Charles the Writer

And those empires would rise against the Light of the First, with darkened magic stained upon their lips,¹⁷ brazenly turning their holy gift against the Creator who bestowed them. Countless multitudes burdened with evil, so as to nullify the great exodus; a rapture unfulfilled.¹⁸ The Light will instead descend and swallow them. Those who reap the joy of the Good Word may yet be saved;¹⁹ but countless others will cup their ears and refuse their salvation. For them, the hell of oblivion beckons.²⁰

____

A modest camp was hodgepodged on a flattened hilltop, chosen for its strategic vantage point over the surrounding terrain. After his tent was raised, Alexander took the time to dress a few wounds that had crusted with blood, and the priestess tended to her own recuperation. Their last skirmish had taken an unexpected toll; the resistance was thickening in both frequency and ferocity as their objective approached.

Once he was freshly bandaged, Alexander assembled his scope and surveyed the terrain to make the most of the remaining light of day. The east presented a dense forest sloped along rippling hills, hazing with distance into a green mist. A strip of mountains pulled above the horizon, jagged and draped in swathes of violet shadow. They appeared as a weathered jawbone from some unspeakably large, long-felled behemoth. Behind them was a painted gash of orange bleeding like a wounded furnace… the freshly-spewn lava of the sun, cooling into obsidian with the approaching night.

Above them lay an indigo sheet of sky, with stray clouds floating and fading like ghostly bruises. A gray half-moon lazily spread its light in a circular smear. There had been no visits from carrier pigeons for almost a week’s time… and thus no new orders from High Command. A contemporary map was becoming less reliable by the day as the armies of Light pressed onward and outward across the great Gaia. The topography was somehow shifting…

***

A large hare was slain, flayed, and roasted. Between them, as the campfire crackled, crickets chirped their songs. There was always that nudging, nagging cusp of conversation dancing around the flames, but reluctant lips always prevailed. Sleep was agreed upon with a mutual glance through floating embers; gazes and glimpses and stares spoke their own capable language. The advantages of traveling at night were numerous, but strength and focus were now of higher priority. Somewhere beyond the eastbound mountains, the crystal city beckoned… the stronghold of Light.

The pair of had progressed as ants might advance within burrows underneath the dense earth. So much of the world was Touched now… farms, villages, towns… each of them reformed by wandering heralds wearing robes of stark, shadowless white. They were couriers of the Good Word; anointed priests who reclaimed the minds of strayed souls.

For they were once hopelessly lost, but the Light’s grace shares infinite mercy on those who recognize and repent. Rejoice, rejoice! The rapture has withdrawn, for the Touched would now inherit the earth.

They clustered along the throughways of towns and villages as Alexander and the priestess plodded through with weapons drawn. Every step was rebuked with the fervor of a street prophet. Curses were spat. Psalms of condemnation were sung with joined voices. Just wasted energy, Alexander found himself reflecting in his mind… conviction was hardly a substitute for action. Three or four of the hecklers were bold enough to attack… each of them were dispatched handily. One was left to die, wallowing in his refusal to yield. Even the faintest kindles of regret were absent in Alexander’s mind.

Somewhere beyond the mountains was the harbor town of Larathe, their scheduled rendezvous point with an unnamed informant. Alexander and the priestess couldn’t know its state of contamination until they investigated with cloaks drawn closely against their chests. He quietly hoped for an opportunity to replenish their depleted supplies with an cooperative merchant… before the smell of their intentions flared the wrong noses. Confrontations were becoming much more commonplace. Efficiency henceforth would prove most beneficial.

***

A heavy blink of his eyes signaled the onset of drowsiness. Alexander set his empty bowl on the grass and took to his feet with a soft grunt. The priestess was no longer hazed by flame, and the urge to speak once again pressed against his lips. Once again, Alexander couldn’t imagine what to say. His initial hate had cooled into what could only be called a seething tolerance… and even this simply proved to be wasted effort. Wasted energy, towards the priestess that held his proverbial leash, or the royal army which recruited him as a weapon, or even the invaders of Light themselves. Disdain had been replaced with purpose, and purpose had a way of stripping the fat of emotion from a man’s considerations.

Relinquish your hold upon my power and return to Command. Allow me to press forward and finish this alone. Perhaps he might say that, if he felt it might spur the priestess into action.

“Good night,” were the words that instead fled his lips, before retiring to his tent.

____

Alexander awoke with a start, finding himself sitting upright. Something in the world of the living had awaken him, for the receding tendrils of a nightmare were absent from his mind. He had in fact been dreamless since he was a child.

Outside the tent, auburn eyes scanned the distance, seeing nothing. Slowly, the concern lifted from Alexander’s mind. The priestess herself hadn’t been roused, so surely his alarm was unwarranted…

A tilt of his head upward allowed a second’s worth of realization. Some sort of winged, taloned creature had made its descent, and a gawk of disbelief had dropped Alexendar’s jaw.

***

The strike was momentous and sent him flying down the westmost slope of the hill. A sickening crack was heard as it landed across his midsection. Alexander rolled and tumbled until he came to rest against the base of a tree with a thump.

Moments or minutes passed as consciousness left him. He finally awoke with a gurgling gasp, and there was pain. A dull, deep pain that became sharp when efforts were made to move. At once, the relentless trainings of a soldier took command. Eventually, in his stunned state, Alexander stumbled to his feet, setting aside his piercing agony.

You’ll have your say, pain… but later, later.

Focus shifted from his eyes to his keenly-trained ears. The priestess was out of sight and on her own at the top of hill, battling the creature.

It only took a moment to formulate a plan. Alexander inhaled with an audibly wet sound before yelling at the top of his lungs. “Release me, and brace yourself!”

And then…

…

…a screech of pain that faded as the monster retreated into the sky. The attack was spherical in nature; nondirectional and immediate, barely scraping a moment in time. A fluttery pulse of energetic residue crawled along the ground in its wake, spreading wide before fading into nothingness.

Alexander gathered himself before trudging up the hillside with wobbly steps, his hinged arm tenderly cradled his ribs. The priestess eventually came into view, though not the stare of her eyes… her backside would greet him instead as she kneeled and panted away from him. For the briefest moment in time, with his powers unbound, a chance openly presented itself. Eliminate the priestess. Be free to steer your own fate once more.

And he would allow the opportunity to slip from his fingers.

“Larathe,” Alexander said through a heavy, blood-soaked cough. “Let’s make our way. Perhaps there is a doctor, or a shaman.”