the sound of the ocean. He didn’t remember how he got there or why he was there. When he could finally see the water it seemed to be all red, which he thought was an odd color, but he didn’t know why. Closer to the shore now, it seemed to ooze more than ebb and flow, and made him think of blood.
It wasn't until he got much closer that he realized that the ocean was filled with dead bodies floating in it, as far as the eye could see. Why had he not seen that before? Something… No! Suddenly, the entire sky itself, seemed to move and coalesce into millions of winged bats with that same red hue; swooping down, in mass, upon the ocean of bodies, feasting and gorging on them.
Horrified and filled with terror, Bryne turned and ran deep in-land, as far and as fast as his legs could carry him. He stumbled and fell along the way, but the bats seemed too engrossed in their appetites to take notice of him. Distracted, he hadn’t noticed the burning sensation that had begun in his ribs, and the side of his neck.
Soon the burning had spread from the wounds he must have gotten falling, to his entire body, building into what felt like fire. The pain pushed out all thought and all but his most primal urges.
“The Ocean…,” he rasped in desperation.
Heedless of the danger, and irrational; he turned back and ran to the ocean like a madman, ready to dive in despite the hungry bats. Stumbling about and falling along the way, he kept running, picking himself up when necessary. The new cuts and scrapes, trivial and forgotten. He had to get into the water at all costs.
Nearly there, he saw one monstrous bat at the coast, feasting almost right next to him before he realized it. The thing was easily as big as a man. Even so close to the salvation of the water, something held him transfixed. There was something eerily familiar about it. And on cue, as if to answer his thoughts, it stopped feasting and turned to look at Bryne.
What he saw poured a freezing-cold draught into his blood, that threatened to put frost into the very veins that carried it. Shocked simultaneously with fear, horror, and loathing; he fell over backwards; his entire body shaking with convulsions, despite his in-vain-attempt to drag himself away. For nothing of his body would respond. And he found himself at the tender mercies of this thing; impotent as a newborn babe.
The creature had sharp razor-like teeth, blood-red eyes, and a feral-monstrous mad hunger that seemed to emanate from it; burned off it, like the fire that burned through Bryne now; but it WAS him. He was looking back at a warped, evil, corrupted version of himself. He looked into his own eyes, and they in turn, looked back at his, as though his own reflection.
Those eyes seemed expectant, as if waiting for him to join the feast, but not as a meal. It did not hunger for him. It was for him to partake in. He was one of them; was the same. It nodded its head beckoning him over in a friendly gesture.
Bryne screamed from the core of his being and passed out.
#
He was walking in an open field of a lush green grass that seemed to stretch out infinitely in every direction. Everything was flat as far as the eye could see. The sky was a vibrant blue with only the thinnest wisp of cloud in some spots, and an unrelenting sun. He didn’t remember how he got there or why he was there. Bryne continued to walk until he felt an aching pain in his side, and a burning on the side of his neck, where a mosquito must have bit him. He thought this was odd for some reason, but he didn’t know why.
At some point he turned back the way he had come, hoping to get some sort of bearing, only to find a single lion before him with a shaggy red mane. The lion was seated on the grass some twenty feet away, lazily staring back at Bryne, with what he hoped was complete disinterest. Hopefully it wasn’t hungry.
He turned to continue walking so as not to attract undue attention, and saw two more lions twenty feet off that way. Turning to his left brought an additional three, and a swift ninety degree turn, another four.
How is this possible, he thought in disbelief.
Turning to the right, where he had seen the single lone lion, now showed five. He was completely surrounded. It was obvious that he had been in the sun too long, and must now be suffering a hallucination.
Bryne closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. This was not really happening. He felt the hot sun on his skin, and a breeze gently ruffled his hair, and he heard the grass move. He counted to three and tried to think happy thoughts. When he opened his eyes, however, the hallucination had grown. Now he was surrounded with what must have been a hundred lions sitting all around him; leaving him a twenty foot circle of space, and all looking directly at him.
Absently he thought, at least they can’t all eat me at once. There’s just not enough of me to go around at this point.
Lazily, what might have been the first lion came to its feet and roared, causing Bryne to flinch involuntarily.
This, he thought, was the signal; they were all going to tear him apart now. Sweat began to pour profusely down his neck, as much from the heat as the fear he tried not to show.
He braced himself for his final moments of agony. But nothing happened. After the first lion was silent, a second stood next to it, and the two roared in unison. They must smell the fear on him by now. He was a goner for sure.
But they all slowly stood, joined in with the first few, and roared in unison, continuing the pattern. Time seemed to stop, but at the same time, stretch on forever. He tried not to move.
Without warning, what must have been the first, let out a loud powerful roar, and the others stopped as if on command. But unlike before, the roar never stopped. It was a long powerful musical note that would not die. Impossibly, another joined in, and their combined long note held, and did not falter as they augmented one another; so that it seemed to be a louder, more powerful, single roar.
The increasing heat of the sun and his great fear, had combined so that he now shook uncontrollably, burning up as if in a fever. The sweat poured out of him as if from a fount. His heart beat at a furious rate. He wondered that he was able to stand at all, as the pressure of his predicament threatened to break his show of stoicism.
The roars mounted and continued to grow, as more lions joined in, and he was soon buffeted by the powerful sound of all one hundred; joined in unison in a great chorus. The purity and majesty of it actually seemed to fill him with a new strength, that bolstered him against his growing malady, even as it nearly shattered his hearing; and rocked his body with the force of it, as though he stood at the center of a great thunderous storm.
The strength mounting within continued to build endlessly… Until fit to bursting, it seemed to mirror the strength of the great storm around him; somehow pushing out the poison that must be on the inside killing him. Cleansing. Enhancing. Building.
It was as if the shell that he was, had somehow grown stronger; rebuilt itself to now contain the raging storm within. And as he slowly became aware of himself more, he realized the majesty of this great storm now coursed within his veins, as his life’s blood; engulfing the darkness within, ‘til it shone like the sun itself. He blazed just as hot, and powerful, and mighty.
He closed his eyes to compose himself, even as he reflected on his new-found-glory. When he opened them he found that it had all been a dream, and it faded like candle smoke in a strong wind; so that he couldn’t remember who he was, or where he had been.
#
It was difficult to know how long he sat where he was. A deep, dark crevice in the bowels of humanity. Weak. Tired. But more than that. Beaten.
It mattered only in the abstract. A distant cloud on the winds of his troubled mind. For as sure as he knew he lived, he could not recall a single detail but the now. His former thoughts; but a whisper, just beyond hearing.
The damp. The cold. The smell of mildew. The thin sheet of dust, caked to the surface of his own body. Plates connected to links of chain, connected to manacles; and thus, as an extension, to him around his wrists. This was home.
He took inventory of this with eyes that refused to look; locked in their protective lids. A never-ending spec of time, frozen in an amber of now; his state of being. Until, at last, he began to slip back out of focus, to completely embrace wherever he had been before now. Drifting. But for a sound!
A single unsure; unwelcome; unfamiliar sound, snapped closed his reverie, and opened his eyes; as crisp and sure as a captain salutes his general.
As things slowly came into focus he began to see cobwebs and dust eddies. Glistened dew on un-kept walls. And the ants marching.
All of it. These elements around this place, they all were part of an orchestra of sound, that was a constant in the background. Always in perfect harmony. Everything had always been in sync forever; and now this? One wrong note, and the sweet lullaby of it all, was destroyed.
As though the conductor, he looked around for the offender; searching. A little patience, and there it was.
Fear began to take root. The safety and peace he had enjoyed were no more. Someone had come for him; someone was here. But what should he do? What did they want?
Rhythmic steps joined the orchestra that played itself out before him, but they did not belong, and they were getting closer. It was a baby crying in the theater, whining and carrying on, and throwing fits. But to what end? He panicked. What was happening?
Just don’t move, he thought. If he didn’t move he might stay hidden safe in the dark.
His ears listened as hard as they could to the ever-approaching footfalls of something definitely getting closer, until everything was completely drowned out by a new sound, that overwhelmed even the approach. Someone spoke.
“Point the damn flashlight in front,” came a raspy voice. It was the sound of the elderly. A heavy smoker, maybe overweight and unhealthy, with labored breathing.
“Sorry, Simon, I was just trying to have a look around,” came the sound of another. This one was younger and full of life, and his mouth seemed to want to talk hurriedly, as if there wasn’t enough time; the excitement of a young pup.
“Then look in front,” said Simon, somewhat flustered. “What’s the point of lookin’ where we’ve already been, Thomas?”
There was a momentary silence as if someone was reflecting, and then, “Well, who’s to know what’s down here,” began Thomas.
“I do,” said Simon, curtly. “I know exactly what’s down here. Absolutely nothing! Now do as I say and don’t give me no back-talk!” he exclaimed.
The silence almost seemed to return, but hidden in the darkness, he knew they were still inside his territory. Loud and clumsy footfalls betrayed their presence, despite failed attempts at stealth.
“What did I tell you about that damn flashlight?” asked Simon.
“Well, why don’t you walk in front then?” asked Thomas, with a hint of satisfaction.
“Me? Why, I’m already in the back,” said Simon. “Curse you for a coward and a fool, Thomas.” A loud slapping sound intermingled with a scuffle of sorts, and the rapid shifting of feet.
“Ouch,” yelled Thomas. “Hey, cut it out you jerk. We’re in this together, remember?”
“Exactly what is it we’re supposed to be looking for down here again? Simon? I said–”
“I heard you,” said Simon. “I was just checking something out for a sec is all. I’m not exactly sure. I mean, she said we’d know when we found it. All we gotta do is keep lookin’ around.” There was a pause as Simon tried to clear his throat. “What do you care, anyway?” he continued. “Mistress Chanovalle is paying us more than enough…”
Suddenly, the world began to spin. Chanovalle. A whispered memory, blazed to the forefront of his mind’s eye. Chanovalle. Could it be the same one? A woman. A maniacal look to her face. Her eyes. Murderous; dark piercing eyes.
She had found him. He was afraid of her without knowing why. It was irrational, but uncontrollable. It was an animal’s blind instinct of survival. All that he knew was that he had to run. To escape. To get away. Now!
#
“Look Thomas, I don’t know why you’re making everything so difficult again. It’s like you always gotta make everything all crazy complicated for no reason,” explained Simon.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. This place’s just got me on edge, I guess,” said Thomas, taking the lead once more.
The duo continued on in silence, flashlights beaming all over the place as they searched for something that might interest their employer.
“Hey Simon, look at this over here,” said Thomas, in awe. “What do you suppose this is?”
“Chains? Thomas, you idiot. Are you kidding me?” asked Simon in a harsh whisper. “You scared the bejesus outta me just now.”
“So, we’re not looking for these then?” asked Thomas, still in a state of unusual focus. “Or, umm–we lookin’ for what used to be here?”
“Thomas, what are you going on about?” asked Simon, trying to hide the fear that was slowly creeping into his voice. “It’s just some old rusty chains on the floor. Nothing to be worried about.”
“Okay, okay, I was just wondering what coulda done that, is all,” said Thomas, still staring down at the spot of floor, illuminated by his flashlight.
“Done what?” asked Simon nervously. He wiped the back of his sleeve over his sweaty forehead to try to hide eyes that were now darting all over the place.
“Pulled the chains off the wall like that,” said Thomas, gesturing with his hands for emphasis. “You can tell they used to be on the wall here, not on the floor. And how come there’s no dust only right here? The whole of the rest of the place is full of the stuff.”
There was an uncomfortable silence that seemed to stretch out for a long time. At last, Simon seemed to remember that he was in charge.
“Thomas, you watch too many movies,” he said, eyeing the wall suspiciously. “Let’s keep looking.”
