Godville

8/13/22: It’s amazing how hard this makes me cringe nearly eight years later. Not gonna bother taking it down now, though…

In progress…

Last Update: 12/27/14

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The rains poured down over the field with mourning. The atrocities that lie scattered to the four corners of the map caused the gods themselves to weep. The tall grass was stained with a maroon layer of blood. Once shining swords and shields became dull and lifeless with no master to wield them. A lone raven called out over the heaps of the lifeless as a signal of the conclusion of the madness.

The naivety of youth belies the true intent of the gods in the world around us. Exasperating existentialism suffocates the progress of society through the labyrinth of the self. We continue to parade our prosaic and pedantical virtues in front of the blissfully ignorant with the hopes of praise and respect. There was once a time when I myself was proud to be strong, fighting against the darkness that threatened to overtake the light. Proud of the skills that I had honed over the span of thousands of quests and skirmishes. Knowing that my own personal god would guide and encourage me, there was rarely the need for reprimand or punishment, as I existed to carry out his will. However, these days, I’m starting to grow weary. Weary of the monsters. Weary of the quests. Weary of the emptiness of it all. My life, it seems, was never meant to be one of peace and solitude. With one battle complete, it wouldn’t be long before I set out on a new journey. Society viewed people of my particular profession as vagrants and wanderers. More often than not, I would be turned away at the entrance of towns and villages for fear that calamity would follow shortly behind me. Friends were a luxury that I could not afford and did not go out of my way to attain. Allies and accomplices invariably turned against one another in small groups, proving that the fruits of their labors were nothing more than trophies for the taking. Rarely did an assassination not occur. It was also quite common for a coup to be staged once the reward was in hand. As my goals were aligned with the benefit of only myself, I sought not the aid of others. This is not to say that all of my exploits were done in a solo fashion. There were few in this world, however, that I would trust with my tankard.

As I battled through the years, I began to make observations of how the battle itself was waged. Not by the individual, but by the cause. So many of us fought and died for our gods without ever making so much as a fern’s difference in the eternal forest of this world. It seemed so very chaotic and relentless. I saw men and women talking to the heavens and casting all of their will into the skies without hesitation. Rushing head-long into the heat of battle and crying out as they were struck down and destroyed without mercy. I saw a man once kneel down in front of his enemy and pray during a duel. They were within inches of each other and his opponent showed no inclination to allow the insanity in front of his eyes last a mere second longer. He struck the blow and left the fool on the battlefield to die. It seemed as if all who carried a sword had forgotten one of the most crucial elements of battle: fear. They were not afraid to be injured or even killed so long as they thought their cause noble and sacred. Without fear, they had no worry of the outcome. No reason to shy away from a fight. Victory, in their eyes, was inevitable and predictable. Admittedly, I had partially felt this way on so many occasions that I had scarcely noticed it myself. There was always my god to rely on to keep me from death’s embrace. At least, from the ever-lasting sleep. None could deny having lost consciousness in the heat of battle, only to awaken in the nearest town’s temple without so much as a scratch. All attributed this phenomenon to their gods’ divinity and omnipotence. They would simply mumble their prayers to the altars, restock some supplies, and return to the mission at hand.
I don’t remember exactly when I began to question the way the world worked and how my own life was being laid out in front of me.
I recall starting to hear whispers and rumors in the many towns in which I had traveled through. At first, I paid no mind to the ravings of extremists and peasants. Farmers and tradesman would babble endlessly about something they called “The Age of Abandonment”. They described it with great fear and pained looks on their faces. Some would even attack anyone who even began to mention it, citing the possibility of a curse to those who gave it as much as a thought. On one such occasion, I witnessed an old spinster being dragged to the outskirts of town by a hundred or more of the local villagers. I could hear cries of “witch” and “heretic” being repeated over and over again by so many of the crowd. What occurred once they reached the edge of town was horrifying to witness. She was stripped of her robes and left covering her nudity with eyes cast towards the ground. A man dressed as a priest came forward and struck her in the midsection with his staff, dropping the poor woman to her knees, leaving her gasping for air. Her eyes came up to meet the priest’s with flowing tears and pleading sobs. The priest angrily put the flat of his foot full on her face and kicked with excessive force. I heard bone crack with the sudden movement that her aged body could neither anticipate nor react to with proper reflex. The feebleness of this woman was as clear as her age. Her translucent flesh seemed to be stretched over a frame that was many sizes too small. Youth and fertility had become a part of her past many decades before now. All that was left for her now was to lie on the ground, weeping in agony of such harsh treatment.
A young woman rushed from the crowd and stepped in front of the priest, shielding the woman lying naked on the ground behind her. An unspoken history passed between these two figures and the priest smiled. I was not close enough to hear the words that he spoke to her, but I could clearly see the indignation and rebellion in the young lady’s face. She shook her head in refusal and mouthed something to the priest that he clearly did not care to hear. For the second time in only the space of a few minutes, his staff struck forth, knocking the wind from the girl and nearly toppling her over. She did not, however, fall back as the old woman had. Quickly regaining her balance, she came once again to a stand and stepped even closer to the priest. Fury took over him and he screamed as the staff that gave him his power was raised over his head, poising to rain down on the girl’s slender body without reserve. Just as the muscles in his arm tensed for release, a hand came through the crowd, enveloping the man’s wrist and effortlessly halting the pending atrocity. My head spun and a dust cloud swirled around my feet. It was my hand. To this day, I swear that I had been at least fifty paces from the nearest person in the crowd. Somehow, though, I had come to stop this man before the signal from his brain could reach his hand and he could bring that staff down on the girl’s head. He turned to face me, defiance in his eyes. The crowd had parted around us and I could hear whispers just behind me. Obviously, I had not been part of the plan.
I had never intended to involve myself in this, yet it had now become a spectacle for the gawking townsfolk. To be quite honest, I wasn’t sure what to do at this point. I had the priest’s wrist in a death-grip and I could feel the bones very nearly touching under his skin. My heart was racing and there was a fury in my heart that was beginning to cloud my mind. The only thing that was stopping me from striking this man down where he stood was the sheer fact that there were too many witnesses who would love to have a fresh face to align their hatred with. This was not the answer. I raised my free hand to signal a halt to the situation, closed my eyes, and shook my head. The priest’s face reflected surprise at first, and then indignation. I released his wrist and he stormed past me, knocking my shoulder with his as he did. There was a sigh of disappointment within the crowd, but they too slowly walked away. The young girl that was kneeling over the woman looked up at me with tears of gratitude in her eyes. Not wanting to prolong my contact with the two, I turned to walk back towards my point of origin. A middle aged man rushed past me towards the women with a look of concern on his face. The young girl burst into tears upon laying eyes on him, making me assume that he meant them no harm. He had been carrying a blanket and draped it over the fragile frame of the old woman. They knelt over her together and slowly raised her up. Though it was not a light injury for someone her age, she managed to flash a brief smile of thanks in my direction. I continued into town and forgot the whole incident within the hour.
The pub reeked of stale beer and old wood, yet the place was as rowdy as the larger taverns in the major cities. Dancing women and raunchy bar maids matched the number of drunken men almost evenly. A fight broke out just a few tables away from me and quickly spread. The atmosphere, however, was one of celebration and not pointless violence or maliciousness. I picked my tankard up and sat back just as one of the ruffians was thrown through my table, prompting a celebratory cheer from his compatriots. At times like this, I almost forgot my troubles and, on occasion, desired to join in the festivities. A great many hardships plagued the world and times were getting even harder. Merchants seemed to be raising their prices with frightening speed and food shortages were breaking out all over the land. Dukes and cardinals seemed to need only mild insults to declare wars across fertile plains, soaking good land with blood. Battlefields, due to concerns of plague and epidemic, were typically scorched down to barren earth almost before the dead had taken their final breaths. When this occurred, years would have to pass before the fields were usable once more. It was a foolish and wasteful way to solve petty altercations. Surrounding armies would often wait out the bloodshed just to collect weapons and armor from the freshly deceased. This, by itself, caused a strain on the weapons markets as neither blacksmiths nor townsfolk were permitted to take part in this harvest of the fallen. When there was no money to be made, there was no money for food or spices. It soon collapsed in on itself and riots would break out, creating more death and chaos. Spoiled food was fought over with unjust and vicious fervor only to sicken or kill the consumer. Houses were burned to stave off infection from the dead regardless of the reason for the family’s passing. Women and children would often be left without a husband or father and soon starve to death or go mad with hunger. Shops would be overrun and its wares spread to the succession of the desperate and the thieves. The speed in which all of this took place was astonishing to say the least. Within the space of three or four days from a battle, the air around towns within a few miles was enough to send merchants and tradesmen packing. Ghost towns were picking up in frequency, causing the desire to travel to a neighboring town to lose its appeal. Without new markets, the old ones stagnated and soon caused a much slower death in isolated regions. These were the places that would begin sending scouts and spies to stake out smaller, weaker villages. Any village with something to offer would soon be taxed to the brink of catastrophe. If taxes were left unpaid, men and livestock would be taken in place of money. The men were immediately hanged, further crippling the village as the work force was drained and uprising became impossible. Eventually, refugees would begin showing up on the roads heading towards areas of higher population in the hopes of avoiding the inevitable. The elderly would be murdered, young boys forcibly taken to join the workforce, and the women and young girls either used for breeding stock or sold into slavery. Too often, the town was simply destroyed when all of its assets were stripped and revival was no longer possible. The monarchistic dukes would use this as reason for war and the cycle would start anew. Only the intervention of royalty would be able to quell the hysteria, and that was rare. Only when a kingdom’s survival was threatened would the royal armies step forth and wage war on its offenders. Cartographers could often be heard screaming and throwing their tools to the ground as a kingdom would change its borders almost overnight. Maps were becoming increasingly rare and expensive, making navigation and travel that much more burdensome.
Though it was the trend to see the markets fluctuate and wars raged, the times of ease and prosperity seemed to be growing further and further apart. Without exception, a battle on the large scale had never achieved its original intent and simply caused populations to be decimated. Eventually though, a shift would occur and survivors would gather far from the larger towns and cities to begin life with fresh ambition and pure intent. Since it would cost an army more money to get to these places than it would gain, often they were left unmolested. So long as they kept their numbers low and stockpiles of food and grain to a minimum, they were almost guaranteed peace. With such delicate balance being taken into consideration at all times, visitors were usually turned away or scrutinized to the minutest detail. Violence was rare, as it would only attract further violence, so it was not uncommon to see a committee or council become the head of affairs. Given time though, corruption or disagreement would cause evolution into either monarchy or tyranny. This would be the birth of a rising kingdom that would one day participate in the madness that it once so longed to escape from.
A scream from outside the tavern caused me to snap out of my assessment of the world and how it worked. Several men rushed out into the night air to discover the source of the interruption. I was no exception to this. Once I had gathered my sword and rucksack, I left a few coins on the table and headed out. Screams only brought bad luck to those willing to follow, and I was not keen on getting involved in yet another meaningless struggle. Unfortunately, fate was not smiling on me this evening.
As I headed for the main gate of the town, I could see a crowd gathering. Angry eyes flashed in all directions, seeking out the perpetrator of crime that I was still unaware of. A large man at the front of the crowd pointed in my direction and yelled something to the men around him. I glanced behind me, only to realize that I was the point of his discontent. Running would only make matters worse, so I stood and waited for the inevitable confrontation that was lumbering my way. Though he was nearly twice the size of the men around him, I could tell that he was no fighter. His gait suggested that he spent his days lifting heavy objects and moving them over large distances. His hands were almost the size of an average man’s head. He did not have the telltale burns of a blacksmith or the scars of a prize fighter, most likely just a farmer that took his job very seriously. There was little doubt that he would give a good horse a hard time if he set his mind to it. That alone could earn him decent wages as a farmhand. It would take a great force to stop him without using a sword. I considered preparing myself for this outcome, but stopped when I could see that there was no hatred in his eyes. Only pending tears.
I relaxed my muscles and waited for him to reach his goal. As he grew closer, his shadow overtook me and I had to very nearly strain my neck to look up at him. This would be troublesome if my evaluation of his intent was incorrect. He was now too close for me to escape his grasp should the desire be in his mind. There would be no time for me to draw my sword or the dagger that I kept concealed in the small of my back. This could be troublesome indeed.
His arms flashed towards me, and it took every muscle in my body not to move. Those massive hands gripped each of my shoulders in a pleading embrace. He was now visibly weeping and the tremors in his arms very nearly cost me my footing. His head bowed and his eyes snapped shut. I watched the muscles in his jaw relax his clenched teeth for only a moment in which time he spoke one word: “Please.” The fear and anguish in his voice struck me harder than any blow he could have thrown. The confusion in my mind must have been reflecting in my face, because he looked at me and then turned me to look toward the gate. His trembling hand pointed to a limp, lifeless figure lying on the ground. Those big eyes pointed at me once more in an urging signal. He wanted me to see whatever it was that had caused the commotion.
“Please,” he said again. I indulged his wishes and slowly walked to where the body lie. The crowd had parted to allow me passage, as if I could restore the victim’s life. My instincts were still on high alert from the uncertainty of the recent event. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a hooded figure disappearing back into an alley. I stored this information and continued on my path to the unknown. I could see grown men with tears streaming down their faces and women who clutched their shoulders for support. Curtains were parted in houses nearest to the gate and curious faces glowed in the candlelight. A young boy, mouth gaping, stood in open curiosity at one of the windows. A woman behind him quickly ushered him away and extinguished the candle as she closed the shutters. An old man stood in the open doorway of another house with his robes askew, evidence of his rushing to adorn them. Unfortunately, a light wind stirred those robes and gave me a view that I wish I hadn’t been in the same town with.
My gaze straightened and I started to become aware of the figure’s features. Pale skin reflected the torches and moonlight around it, giving it the illusion of a slight glow. The ground to either side also reflected the light but contaminated it with a dark crimson hue. The cobblestones would be tainted with blood for a great amount of time after this. The bottoms of the feet were stained dark with dirt from the lack of shoes. As I grew closer, my feet seemed to become heavier. It was like my body fought against my mind in a battle of will. Since I could gain no benefit from this situation, I had to force myself to keep the pace. My knees groaned in protest and my teeth ground together in frustrated effort. A woman closer to the body collapsed, giving me but a brief moment to stop and allow the men around to rush to her aid. All too quick was she rushed away and eyes were once again upon me. It was too late for me to turn away. The body, wreathed by the stunned crowd, stood in the path of the exit. Whether I wanted to become involved or not, I had to travel in this direction anyways.
The fear and chaos that lies in the heart of man becomes all too real in the presence of madness. Freshly fallen leaves danced in the light breeze, gathering themselves near the body’s resting place in artificial curiosity. It seemed as if the trees were mourning with the townspeople. I stopped again, my feet frozen in caution. It was not the body that halted me this time, though. Just beyond the gate, about twenty paces or so, a hooded figure blurred into my vision. I don’t know how long it had been there, but I got the impression that I was the only one who could see it. Slender ankles and tiny feet gave up the identity of the silent phantom almost immediately as a young girl. She probably was just a few years from birthing age, however. A shadow slowly peaked into my vision over my right temple, causing me to nearly shout in surprise. I came face-to-face with a leaf. A leaf? How is it that the massive farmhand from a few moments ago didn’t so much as make me flinch, and yet I’m bewildered by a single leaf floating in mid-air. I blinked in astonishment and also to make sure I was still in the waking world. It was a small, brown leaf that appeared nearly translucent. It’s veins long ago dried up and it’s edges torn and tattered. Impossibly tiny holes in the surface gave the impression of a night sky when the skies were clear enough to see from one horizon to the other. I never thought I had studied a leaf so closely. For the second time in only a few breaths, I quite nearly came off the ground. What had surprised me didn’t happen quickly or suddenly; it happened incredibly slowly. This tiny little leaf was doing the impossible. Doing something that shamans and magicians had been impersonating for centuries. It was levitating in beautiful perfection right in front of me. This time, I didn’t come off the ground. My head was filled with stars, however, as I spun around to take perspective of my surroundings. Nothing moved. Nothing was breathing. I bit hard on my lower lip to make sure that I wasn’t asleep and tears welled up in my eyes. I was awake, and I was aware of that fact, painfully so. A flicker of movement to my left caught my attention like a lightning bolt striking a horse carriage. It was the tiny young girl’s cloak swaying ever so slightly around her feet. She was moving towards me, leaning towards the very center of my being. I could detect no footsteps beneath her dress. This time it was my soul that jumped. I could feel a wave of emotion and pain wash across every facet of my life. A tear rolled down my cheek uncontrollably as the girl grew to within inches of my now down-turned face. Two tiny eyes peered out from under a veil of what could have been mistaken for freshly fallen snow. No breath and no warmth emanated from this child. My gaze met hers and our eyes locked for what seemed like days. Her pupils were the deepest ebony I had ever see and bordered by a forest green like none I had ever seen. So beautiful was this image that my heart began to beat like rolling thunder. The innocence in that look was more pure than any I had ever beheld. Skin glowed as flawless alabaster under a full moon. Another wave of emotion flowed into me and I dropped to my knees in agony. Regret and anger stabbed through me with merciless fury. Confusion and remorse chilled my mind unrelentingly. “What’s happening to me?” “What have I done wrong?” “Why is the air around me filled with such sorrow?” “No one will even look at me.” “Why won’t any of you look at me?” These were not my emotions! But try as I might, I couldn’t move a single muscle. My vision went white and I collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
At least, I thought I had. I inhaled sharply and frightened the wits out of a villager standing next to me. His surprise caused me to start again and we exchanged a quick glance of confusion at one another before turning away. I fought the urge to swing my head around in search of the figure that, until just a moment ago, had been directly in front of me. What in the name of all that is sacred had just happened? I brushed the thought aside, saving it for closer examination at a later time.
The crowd began to shift on its feet in impatience, as if waiting for some grand prestige. Many of the men here appeared to be heavily worked and rarely rested. From one visual periphery to the other, nothing but vagrants. Any one of these men could strike out at me in hopes that I carried even a single piece of brass. I had been one of these men not so long ago. For the chance of a coin purse filled with gold, I would strike down any who caught my eye. This did not make me unique, however, and for that reason I placed my hand on the hilt of my blade. I saw some men step back slightly in apprehension, unsure of my intent, and ready themselves for attack as well. Though they had nary a blade per ten men, I couldn’t help but consider the possibility of concealed daggers or clubs. My over-analysis of the situation made my head hurt and, for a reason unbeknownst to me, a bit impatient.
My heart very nearly stopped beating altogether. The figure that lay lifeless before me now was the very same that had stolen me away to a world almost parallel to this one. How was this possible? My mind was awash in confusion, fear, and even anger. There were lunatics in ever town across the seven kingdoms who had never raved about something like this occurring. Perhaps I was going mad. Perhaps the ale that I had been drinking a short while ago was no longer fresh. What was happening to me?

~~~~*

My name, by my God, is Linked. My birth name is Draken. I was born outside the ruins of my home town of Grenshaw. You won’t find it on any map that exists today. Truly, not even I could point it out on one. It was a small town, consisting of mostly farmers and tradesman. They knew nothing of war, or greed, or hatred. They only knew of the harvest. Celebrating the end of the season with a holiday they called Daliquia. It meant “life through the season of death”. The winters in Grenshaw were of the worst. To them, spring was a time of celebration and awakening for not only the animals, but for those who survived the white shadows of winter.

My life began as the town burned.

They came on the eve of Daliquia. They knew of the harvest and, though only barely a dozen, were completely worn mad by hunger. They killed without reservation. Regardless of there being enough to share without discomfort, they had no intention of settling in and becoming one of the family. Nor did they intend to leave any survivors. My mother went into labor shortly after they arrived. Her cries of pain fell on angry ears. She was ushered into the stables with the horses and left alone. Shortly after midnight, in the earliest morning hours of Daliquia, I was born. Though my mother was still bleeding and exhausted, she gathered enough of her precious strength and fled into the night.

I was found, swaddled in her torn dress two nights later, several leagues from a still-visible plume of white smoke. I was lying in a pool of dried and caked blood, too cold and hungry to cry. My mother’s pale naked body lay glowing in the moonlight. The very faintest of a smile lingered on her lifeless face. The man who found me was of a neighboring village, a master blacksmith. He had ventured into the woods to search for a new ore quarry. When he got lost, he sought shelter in a clearing. It was not until he was almost atop of me that his gaze fell upon my mother’s limp form. He once described her as what he thought to be the spirit of the harvest. He didn’t touch me for at least an hour. Just kept watch over me. Once he was sure I wasn’t going to wake and devour him, he picked me up, swaddled me in the blood-stained cloth, and took me to his camp. He named me Draken, which meant “of the Daliquian mother”. His own wife had died many years ago, very nearly driving him to the edge of reason. His breath reeked of ale and dried turnips. Without so much as a glowing ember in his smithy, he had collected anything valuable and exchanged it all for a night in a tiny, ramshackle inn. Shortly after downing a depressingly small bowl of vegetable soup and guzzling the rest of his tiny reward in sour ale, he took up his tools and stumbled into the forest. Trees and bushes swirled around him as if a heavy fog was distorting their edges. Stopping to relieve himself of precious warmth, he noticed a light in the distance. In the eternal solitude of the trees, a light meant an absence of suitable soil for overgrowth. This usually meant grass or rock, with hopes directed towards the latter. Steadying himself on a sapling much too small for the weight of even a crow, he fell over, scattering tools with a noise that scared deeply-slumbering wildlife in several directions. After the rustling of panicked fleeing had stopped, he belched once and groaned as he attempted to regain his footing. With one final push, he righted himself upward once more. With left hand vigorously rubbing the back of his spinning head, he propped himself up on his right hand. Finding his tools would be very difficult in the pitch black of night’s caress.
I was as much his son as he was my father. Though we had no visible resemblance, no one in the village ever questioned him. My daily life was devoted to him and his smithy. Fetching water for the quenching barrels, carrying ore back from the quarry, and any other task he required of me. I did not question him or complain, like most children would. I felt no need to. The entire process fascinated me like nothing else. From bringing the ore back from the quarry after hours of searching for the most suitable material, to the final shaping and the tedious task of polishing and honing. I was amazed at his ability to repair anything that was brought to him. From a cracked iron pot, to the blade of a swordsman, he had no limitations. He was a god in my mind.
I began to apprentice him at the age of five. There was nothing that I would not do, no command I would not adhere to, no task that was below me. He began by teaching me about fire. How it allowed him to create only what was limited by the material he was using. If you were working with a hard material, such as iron, you needed a very hot fire. If you were working with soft metals like gold or silver, you needed a calmer fire. Since the village had no concept of money, weaker metals were rarely used and therefore worthless. I would spend days in the smithy, gazing at the fire to be sure that it would not grow too hot or too cool for the current project. My skin burned, my eyes dried, and my tongue swollen with thirst. I refused to abandon my task. Once the molten metal was of the right color and consistency, I would signal my master by raising my right hand. Even though he appeared to be sleeping in the corner, he would immediately respond as if watching me the entire time. Never faltering, never wavering, he and I would work tirelessly until our creation was finished. It was there that I took up my first sword.
I had seen other children fencing with sticks and twigs in the past. It seemed so childish to me, though I was a child myself, that they took it so seriously. It looked as if they had no skill and no honor. They would strike from any angle, at any time. It was only until they fell upon a small girl did I feel the need to take up a weapon. As they beat her to the ground, laughing the entire time, I grabbed a short, yet-to-be honed dagger from my master’s anvil. Though it was no more than as big as my arm from wrist to elbow, I wielded it like a massive broadsword. There was fire in my eyes as I came upon the others. Their sneers turned to amusement as I approached. Once they realized what I was carrying, they called out. It was the first time I met Alerzan. Though he was merely a month older than the others, his size was immense. His hands rough from tilling the fields with his father and his skin red from the gaze of the sun. He stood a full head taller than all the other children. It was clear that they looked to him for their salvation from this new threat. I felt myself hesitating under his presence. I felt a cold fear wash over me. It wasn’t his size that intimidated me; it was that he had no fear in his eyes. As if my existence was nothing more than an inconvenience to him. Squashing me would be no different from squashing an ant to him.
As I came upon him, his first blow took the breath from my lungs. I had never been struck before and knew nothing of what it felt like. Like I was drowning, I could not regain the air that I had lost. His second blow rapped against my brow and brought stars to my eyes. It seemed as if the heavens themselves had crashed against me with all their celestial might. As I fell, I briefly glanced up at his face. I had to know what satisfaction this had brought Alerzan. What jubilation he must have felt in conquering me so easily. But his eyes were completely blank. No celebration of victory, no pity for my pain, no emotion whatsoever. As I lay with my face in the dirt, I thought I would die. Being a child, I had no clear definition of death yet. There was pain in not only my body, but my soul. My pride gone, my determination extinguished, and my life bare in front of his enormous figure. For the first time, I prayed. I prayed for salvation from this evil child and his god-like strength. But there was no answer. No lightning from the heavens that struck my enemy down where he stood. No miraculous strength flowed into me like water into an empty glass. No voice of god. I cursed my foolishness.
As my blurry vision began to clear, I saw his hand reaching towards me. Watching that awful and terrifying hand slowly descending upon my paralyzed form made my blood run chill. It was not me that he took up, though. It was that crude dagger. He peered through squinting eyes at the object that had given me my fearlessness to approach all of the children. I saw then, his true goal. It had not been to strike me down for the satisfaction of delivering pain onto me, nor had it been to save the others in their plight. It had been to possess the object that had made me feel invincible. This crude, unfinished dagger seemed to multiply his size tenfold. He gripped it as if to steal its power. His face was awash with mixed emotion. He seemed to be fighting his own war in a mind as crude as the dagger itself. He blinked only once. In the space of that single moment, he settled his resolve. It was then that he gazed upon me.
My body went numb. The pain was gone. The warmth of the sun vanished. I knew in that moment that he was going to kill me. My life would end under the very dagger that had been meant to save a life. I watched in frozen horror as he raised the dagger up, point down, over my head. I closed my eyes in anticipation of the delivery of death. But it did not come. I gathered the courage to look up. The girl that I had been trying to save stood in front of his towering body. I could not see her face, but I say glistening tears falling to the earth in the distance between them. I watched as the thirsty soil drank in her tears as if to erase them from existence. I felt alone. For the first time, there was no hope in my heart. A great vacuum pulled the will to live from me.
Alerzan raised the hand not holding the dagger and struck the girl down as a giant would a mosquito. She fell to the ground and did not move. Once he was sure she would not interfere again, he returned his gaze to me. For the second time in minutes, I felt dread grip my heart. Again he raised the dagger and again I closed my eyes.
There was suddenly a cry from the boy who would be my vanquisher. It was not the cry I had envisioned. It was the high-pitched, desperate wail of a child. I brought my head up to the level of Alerzan’s chest. A dark void seemed to be swallowing him up in its embrace. I looked up towards the hand that, seconds ago, had been holding my death-blow. Alerzan’s hand was not there. It was engulfed in the hand of my master. Dagger and hand wrapped up as if the size of a walnut in my master’s grip. I watched with joy as Alerzan lifted from the ground as if being drawn to the heavens by the gods themselves. There was no effort in this feat being performed by the man that had, for a second time in my life, saved me from certain demise.
My master plucked the dagger from his hand and turned him so that they faced each other. Alerzan had brought his other hand to grip my master’s wrist in a lame attempt to free himself. When they made eye contact, Alerzan burst into tears. I watched as the earth swallowed his tears the same as the girl’s. It was then that I realized that Alerzan was not the demi-god I had envisioned in my mind. He was merely a child, and no more.
My master, who had drawn up my enemy to no more than a foot off the ground, tossed him aside like a damp cloth. Alerzan hit the ground and rolled over several times before coming to a stop. With tears of injustice gleaming from his eyes, he drew his hand to his chest, got up, and fled. The relief that I felt was indescribable. I had been given my life back. There was a clean smell to the air, purified by my willingness to live once more.
When I glanced up in appreciation to my rescuer, those feelings vanished. His eyes were hard and cold, closing me off from their warm embrace. The gravity of my situation hit me like a ton of ore. I had taken something from my master’s anvil without his approval. This was as close to an unforgivable sin as a blacksmith’s apprentice could commit. A blacksmith’s anvil was sacred. It was where creation flowed and miracles of metal took place. I had stolen from hallowed ground and would now have to live with my curse. I understood this and lowered my head back to the dirt as the scorned dog that I was.
I do not know how long I laid there. The sun’s warmth faded and the moonlight’s chill presence lay over my body, blanketing me in night. I heard movement in the distance all around me. There were families gathering at the table for supper after a hard day’s work. In the distance were women laughing at the laugh of a newborn baby. A bit closer, men were talking quietly in small groups, full from their meal and content with life. I had no family to return to. I had no mother to scold me into bathing. No father to prove my worth to. I was alone.
I felt a gaze pressing against the back of my head that I knew was there long ago, but only now acknowledged. I turned my head the other way and glanced sidelong in the direction of the source of the gaze. She knelt in the dirt beside me, eyes wide at my discovery of her. Her face was bruised up like mine and her lip split and caked with dried blood. I knew that she was familiar, but could not figure out how I knew her. After all, I did not know her name or where she was from. Her eyes were full of wonder and empathy. It angered me that she could look like she knew my pain. I felt my brow begin to furrow in frustration, but was quickly reminded of the rewards of my earlier exploits. The swelling stiffened my face like a board. Seeing my pain, she reached toward my face. I flinched back as she touched the very spot where Alerzan had rained down on me earlier. Against the pain, I frowned at her. There was no reaction in her tiny face, only pity. When I think back on it, I must have looked ridiculous. With one side of my face swollen, I tried in vain to push her away with my unjustified emotion. After all, she was only concerned for me. It was the first concern that I had received from anyone, and I was feebly trying to reject it. I turned my head away and lay there listening to her breathe. A shallow, uneven sound that somehow calmed me to know it was there. I drifted toward sleep, against my will, to that sound.
I dreamt of Alerzan. He was ten feet tall and wielding a sword of even larger proportions. His child-like visage gone and what I could only imagine as a demon stood before me. There was fire surrounding the both of us, compelling us to fight with angry tongues lashing at our backs. The fires burned with twice the intensity as normal flames and only grew closer. I could feel the air rushing around me from the swing of of Alerzan’s mighty blade as it passed mere inches from my throat. I had no weapon and no hopes of defeating this monstrosity. I could only avoid him until he struck his final blow. Despair filled my soul and I wailed in sheer terror. This could not be happening. Demons and devils were not real. There were no gods or angels. These visages of immortality and piety did not exist in the real world. After all, what kind of god would see fit to encourage a monster of such enormity to challenge a weak, defenseless child? What kind of malevolent being would allow this? I closed my eyes to my fate. I would not allow to this hellish creature to gain any satisfaction from wiping me from the face of existence. The final victory would be mine in knowing that I never gave in to the fear. Never accepted this atrocity and stood my ground in the face of certain death. It caught me off guard when I realized that at this exact moment, I was more alive than I had ever been. Though I was about to be extinguished from the ethereal, I lived a full life in that moment. Yet, it was once again the monster’s turn to make his move. A sudden roar shattered the sanctity of my peace and brought the whole thing crashing down on my head. My eyes filled with tears and I resisted once more. This couldn’t be the end. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to leave my master and his smithy. I gazed up at the beast with all the anger and defiance I could manage. I hated this creature sent from the abyss to reft my life from me.
It raised its massive blade over my head and lifted it to the black skies above, readying for the final blow. Bellowing a cry of victory, I watched its muscles bunch at the neck and release. I snapped my eyes shut and accepted the end. Whether certain death slowed time or some cruel trick of the beast, I was left waiting for death. There was a loud crash of steel on stone and the earth rumbled just inches to my right foot. A sudden rush of air pulled the breath from my lungs and caused my heart to nearly explode in my chest. Had it missed? No, it couldn’t have. I was standing right in front of it and still as a statue. With that massive weapon, there was just no way it was possible. Was it waiting for me to gaze upon it once more so that it could look into my eyes once more, just before striking me down? After waiting for what felt like eons, I peeked out to see what the delay might be, hoping against all odds that I wasn’t opening my eyes at the exact moment of my end. What I saw was more terrifying than the picture that had been in my head just moments before. The beast was standing in front of me, unmoving. The sword that I heard splitting the world to pieces was stuck in the ground so close to my face that I could smell the devilish steel. I glanced to my right and saw my own reflection peering back at me, betraying to me the true look on my face; a child’s face with tears streaming down its cheeks uninhibited. I clenched my fists in rage. How could I look so childish, so weak?
I gathered the courage to face my opponent. It stood there meeting my gaze, unblinking. It took a step forward and reached out its enormous hand. I would not give in. I leaned forward and stared deep into the depths of the nothing behind those orbs of sheer evil. The hand stopped only inches from my chin. When I broke eye contact and looked down, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The hand was open in a gesture that beckoned embrace. What was happening? Why was my enemy offering peace so suddenly? I posed neither threat nor benefit. I did not understand.
I peered up once again with my curiosity open to the creature. It withdrew that gigantic hand, slightly, and held it out to me once more. The world around me seemed to calm in this strange moment in time. My mind considered the possibility of this alliance. The power I could gain. The ferocity of my once mortal enemy could bestow upon me an endless wealth of might. With this mighty ally, who could refuse me? But, to a child, this meant nothing of any importance. My mind suddenly threw visions of pain and suffering before my eyes. Death and destruction would be wrought by my hand. Suffering would become my legacy. I wouldn’t be respected or admired. I would be feared. The world would be as afraid of me as I had been of the monster.
I glanced down and studied the hand being offered to me. Firstly, beyond everything else, it was enormous. I could actually hear the blood surging through its veins. The tip of its smallest finger was as big around as my thigh. The forefinger must have been as long as I was tall. This hand could take my life without thought from the beast. I was sure the weight alone could crush me to death.
The next thing I noticed was the heat emanating from it. It felt like the flames that were surrounding us were cool in comparison. I almost couldn’t bear it. Much like my master’s fire pit, I broke into an instant sweat when standing so close to it. What could be dwelling in the heart of this beast? Such ferocious heat could only be the work of the devil himself. How could I possibly align myself with this abomination? There was no reward worth the price of my soul. I would never befriend a monster!
With my recent realization, I fully rejected the hand with every ounce of courage that I had left. I looked up and stared straight into the eyes glaring back at me, and turned away.
The mistake I had just made became instantly apparent. The beast raised its horned head and roared with renewed fury. The sword stuck in the ground next to was ripped back with an ear-shattering savagery. There was no running away anymore. My only chance at freedom was gone. The monster deftly lifted the instrument of my destruction over its head with one hand and prepared to strike me down.
Suddenly, a light shined from above, extinguishing the flames in and instant. The monster lifted his head and howled, much like the howl of a monstrous wolf. His teeth replaced with fangs and his eyes glowed like newly formed gold bars. Then the world exploded, as bright as the sun itself and no louder than a whisper. The explosion, instead of blowing the monster apart, it simply swallowed him into nothingness. Another flash of light and I covered my eyes. When I felt safe enough to look around, I was in a field of lush green grass and a veritable rainbow of colored flowers. I felt no pain and no fear. I felt safer than I’d ever felt in my entire life. The sky was dotted with pure white, fluffy clouds driven by the slightest breeze. I smelled sweet spring air that was ripe with unseen fruit trees and pungent flowers. The grass was softer than anything that I had ever felt beneath my feet. The only sound was a single bird in a nearby tree. It’s melody rising and falling as if to tell the entire world that it was alive.
I could not believe the beauty and splendor of the world around me. Where had it come from? Why had I never seen it before? I laughed and cried tears of the purest joy.
“Hello.” The sudden voice made me leap at least a foot off the ground! I had looked all around and could swear that I was completely alone in this beautiful land. Even when I spun around, looking for the source of the voice, I could not find one.
“Why do you laugh as you cry?” It asked, again coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once. I jumped maybe only half a foot this time.
“Who’s there?” I called with my voice tiny. The other voice was immense and though it sounded like no more than a whisper, surrounded me with its intensity and power. Mine was if I spoke into a bucket.
“Why do you laugh as you cry?” It asked again. This time I tried to hide in the taller grass. I wanted to see where this voice came from. Wanted to see what person was so powerful as if to stand beside me and talk, yet not be seen.
“Who are you? What do you want?” I was desperate now. I had to know what this figure looked like. I picked up rocks and threw them in all directions, hoping to hit the stranger and make him give up his elusive location. Yet, my throws heeded no results, and my arms grew weary of the futile effort. I peered from over the grass and still there was nothing.
“Why do you throw stones? Have I offended you?” It seemed as if it was on top of me and below me and all around.
I ran.
Over a hill of grass that rolled in the gentle breeze, into a forest of trees that seemed to touch the skies themselves, and into a sparkling clearing. I had ran until my lungs burned as if to consume me from within. I collapsed, gasping in the sweet air with desperate ferocity. I heard, just over my head where I lay on the ground, the tiny babbling of a stream. When I looked up, I saw the clearest water I had ever seen in my life! It seemed as if it was too light to be water and that it should float away into the sky. Before it could, though, I drank. I drank until my belly groaned with it’s heavy load. I could feel the coolness of the water coursing through my veins. Within seconds, I was no longer gasping for air. I felt like I had never run at all! Now that I was not tired, and sure that I had outrun that bothersome voice, I began to look around the clearing.
It was more beautiful than the field had been. A glistening dew painted stars on the leaves that flickered as the wind blew. Roses shaded in the deepest crimson red, suggesting that the slightest touch would make them bleed. The trees had a presence all their own, watching me gaze upon them in unreserved wonder. The soil was fluffy and more fertile than any soil I had ever seen. I never thought such a place could exist.
The happiness I felt seemed to dance wildly in my belly, causing me to giggle out loud. There was joy in my heart that I had never known and I felt every beat so keenly that it was almost painful. Tears stream down my face and blurred my vision, but I didn’t dare wipe them away, afraid that I would never gaze upon this wondrous marvel again.
I lied down next to that stream and breathed in that sweet air. I watched the clouds turn the most brilliant shade of magenta before giving into the delicacy of the night’s sweeping brush. The air took on a cool breeze, tickling my skin with thousands of impossibly-tiny fingers. I fell in and out of sleep once again. My dreams were scattered and hazy. One moment I would be standing in the smithy, watching as master hammered a piece of glowing steel into what appeared to be a perfect glass sphere. I turned around and suddenly came face to face with the girl who knelt over me as I coddled my wounded pride. It seemed as if the only dreams I could have in this blissful Eden were dreams of confusion and pain. How odd it was that no matter how hard I tried, I could not help but feel as if I didn’t belong to the world in which I came.

I don’t know how many days or nights I spent in that empty paradise. Time was meaningless, a flawed concept of man that held no bearing or weight in this eternal garden of peace. The idea struck a tinge of fear in my heart. How long was forever? Would I grow old? Would I be alone for all eternity?
“You are not alone now, child.” The voice that I had no fervently fled from funneled into my mind once again. It was soft and warm and filled me with new hope. Perhaps this mysterious voice could share the truth of this world with me. After all, I had nothing in this place other than questions. I had the strange sensation that all I needed were two answers, though.
I sat up on the bank of the stream and thought carefully about which answer I wanted first. It seemed very important to choose my words with every ounce of care.
“Are you God?” I asked. Try as I might, I could think of no other way to pose this question. There was no point in using more words than I had to. I had heard in the few times my master and I had gone to church that God knew your soul and only truth existed in His eyes.
“What is God?” The voice asked, sending me reeling. I had not anticipated this response. Yes or no were the only two answers that I could think of. What else could there be? A new river of questions burst into my mind. It was almost painful. I could only pick up bits and pieces of the thoughts that were rushing through my head. I placed my hands over my ears in a feeble attempt to focus in on these new concepts. I had only ever heard of God. There was nothing else to describe this voice. It was everywhere and yet only spoke to me. I could not see anyone and the words did not echo as if being shouted from a different location.
Suddenly, there was a hand on my shoulder. I jumped so high that it hurt when I landed. My mouth opened, yet no scream came forth. I had no voice. Being touched drove every shred of strength from my body. A light filled my eyes and drove daggers of pain into my brain. My eyes snapped shut and I felt myself falling from consciousness. I was going to pass out from the shock. I only heard a whisper just before giving in to sleep.
“Child?”

I saw only flashes of colors and heard mumbling voices and smelled random scents. Was this a dream inside a dream? What did it mean? I had never experienced a phenomenon like this before. With great concentration my body manifested itself in suspended space. There was no direction and I very quickly became disoriented. My head spun and my stomach turned. I was going to be sick.
My feet brushed against something and I opened my eyes to see the ground hovering just below me. That thought struck me as odd. How can the ground float below me? My head popped up and I realized my error. The ground wasn’t floating; I was. I crashed down in a tangled mess of legs and flailing arms, shouting out in surprise. This was very odd. Just merely thinking about the rules of up and down brought the ground into existence and the happening of my collision with it. Was I in control here? Attempting to test my theory, I imagined water. But without a proper receptacle, the ground merely became the water. I shouted once more as I plunged into the sudden sea below me. The water was freezing. I had tried to recreate the coolness of the stream that I had drunk from earlier, not realizing just how truly chilled it was. This time I thought of a warm wool blanket, much like the one I slept on in my masters smithy. No good. The wool swelled with the freezing water and threatened to pull me under. This was not working to my advantage. If only I hadn’t thought of water in the first place, this wouldn’t be happening. With that, the ground was back. I was dry and there were no signs of any wool. I had to be careful here, one wrong move could be the end of me.
The thoughts slowly filtered out of my head. Concentrating on only me sense of touch, I poured all of my will into nothingness. This time, I would get it right. Before deciding on an image, I envisioned the individual elements of my desire. First: my body steadily hovering over the ground about in inch. Feeling my body lift, my mind fought against the panic of losing control. This was exhausting. Sweat broke out onto my forehead and my muscles burned with the effort of remaining still while not being anchored firmly on the ground. The ground? My feet came down suddenly and my teeth clacked together as a result of the abrupt impact. Though I managed to stay on my feet, it was just as painful as it had been the first time. My heels ached and there was a deep throbbing in my knees. Gazing up, I noticed that the world around me was not void of light. The air above me was as black as obsidian with no stars, and yet, I could see the earth below me. Where was the light coming from? Turning to look around, no answer became apparent. When I had felt the hand on my shoulder before, the light was too brilliant to even open my eyes. But that was before I landed here. The empty offered no solutions. I became dizzy once again, having nothing to lock onto. It was emptiness as far as the eye could see. No trees or hills to gain bearing with. Once again, I thought without thinking.
Trees, hills, and grass exploded beneath me with unimaginable force. I bounced off the ground until I thought my very soul would shatter. The idea of stopping this chaos did just that. Silence screamed forth and swallowed the sound of shattering soil just as swiftly as it had started. Tears welled up in my eyes and I thanked the stars above. This time, the sky erupted in pandemonium. Flashes of light and waves of comets ripped throughout the darkness above with unbridled vigor.
“Stop,” I screamed, fearing that the heavens themselves would be obliterated in my carelessness. Everything froze, blurring the progress of time into tails of light and fire. “No more!” I pleaded with the world around me. “I don’t want this control! I don’t want this power! I can’t handle it!” Anger surged through my veins and I struck the ground in absent-minded rage. I felt a crack and screamed as the bones in my hand collapsed with the force of my own foolishness. Cradling my hand to my chest, I wept uncontrollable sobs of anguish and pain. What else could I do? Eventually, my lungs burned and my throat ached from the spasms.
A single drop of water hit my brow and I opened my eyes. I looked up, searching for a cloud. There was nothing above me. The stars had vanished and there were no signs of my earlier ineptitude to the rules of this cruel place. It wasn’t rain; it was a one of my many tears. The drop that had been on my brow rolled towards my forehead and suddenly flew off my face. It disappeared into the darkness above me with startling speed. What did this mean? My hair stood up over me, reaching for that lost droplet with weightless longing. I fell from the ground below me, spinning in midair to grasp at a sapling that had just began to bud. For just that moment, I forgot about the pain in my hand. As soon as I touched that tiny tree, however, I was reminded with by an unmerciful flash of pain. With no other choice, I let go and watched the ground vanish in a mere blink of an eye.
There was only abandon in my heart. I gave no thought and no will to the void that shrouded me in its darkness. There was a faint murmur of voices somewhere in the back of my mind. I focused intently, trying to glean any shred of coherence from the whispering choir. Sadly, every time I thought I was getting closer to making something out, the voices shrank back. I tried to stay calm as I felt the feeling of being cast away, yet my heart fluttered in fear and my stomach churned. My master’s face flashed in my mind’s eye, reminding me of the disappointment I had caused him and my desire to whither into the ground that I had laid upon. How could I want to go back? What was left for me? The only person to whom I had ever admired and wanted approval from now looked at me as part of the ash in the fire pit. All that was left was to scatter me to the four winds.
A crescendo in the voices snapped me out of my melancholy reminiscence, reminding me of the mystery that was yet to be solved. I listened with every muscle in my body now, attempting to intercept every syllable that threatened to elude my senses. But there was no coherence to the cacophony of faceless sound.