Arrimius was dead.

  Actually, he had been dead some time before, but only now was it catching up with him.

  They all stared down at his body, some scratching their heads, others roiling in anger. There were even a few of the older wives that dabbed at their eyes, perhaps not so distraught that he was gone, but simply that someone had to go.

  No one was very much upset over his passing, at least, that’s what it seemed.

  Lyrris suddenly found himself regretting his thoughts of only a few days before, and how he’d wished the man dead.

  It seemed that the Fates had granted that one.

  But it was none of their faults. To be honest, no one actually understood how it had been possible, seeing that Arrimius never left the city. He was tied to it, because he couldn’t fend for himself in the world. A crust of bread here, perhaps a partial meal from someone that was feeling rather generous. It was his home, and the streets his bed at night. With hundreds of mothers to watch over him, he never had any reason to leave.

  And now….

  It wasn’t so much that he had died which had the townspeople stirred up into an anxious fear, but rather the manner of his untimely death.

  Blackened eyes.

  Dark and clouded lips, staining into the teeth.

  How ironic that it was the butcher who had stepped forward and taken Arrimius out of this world. Perhaps he had deserved it? Or perhaps not, but whatever the case, all were agreed that it had been the right thing to do.

  Baffled, still, because Uurda, though not the southernmost metropolis, was still a safe haven away from the dark lands to the north.

  And the plague had not been seen in those parts for years.

  Everyone was asking the same question and coming up with no answers.

  Dranuus stepped forward then, to help calm the electric atmosphere and bring order to the people.

  “We know that this comes as a shock to all of you.” He began. “It certainly did to me. But there’s no need to panic. This is one case, and I’m sure that you all would agree, we are not surprised that it happened to this man.”

  A lot of heads nodded.

  “What’s most important is that we be a little more cautious for now. So, unless there is any contrary opinions, I would like to institute a quarantine for any person that shows signs of unusual activity. We’d do best to be as careful as we can.”

  “And what do we do if others start getting infected?” One man raised the question.

  Another stepped forward before an answer could be given, hopping up on the crates next to Dranuus. “And how do we know that there aren’t already others infected with it, huh?”

  “Let’s not come to any fast conclusions here.” Dranuus countered, throwing the man a dirty look.

  “All I’m saying is that being ‘a little more cautious’ isn’t going to protect my family if things begin to turn sour.”

  Many in the crowd yelled out, some in agreement, others telling him to get down shut his mouth and listen. Their leader raised his hands, drawing them all to silence again before he continued on. “And what would you have us do, then?”

  “My family is what’s most important to me, and I’ll do anything that I must to keep them safe, even if that means silencing any threats.” He jumped down and pointed at Arrimius’ body. “That man, I hate to say, was a godless heathen that worshipped the drink far more than he did being a good member of society, and look what came to him.”

  “The fact that he was a rowdy man doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “Untamed and dangerous, is what you mean. Think about it, think back to all of the times when we saw this sickness run rampant in our streets, and those that were always the first to become ill and die.”

  They were thinking.

  “There was poor farmer Godritch, and his wife. Sillas, and widow Trentin’s son. They all had one thing in common, every single one that got infected…godless.”

  A bit of stir riled them all into a frenzy as some yelled out, countering his words and other raised a cheer as they pushed his motive forward. One woman cried out in denial of what had been said, “My husband was a good man!”

  “Yes, Mrs. Puntiff.” The man said, shaking his head and releasing an exasperated sigh. “And he was a drunkard….”

  Something she couldn’t deny.

  “Don’t you get it? It’s a disease, and it feeds off of misdeeds and wrongdoings.” He looked them all in the eye before rising up to stand next to Dranuus again. “It’s a cursing, from the gods.”

  Perhaps more truth had never been spoken before, since the worlds began. Yes, it certainly wasn’t a blessing of any sort, and it had not come from their own making, nor was it of this plane of existence.

  It was as terrible and as wonderful as they said, a truly beautiful masterpiece, forged from the fires of what it meant to be mortal, to be human.

  To be vulnerable.

  And as Arrimius’ body lay there on the ground, so cold and withdrawn, I couldn’t help but laugh to myself.

  It was quite amusing, after all.

  . The Call of the Harn .

  - Sixth Age, year 1022

  The world….

  It seemed such a small place while he sat there, staring out at the rising of the sun. This was his favorite moment, when everything was still and the only sounds were those of a quiet plain, still asleep as there was little reason to be otherwise.

  Such a perfect world, only, it needed a little tending to.

  For once Lyrris’ thoughts began to drift back to what had once been. These were things that his mind refused to remember, and yet, his heart yearned to contemplate on them. The visions of his mother, and sister and brother and all those that had been a part of what he once was stood there before him suspended in the air, smiling and radiating light.

  But silent.

  Or rather, silenced as the case may be.

  He didn’t regret it anymore, not after what he had seen the world do to itself, what the people were capable of. In fact, it was rather a blessing that they had been mercifully taken away from all the pain and all the suffering that had and would continue to plague the lands.

  And why did he stay?

  Why did he….?

  Remember that calling that once had come to him before?

  It hadn’t been only to come west. No, there was more, and it resurfaced now, reflecting back what his thoughts had been telling him for such a long time now.

  There were other things pressing him onward now, as well, such as the fact that he couldn’t hide what he’d found for even a day. Mod had seen the marks in the floor as soon as she entered the room to change the sheets on his bed, which wasn’t exactly a surprise. He hadn’t attempted to hide it, only to think of what could be said.

  “Is there anything that we should be concerned about?” Was her question to him while the two of them met, along with Dranuus.

  He nearly laughed, because he felt just like he was staring back into his mother’s own eyes at that moment. She had taken him in and raised him as if he had been her own child. It was the least he could do to play the part. Sometimes, though, it was a bit frustrating, because she was so good at what she did.

  Almost too good.

  And why had he hid it from them? It seemed a bit childish, but then, there were times when a secret was quite entertaining. To know something that no other did. He explained as much, which they accepted. No hard feelings amongst them, how could there be? But one question still remained unanswered, both for them, and for Lyrris as well.

  What was it?

  Or perhaps something a bit more important was needing to be asked; what would he do with it?

  Dranuus urged him to take it to a historian, someone that had the knowledge to explain a bit more. Mod was more of the opinion that it needed to be destroyed, after Lyrris had showed them what it was, and how it worked.

  He’d been messing about with it, and began to realize the immense power that rested inside that little cylindrical object.

  It sliced through most materials with ease, requiring only a slight pressure, burning a clean cut, even into stone. It was odd, as it seemed to run out of power, but after a short rest, it would flick open again, buzzing in the air and singing the tops of the grass.

  Only earlier that day he’d hacked down a small tree in only a moment, sending it toppling to the ground with a resounding, and very satisfying shatter. It broke into his thoughts, and made its mark. It spoke to him of what was capable with something like this.

  Was it a weapon?

  Little else made sense, what with it’s shape and limited ability to use for other tasks. He honestly doubted that the Ancients had crafted it as a lumberjack’s axe, or any other tool for that matter.

  It was this that had him intrigued, and worried.

  The former, because every boy’s head had been filled with dreams of going off to war and becoming a hero as they conquered the enemy and brought peace to the land.

  The latter, because those thoughts still resided in his mind, despite his growing age and connection to his town and his new family and all that had become his new home.

  Lyrris looked out again, staring off into the distance.

  It seemed to be a funny habit of his.

  And the Harn was calling.

  . Mine .

  Once, I didn’t believe that life was worth living. It seemed to be a constant need to sacrifice, to invest, and the return on those investments was always so small.

  Then I found her, and everything began to change.

  You see, most have never viewed her through the eyes of one that has witnessed so much of her work. Then, there are a few, some of them you may have recognized already. But as a general rule, I have seen more of her, more of death, than any other soul to ever walk these realms.

  A true blessing, my Reader.

  One that I dare not take for granted.

  She wandered through the tattered remnants of what was once a beautiful place on those quiet feet, bare and feeling into the hot ash and the jagged stones, letting it seep up the length of her legs and waist, feeding her parched and perishing spirit with all that is life and death and glory and shame.

  How many times she had traveled this path, I couldn’t say. But it did not matter, only that she was here.

  It was enough for me.

  She was mine, because no one else could lay claim.

  . A Moment to Contemplate What it MEans to Cheat .

  - Seventh Age, year 718

  Lying, awake, on the grey foam of our infernal sea….

  That’s where we last left out friend, Mathias.

  Do you remember him?

  Perhaps not, for yours is the forgetting kind, but allow me to remind you of one simple fact; the desert is no respecter of persons.

  And he, the boy, was dead.

  But awake, nonetheless. Things like death and catastrophe have this interesting way of opening the mind and cracking the eyes, giving the bearer at least a small glimpse into the world of a true reality. Not like the type that you’ve all painted over the walls of your dull existence, covering out the windows and shrouding your view. No, there comes a point where that veil is rent and you simply cannot hide yourself any longer.

  We left him in the sand.

  We find him waiting between worlds, not lost, because he had finally found what it was to be himself. To no longer be mortal.

  Yes, believe it or not, but death in one way or another grants that coveted gift to all who reap her kiss, though it is not something that I would encourage you to seek, for there is no going back, once you’ve made the choice.

  I remember a few who have gained a hearing with that beautiful specter, had a few moments to converse with her tainted words. Most aren’t up to the challenge, as she’s a trickster, of sorts. There are these little games that she so loves to play, and she almost always wins, but that’s an understatement, in all honesty. Some have attempted at another tactic, but they error in their ways, because if there’s anything that our sister hates the most, it’s coming up short.

  Being cheated.

  I dare say, only a select few have ever succeeded in their ploys. And how ironic, that so many of those very souls would be concerned in this our story, the one that you’ve currently placed before you.

  For another time, dear Reader.

  Look at Mathias, for now. Stare into those open eyes, and tell me what you see?

  Is there pain? Or sadness? Perhaps a taste of regret, or a hinting of guilt?

  Reader…whatever you saw, you are wrong, because when you look into his eyes, you see nothing.

  This is what happens when you die, as it is the same for all of your kind.

  And I thought you would have come to understand that by now, having traversed so many paths with me, and having seen so much of this.

  Three….

  A number that can be built into so many wonderful things, but here it was being wasted.

  It was the number of children that Aviin counted. The rest were gone.

  Seven women, two old men and one young lad that had somehow escaped, probably after having run away from the fighting. There were others that had survived, to be sure, but they were long gone, not wasting any time in fleeing the destruction that had collapsed upon this quaint town.

  Savill’s brother was one of those youngsters, hardly the age of seven, he was small, very small. Or perhaps it was just that he looked small, curled up in the fetal position, lying next to her on the cot. She hadn’t talked much about him, only that he was the second child of her family, and that he was hardly like her at all, whatever that was supposed to mean.

  Those lines had softened over her forehead, filling in the tired creases that had come with so much sun and hardship, etched in with flakes of ash and grime that had been rubbed there by worn hands.

  She seemed to be at peace.

  Duraan argued in the negative, but such was his way.

  Always looking on the sour side of things.

  But then…Aviin rubbed at his eyes, trying his hardest to scratch away the world before him and exchange it for a better. If only things worked that way.

  He turned to one of the women who had been tending to the wounded. “How long have they been asleep now?”

  Those old eyes looked up at him, not really caring if the world shut out its light and ended her poor life right there and then, but of course, there were other, far more important matters to be attended to. “The better part of a day.” Was her reply, before she slipped away with some mostly fresh cloth to change a dressing.

  A full day?

  It seemed a bit excessive, at least for him.

  He’d seen her sleep much longer, though it still worried him.

  “Stop being concerned about it. I’m sure that you would do the same, were you in their position.”

  Duraan’s remark set him a bit on edge. Would he? The answer came very firmly; no. He wouldn’t attempt at drowning his sorrow in a euphoric sleep that could only end when one woke to find that all the things they had dreamt away were in fact still existent. But what could he say? He didn’t understand how they were feeling, or what thoughts had been plaguing their minds.

  Then again…his own returned to those early years, and the vivid pictures of his father holding that blade, so heavy in his hands. Soldiers pulled at his arms, trying to drag him from the room, but he stalled them at the door, planting hands and feet on the threshold, pushing with his might, screaming all the while.

  It was his mother’s name that fell from his lips that day.

  And his father’s sword that fell upon his future, cleaving it apart.

  Perhaps he did understand, at the very little what it was like to lose something important, and to watch the life bleed from someone that mattered to you, spill itself on the floor and crawl away, sinking into some hole, running from sight and sound.

  He flicked a thought at the lump of fur that had curled itself at the end of their cot, “Just, tell me as soon as they wake up.”

  “Yes sir, anything you say divine master.”

  It was an attempt at some humor, faulty, and queued at the wrong moment, but still trying, so he laughed. It wasn’t a very convincing laugh, though. And how could it be?

  This was a time of deep reckoning.

  Reckoning with the gods, even the ones that he didn’t believe in.

  . Roads .

  The long road.

  That was the one that all must travel.

  Some attempt at taking shorter paths, things termed “short cuts,” which are really only another way of saying a swift dagger drawn across the neck. No one ever made it through those. You’ve read the stories. You know the tales.

  Sometimes there are a few hills along the way.

  And other times they never really flatten out into a reaching plateau like they should. Perhaps the gods did not favor those souls as much? Perhaps they committed some crime and are being punished as their penance?

  But I thought we didn’t believe in those things either?

  Whatever the case, you cannot escape. Go forward into the unknown, or return to that which you so gladly left behind. Ominous canyon walls rise on your left, and on your right, barring the way to any other choice, sapping the agency from your very being.

  And putting a closure on your freedom.

  . Child’s Play .

  - Seventh Age, year 718

  Ludicrous?

  It was really the only word that came to his mind as he sought for an explanation to how she was reacting to the situation.

  Something in her dreams, it seemed, had ignited this burning rage, directing itself at the world and everything in it, but mostly at the arsons that had raised her humble home and scattered any and all remaining remnants of what had once been her life.

  The beasts.

  Kuruteill.

  Forsaken, as their history made it to be. Nearly hunted to extinction and driven far north, they had nearly disappeared from the records of time, perhaps an occasional straggler making its way down through the warming climates to find civilization, but never anything more.

  It was quite obviously their presence that had created such an eruption of death and decay amidst the valley, though. Undeniable, because there were those left to tell the tale, and what one had seen could not be denied, if others were there to make any sort of verification.

  But something else was at play, as well.

  Something that, frankly, had Duraan troubled.

  Savill had seen it as well, while she was in the rifts. Several patches of darkness that ebbed and flowed, dancing from her vision as she ran.

  One of the women described them as burnt people with no eyes, charred flesh that flaked off and floated into the wind. Some questioned the sanity of that terrible vision, but it wasn’t so unbelievable to others who had both seen and heard similar shapes moving in the night, silhouetted against the rising flames. One word, so foul and pretentious that even Aviin, trapped away in his little castle in the sand, had witnessed their kind first hand.

  They came with the plague.

  Orr-Tav were no strangers to the world of mortals. In fact, it was from this that they had been bred.

  And, it seemed, continued to breed.

  It wasn’t any of this that had Savill worked up in violent tantrum, though. While wandering through the rifts, searching through the wreckage and trying, attempting only, to make sense of all things, she stumbled upon a clue that ignited a desperate desire for a wild chase into the unknown.

  “They have them, I swear to you, I saw them!” Her hair flicked hard against Aviin’s face as he attempted to grab a hold of a wrist or elbow or something. “Now let go of me!”

  “Savill, look what you’re doing….”

  “Get some control, and maybe we can talk about it!”

  Duraan was doing his best to soothe her mind. Aviin had plans to take over and detain her until she could come to her senses. Some of the others were helping, or rather, getting in the way. What a scene to behold, all of them squabbling like birds over their meal.

  He grunted with the effort, and she let out a suppressed yell, fighting with her fists and swinging wildly at anything that came into her path. Blinded by the building tension that was rising in her chest. It was this, or succumb to the ultimate temptation of letting loose and spilling all of those precious emotions on the floor, but no one wanted to appear weak in front of all their friends.

  And trust me when I say this; these were all her friends.

  Every last one.

  “Savill, you’re being irrational! Now stop.”

  She spun to face her companion of so many years and spat words at him with a vehement cry, “I don’t care!”

  Perhaps a bit taken aback, Duraan remained silent for a few moments. Something not akin to his nature, but finally, and forcefully pounded into Aviin’s mind hard enough to make him wince at the pain. “Stop her! Before she hurts herself or someone else.”

  And how was he supposed to do that?

  “Do it now!”

  Rolling out with a frustrated yell, Aviin pounced like the cat sitting next to him, grabbing at Savill’s wrists and pinning them to her side. She fought with her feet, kicking at his legs and nearly tipping the two of them over. Eventually he was forced to release that hold as she darted around him, throwing open the door and attempting at leaving the room.

  Was it the rage inside of him that did it?

  Or maybe the urgency with which Duraan continued to prod at him?

  He spun on his heels and dove, covering the floor and through the doorway, one arm reaching around and pulling back against her knees. Needless to say, she fell, unable to stay on her feet any longer. It wasn’t all that hard, but her hands hardly came up in time to brace for the impact and her cheek was the next thing to make contact with the earthen floor.

  It sounded hollow, just like he felt.

  “Savill! Savill….” Scrambling to his feet, he stepped to her side and nervously looked over her. All that he was met with was a pair of fiery eyes which spun up to meet him, burning with intensity and searing into his heart.

  A fiery bruise, now resting itself on the crown of her cheekbone.

  And that fiery hair, matted from sleep, and their previous tussle.

  “Savill…I didn’t mean to-.”

  Slapping his hand away, the girl groaned and pulled herself to the wall, resting knees up close to her chest and wiping at the few drops of blood on her split lip.

  “Great choice of tactics there.” Came Duraan’s remark, always timed to be in exactly the wrong spot, to cause the most collateral damage.

  “Hey! I did what I had to, alright. And you’re not the one to talk, you told me to.”

  “Yes, to keep her from hurting herself.” The cat bounded to her side and attempted at resting his furry head on her knee, an action that she rejected, shoving him off and climbing to her feet. Animal looked at man with contempt. “Not do her the favor of hurting her yourself.”

  She turned on him also.

  Pointing a finger at him, then to herself.

  “I’m a free woman, and you have no right to stop me!”

  What had he gotten himself into? So many other thoughts raced around the track of his mind, not sure where they should go. An untidy mess that needed fixing, but there was no time for that. Not now. So he just stayed his course, “I stopped you from making the biggest mistake of your life.”

  “I don’t care what you think. My parents are out there, and I’m going to go find them and bring them back!”

  Aviin stepped in her way again, refusing to budge despite her repeated shoving.

  “Savill, listen to me when I say I understand your pain. I also lost my mother…and now my father as well. I understand what-.”

  “How could you understand? You’re nothing like me!” She spat into his face, catching him entirely off guard. “And my parents are not lost.”

  Aviin could see his mother standing there now, looking down at him from her high shoulders, smiling like the sun and shedding warm rays over his body. The visage was glorious, but only a temporary fragment of what had been lost and it was cut apart by all of the pent up anger that had been welling inside of him since this whole story began.

  Since his story began.

  An iron hand grabbed at her arm, grinding hard forcing the blood from her skin. “Your parents are most likely dead by now.” Was his way of dealing with the situation, because it had to end, and end now. “And going off and getting yourself killed as well is going to accomplish nothing! What do you think will happen? You think that you can go fight off an army, an army that slaughtered hundreds in a single night and raised a city to the ground, leaving nothing but ash and broken homes and death? Do you think yourself some sort of god, that you can deny the truth?”

  It cut hard.

  Duraan made some attempt at talking to the two of them, but there was nothing that could come between the rigid form of their war, two souls dueling it out.

  A fight to the death, to be sure.

  But I believe that we know how it will end, because it always turned out to be the same.

  She always won.

  There was a rushing of wind in that enclosed room, the sound of a thousand birds taking flight.

  A great flashing of light.

  When he looked back, there was no one standing in front of him any longer.

  “May Yvre save us all….”

  That was Duraan, but it was no snide remark set on cutting at some bit that he found fault with. He actually meant it, for once.

  And Aviin was stunned, beyond words.

 

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