This is a fairly old story that I played around with for quite a while. It originally started out as a writing exercise. I wrote it as a series of events and flashes in which a man struggles, dying from exhaustion and dementia while lost in the woods.
It needs some work on the transitions, (I know), which I struggled with to no end, and I am almost positive that there are issues with the grammatical tense throughout.
I posted it in it's entirety, as it was never meant to be published, and it almost seems more of a novel excerpt than a short story. While it is a fairly decent tale, I have no desire to write any more of it. It is gripping and descriptive but would be too much of an undertaking to revise at this time. Enjoy reading through the slush as it will give you a good idea of my voice.
It needs some work on the transitions, (I know), which I struggled with to no end, and I am almost positive that there are issues with the grammatical tense throughout.
I posted it in it's entirety, as it was never meant to be published, and it almost seems more of a novel excerpt than a short story. While it is a fairly decent tale, I have no desire to write any more of it. It is gripping and descriptive but would be too much of an undertaking to revise at this time. Enjoy reading through the slush as it will give you a good idea of my voice.
The Chance
It was raining. The darkened sky seemed to swallow up any chance of light as if it created some unseen, giant vacuum. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance and traces of lightening could barely be seen flickering on what there was of a horizon. The ground was saturated to the point of standing water, where only a week ago it was so dry it cracked and radiated with heated dust. How different things appeared now, the earth refusing to accept even the notion of taking any more moisture into its saturated depths.
FLASH!
FLASH!
It’s warm out; a young girl is playing near a stream. The warm breeze gently stirring the flowers along the bank as if they are one gives a sense of summer. A butterfly catches the young girl’s eye. Something about her… she is so familiar. Jeannah, yes that’s it, her name is Jeannah, or at least it was. The butterfly floats carelessly towards the bank of the rushing steam as does the child. Why is she so close to the edge? The woman does not see her so close to the steep embankment! The woman… she seems familiar too, but…
**
Water ran from every leaf, every stem or trunk, and in streams across the rocks and in dips and depressions in the ground. From one to the other it went on, unguided except just to flow... flow where it could, only to be denied once again and turned away to run somewhere else it was not wanted. Nothing moved save the rain and all it brought. The forest was a lifeless body of flowing liquid that seemed determined to force any trace of existence from its domain. How could any living creature possibly defy the wrath of the storm within this drowned forest?
**
Water ran from every leaf, every stem or trunk, and in streams across the rocks and in dips and depressions in the ground. From one to the other it went on, unguided except just to flow... flow where it could, only to be denied once again and turned away to run somewhere else it was not wanted. Nothing moved save the rain and all it brought. The forest was a lifeless body of flowing liquid that seemed determined to force any trace of existence from its domain. How could any living creature possibly defy the wrath of the storm within this drowned forest?
Flash!
Darkness surrounds the tiny cabin, a sliver of moonlight seeps into the darkened room through a small slit between the roughly hewn cedars forming the outer wall of the building. The wind, howling outside through the already fading leaves of cedar, oak, maple and pine, is a constant reminder of the oncoming change in seasons. Soon it would be raining heavily here, possibly snowing. There is no way to tell in this part of a desolate country that seemes to deny anything not of itself, turning back the noncommittal and killing the stubborn without a thought. A woman breathing is the only other sound in the ominous darkness, coming in short gasping breaths. She was getting sicker. What of the child? There was a child wasn’t there? Tomorrow would have to be the day… Yes, tomorrow if it was not already too late!
Flash!
The feeling of eyes staring had begun again, only this time they seemed full of hate. Feeling the hatred, fear crept in, slowly, but in near overwhelming swells which made the skin crawl! It had not been like this the other times. Watching, only watching, never acting, never seeming to even want to act, perhaps just patient. This is madnes…
**
It was bitter cold, large drops still raining down with a purpose, as if to punish anything that dared stand beneath it. One man did dare! One loan figure struggling; Only one, trying to keep his mind from being seized with panic as his aching limbs fought desperately to shake off the beginning effects of hypothermia. The shivering began to worsen and he was sure that if he tried to talk his speech would be slurred. Once again the figure began to creep forward. Battling against the torrential onslaught of wind and rain, his balance once more began to stabilize and the encroaching blackness on the edge of his peripheral vision had gone for the moment. His arms and legs responding sluggishly, fatigue creeping ever slowly past the confines of his body and into his will. I’m exhausted, he thought, steadying himself once more against a large oak. He scanned his surroundings, as if seeking life itself, his trained eye fell upon a large, downed oak tree not 20 paces from his current position. It’s not much, the man told himself, but it will have to do. Summoning every ounce of determination he had left, he made his way unsteadily to the giant tree.
Flash!
Blood gushed from a gash in the shoulder. Ominous figures loomed in the dense fog and drizzle, leering with those hateful eyes. Where they figures, or was it imagination? Eyes, only those abhorrent orange eyes, never any shape or physical body, not really anyway, and constantly this thick fog that appeared to freeze all the way to the soul. What do they want, abominable orange globes, seeking, resenting, what could they possibly wan…
**
Somehow he was sweating. My mind is playing tricks he thought dismissively. Pulling a small hatchet from his pack he began chopping limbs from a nearby fir, every muscle in his arms and legs straining to obey. Leaning as many branches as he could manage to cut against the huge oak, he dropped, almost fell, to the ground beneath the widest part of its enormous trunk. The ground was slightly higher here and the puddles remained at bay on almost every side except one. A small rise ran from the end of his makeshift shelter along the length of the tree and up into the side of a small hill where it met with the base of the great oak. Using his knife he began to cut away at the underside of the tree which was rotted and mossy. Tossing the outer layer aside he continued hacking until he began to feel dryer, harder, wood. Continuing to whittle away, he piled the slivers of dried wood inside his pack until he had a nice supply of tinder. Using one of the driest pieces he piled the tinder upon it and took out his flint. Within a few minutes a small blaze emerged from the tiny mass of sticks, he turned back to carving out larger pieces. Bit by bit the pieces fell, bit by bit his body and mind grew weaker, losing their hold on what was real and what seemed to be a dream. Still he hacked away, determined to live…
Flash!
Snow… or rain, perhaps both, suggested that the climate this low was slightly warmer, yet the air still tried to freeze anything with even a hint of moisture. The hard and damp ground was unforgiving, and the pain... the pain was unbearable. Blood stained the earth, but whose blood? The fog began to retreat, at least a little, into the dark along with those haunting, burning eyes… what were they afraid of?
Flash!
A hand reaching down…
Flash!
Pain, excruciating pain; screaming! Who’s screaming…? “Aaarrrgghhh!”
Flash!
Tiredness and exhaustion gave the impression of near death. The woman and child… They must be warned. Who are they? Why are they suddenly so important? No! They have always been important, haven't they?
Flash!
A figure in yellow robes was gliding away, the still swirling fog avoiding him as if he was the plague. Peering back over his shoulder with a look of compassion, no not compassion pity, or worse; he slithered effortlessly into the darkened tree line.
Pushing the unwanted visions from his head, he tried to focus on his immediate problems. He was sure he had been trained to survive these types of situations, to handle the worst scenarios and come out on top, but by whom? For what purpose would he have had such training? Despite what he did or did not know at the moment about his past, he was relatively sure of a few things. Foremost, he needed to eat. Going on instinct he knew he had to devise a strategy of survival. He was pretty certain he had never been through anything compared to what he was going through now no matter how many battles he had fought. The deserts of Ghan’din, the people of Radn’ where everyone was a sworn enemy and the blizzards killed for sport… Where had that come from? Some distant memories of his own or some lucid dream he’d had? Shrugging it off with a slight shudder he emptied the contents of the worn leather pack lying next to the all but extinguished fire. A quick inventory of the items available showed little of use so he gathered them up, refilled the pack and began carving more fuel for the smoldering embers.
Once a bear of a man, his skin seemed to flap around slightly on his bones now, even that was turning to nothing, showing his lack of sustenance. His once clean shaven face now was covered with dark brown hair subtly streamed with touches of gray, showing either age or hardship; perhaps both, though he was far from an old man. Blackish brown hair flowed down past his shoulders and was pulled back at neck length and tied with a bit of leather strap to keep from hanging in the flames as he worked diligently to rekindle the fire. A small scar across his upper right eye marred his roughly handsome face very little and his cold blue eyes burned with renewed determination.
Perplexity furrowed his brow at the confusion left in his somehow damaged memory. Why had he come here he contemplated as a small flame jumped to life at the slow, even breath he had blown into the coals. Who were those people he had seen in those visions he’d had, Were they truly his family, someone else’s family? If he cared for them as he felt he did and they were real, how had he come anywhere near this godforsaken place with them. Why would he have left them alone, were they safe there, were they even real? Panic began to take hold, but only for an instant. “I’m not crazy” he stammered once again. “Aren’t you?” a voice seemingly answered back. Grumbling he forced himself into his now dry coat which had been so filled with moisture that it looked stiff as a board after being dried.
Climbing from the warmth of his shelter he realized that the rain had turned to an icy mixture of drizzle. Looking around he felt slightly uneasy and his shoulder began to ache. How did that happen he grimaced, astonished at the all but healed gash that was cut into his left shoulder? As he pulled his hand out from under his coat where his wound was, a flood of emotion rushed through his mind as memories filled him once again. There was something… he thought slowly. Someone… No, some things, he seemed to remember, barely. “My God, those eyes” he gasped aloud suddenly. In horror he staggered backwards at the thought of the memory and looked around as if stricken by insanity. Straightening himself his hands trembled slightly around the haft of his hatchet.
Forcing himself back to reality he realized he had gone down a gentle slope and was not far from a running stream. At least he thought it was a stream by the sound of it. Not a shred of wildlife to be seen he thought nervously to himself as he walked on, very strange. A small walk and quick survey of his surroundings confirmed his guess at hearing running water. Bending he began to fill up a small wineskin that he removed from his pack. “The girl” he mumbled “stop her, she will fall!” he continued to himself. Standing up he drank slowly to keep from babbling about memories that he was not sure where his own. Perhaps those… things, with the eyes did something to me, yes that had to be it. They were real and had somehow planted memories or maybe erased them… now he was really reaching. Just plain going crazy he thought eyeing the stream carefully.
Splash! The small hatchet surged through the surface of the stream and nearly split the fish in two despite that it had been close to a foot under water. Hurrying to scoop up the fish, he looked once again at the stream then at the forest as if spooked. Walking up the hill he headed for the shelter and warmth of the fire. “Strange” he said to no one “That stream should have been crawling with fish.” Somehow he knew; he had remembered from somewhere that these particular fished thrived in cold climates but only in open streams. He did not know how he knew and he did not care, he was glad for food. Sometime later he was again sleeping, the fire burning quite well. He would start out tomorrow weather permitting.
**** **** **** ****
A dozen set of slanted orange eyes hung in the darkness peering at large tree that had fallen. A small fire appeared to be lit under the trunk the and sounds of human breathing emanated from within the shelter of branches. One set of eyes looked like it's owner might creep closer but was held back by a second. The eyes faded into the dark. They did not approach the sleeper, nor did they see the lone figure clad in yellow watching them from even darker shadows.
**** **** **** ****
Silently, a sole individual in flowing robes of yellow watched intently as a group of shadowy creatures observed the man whose life he had spared several days before. He did not know the man, but knew somehow he was important. He saw things, and what he saw in this man was enough to merit closer observation, if not undetected guidance. Unexpectedly one of the shadowy figures gave the impression of approaching the sleeper. The figure in yellow crouched readily as if to spring between the camp and the shadow creatures, but not before the dark shape stopped short. His glowing eyes seemed to burn in anger as he turned back towards the others. They retreated into the pitch black of the night forest and the camp was again quiet and undisturbed. Slowly the figure crept away as if gliding effortlessly, silently into the night he went not a footprint in the snow would be found.
**** **** **** ****
Morning came as if sleep had never happened. After wolfing down the rest of the fish he had cooked the man finished the water he had, smothered the ashes of his fire and headed to the stream he had seen the day before. Upon arrival of the stream he filled his wineskin, viewed at his surroundings and plotted a course in the direction he thought he needed to go. He was not exactly sure where he was going but an inner voice seemed to tug at him telling him to head West and North. Thinking it could be nothing but the feverish madness he had the day before, he shrugged to himself and started off. He knew he must be crazy but if he were not; well he could not take that chance. People he knew might be in danger. What that danger might be he was not certain, but he had to see for himself if just to ease his mind.
The day was better than any he could remember, of course he had little to go on, and travelling looked to be fairly easy going. The sun was over head and gave a bit of warmth when it made it through the thick maze of tangled branches overhead. Even with no leaves the forest was impossibly dense. Even his hunger seemed not to bother him much. The fish, though it had not been much, gave his body the rejuvenation it needed to move on and he was grateful for that.
The third day into his journey the snow that had fallen two days previous began to lessen and he began to see traces of wildlife which was a good thing.. The past few days had been uneventful and he had little or nothing to eat surviving on roots and nuts he had managed to dig from the frozen ground. Sleeping through part of the day in clearings, if he could find one, gave him some warmth, and traveling at night kept his body temperature up. He built small fires and buried the coals in an attempt to keep warm from the frozen ground.
Two days passed and now the snow hardly existed at all yet the cold remained. He was sure he had started seeing signs of spring and last night he even managed to capture a rabbit with a snare he built. Sitting on a large log he undid his pack and took out a piece of the meat he had stored in a bit of cloth the night before.
Traveling had been slow but not hard, yet he kept having strangely familiar visions and sleep had not come easy. Several times he woke in a sweat, yelling the names of those he’d been dreaming about, a sick feeling making him want to vomit. After some time awake he was not even sure the names were anyone he knew. A few times he had sat there watching the flames burn slowly after such a dream and a feeling of doom would begin to slide over him, those orange eyes easing back into his memory. It had been a nightmare, noting more, at least that’s what he kept telling himself.
A light lunch and he was on his feet again, heading for what he thought must be a coastline. He could see that the terrain had been changing and at times got a faint hint of salt in the air. Saltwater and that meant ocean and maybe civilization. A village alone would be a welcome sight. After about an hour dusk was coming on, the sun was dropping low to his left which told him he was on course, but to what? Suddenly a tingle ran down his spine as if icy fingers were trying to claw through his skin. The eyes he thought; they were watching again, waiting. Those glowing slanted orbs of fire that hated him, wanted to burn his soul. He often thought he could sense something but nothing like this, at least not while he was awake. Glancing about nervously he headed for a rocky wall that might offer some protection on at least one side. Protection from what he mused sarcastically, a nightmare, glowing eyes? Laughing out loud as if he was mad he turned and yelled to the forest.
“You think you can scare me? You are not real!” He shouted as if demented. Taking out his knife he stalked along the crag of rocks and brush as if he were hunting a lion. Swiveling his head from side to side daring anyone or anything to approach him with those cold blue eyes, he moved on. Darkness settled and still he crept silently, danger shown on his face and the eyes followed. He could feel them, he could see them, dark shadowy shapes sneaking through the forest buying time and waiting to feel his flesh burn. “You have gone mad” He murmured “You may as well plunge that knife into your heart and put an end to this lunacy” he said, or did he think it, he was unsure. The voice taunted him again this time within his head he was sure of that. Do it! The voice mocked, you are not fit to live!
“No,” he screamed in a rage, “you shall not have my mind or my soul!” As the words left his lips he felt blackness, like the hand of evil itself at the back of his neck. Sneering he turned and brought his knife upward with lightning speed. The knife sliced air, nearly embedding itself in the rock wall. Behind him again the eyes loomed. Spinning he hacked once more at air. In an instant he could feel them everywhere leering, taunting him with their insanity. Each time he thought he saw them and each time he came up empty. The wound in his shoulder began to ache, his breath was coming in g pants now and his arm was heavy. “where are you” he roared, “face me!” He cringed with pain as the semi healed gash on his shoulder split open, blood seeping through his shirt and the inside of his jacket. They’ll not have me today he told himself; he began to run.
How far he had gone he was unsure of. Who, if anyone, had chased him he did not know. Shirtless he lay on his back, he could feel the half dead grass against his skin, feel the wetness of his own blood beneath his shoulder. It was the middle of the day and the sun was high in the sky blinding him so that he had to shield his eyes just to see past his nose. Trying to turn on his side he winced in pain but finally managed to push himself to a sitting position with his good arm.. Taking in his environment, he stared in amazement. How far must I have gone he thought bewildered. Trying to stand he tried to recall the events that followed his attack. Was it an attack? He had no wounds besides the one he already had, he had struck no enemies. Confused and sore he tried to piece together what was happening. He was in the middle of a small clearing enclosed by groves of various trees. The scent of the place was vaguely familiar which produced more confusion. He knew this place, had been here before but when? Slowly he walked towards a cabin and gazed through the half open doorway.
Flash!
Darkness surrounds the tiny cabin, a sliver of moon light seeps into the darkened room through a small slit between the roughhewn cedars that form the outer wall of the building. The wind howling outside through the already fading leaves of cedar and oak, maple and pine, is constant reminder of the oncoming change in seasons. Soon it would be raining heavily here, possibly snowing.
**
Painfully he entered the small cabin trying to remember more. He knew now that this had been his home, but what had happened for sure was unclear.
Flash!
. She was getting sicker. What of the child? There was a child wasn’t there? Tomorrow would have to be the day… Yes, tomorrow if it was not already too late!
**
Staring about unable to think clearly, unable barely to breathe, he prodded through some belongings that were strewn about the tiny cottage, bits of paper, small blankets, bottles of elixir, most empty, and some canned food. Not much was worth anything nor was there much useful in figuring out what had happened after he left. It appeared the place was abandoned in haste but what would possess them to do so like this, if it was a, them, situation. There were no signs of who he was remembering all too quickly was his daughter. No dolls, children’s clothes or anything else hinting that a child had even been there. Maybe he had been wrong about her, but she seemed so real, such a part of him. He had memories of her now, memories of before this place. “How can any of this be possible?” he sobbed feeling a sense of loss, the pain in his left shoulder getting the best of him. “It is possible” said a smooth voice. Startled the bearded, blue eyed man spun around flashing steel but stumbled on a crate and toppled to the floor. “You need not fear me” said a man in yellow robes, gliding towards the other with inordinate grace. “You, you healed my wound” the fallen man stuttered in disbelief. “Yes” said the stranger evenly slowing his advance. “If you will allow me master Amar, I will have a look at your, um, misfortune. It seems you have ripped it open before my healing could take hold completely.”
“Who are you?” Amar asked eyeing the yellow clad stranger suspiciously. I am called Darshana, he who understands.”
“Understands what?” was the reply
“Many things Amar, I understand who you are, at least now I do. At first I must admit you puzzled me, but someone such as you does not go unnoticed.” He offered lightly, if not amused.
“What of me?”
“Oh, like I said, many things. First things first though I think, perhaps a look at your shoulder now?” Stooping to look at Amar’s wound he began to chant lightly and after a few minutes Amar noticed the pain in his arm was all but gone, though the cut was still clearly visible but somehow fused together. “That will hold as long as you don’t run about swinging knives at ahadows.” Darshana told him looking quite smug.
Suddenly Amar gasped and ran to the back of the small hut snatching a tattered dress out from under an overturned dresser. Crying openly he fell to his knees. “What happened here” he demanded looking at Darshana. “Nothing I can tell you of, for I was not here.”
“You tell me what you know now!”
“I can only tell you what I sense from this place which is not much. I know that you once lived here with a girl and a woman. I also know that for some reason you left and after that the woman died.”
The Girl! Jeannah, what of her? Damn you , tell me!”
“I only know that she survived this place and has been taken aboard a vessel. Nothing more can I forsee.”
“She is alive then?” Amar said rising to his feet. “Yes, it would appear so” Darshana said as if this was all common conversation. “I assume you will be leaving then master Amar?” It was not really a question. “Yes Amar replied immediately.”
Sometime later Amar sat on the beach looking out to the ocean. Darshana was to find him passage on a ship if one could be found. She was out there and he would find her. They had found the body of his wife not far from the beach and had given it a proper burial, but Jeannah was still alive! His wife had died but there was still hope for his daughter. He was her hope, and she was his as well.
Hope still lived in Amar, Darshana could see it in his deep blue eyes the day he came to tell him of a ship, a ship that had been here several months earlier and had taken aboard a small girl who was frightened and three strangely dressed men. That’s all anyone seemed to know. Amar would find her, he had to, he at least had a chance.
Darkness surrounds the tiny cabin, a sliver of moonlight seeps into the darkened room through a small slit between the roughly hewn cedars forming the outer wall of the building. The wind, howling outside through the already fading leaves of cedar, oak, maple and pine, is a constant reminder of the oncoming change in seasons. Soon it would be raining heavily here, possibly snowing. There is no way to tell in this part of a desolate country that seemes to deny anything not of itself, turning back the noncommittal and killing the stubborn without a thought. A woman breathing is the only other sound in the ominous darkness, coming in short gasping breaths. She was getting sicker. What of the child? There was a child wasn’t there? Tomorrow would have to be the day… Yes, tomorrow if it was not already too late!
Flash!
The feeling of eyes staring had begun again, only this time they seemed full of hate. Feeling the hatred, fear crept in, slowly, but in near overwhelming swells which made the skin crawl! It had not been like this the other times. Watching, only watching, never acting, never seeming to even want to act, perhaps just patient. This is madnes…
**
It was bitter cold, large drops still raining down with a purpose, as if to punish anything that dared stand beneath it. One man did dare! One loan figure struggling; Only one, trying to keep his mind from being seized with panic as his aching limbs fought desperately to shake off the beginning effects of hypothermia. The shivering began to worsen and he was sure that if he tried to talk his speech would be slurred. Once again the figure began to creep forward. Battling against the torrential onslaught of wind and rain, his balance once more began to stabilize and the encroaching blackness on the edge of his peripheral vision had gone for the moment. His arms and legs responding sluggishly, fatigue creeping ever slowly past the confines of his body and into his will. I’m exhausted, he thought, steadying himself once more against a large oak. He scanned his surroundings, as if seeking life itself, his trained eye fell upon a large, downed oak tree not 20 paces from his current position. It’s not much, the man told himself, but it will have to do. Summoning every ounce of determination he had left, he made his way unsteadily to the giant tree.
Flash!
Blood gushed from a gash in the shoulder. Ominous figures loomed in the dense fog and drizzle, leering with those hateful eyes. Where they figures, or was it imagination? Eyes, only those abhorrent orange eyes, never any shape or physical body, not really anyway, and constantly this thick fog that appeared to freeze all the way to the soul. What do they want, abominable orange globes, seeking, resenting, what could they possibly wan…
**
Somehow he was sweating. My mind is playing tricks he thought dismissively. Pulling a small hatchet from his pack he began chopping limbs from a nearby fir, every muscle in his arms and legs straining to obey. Leaning as many branches as he could manage to cut against the huge oak, he dropped, almost fell, to the ground beneath the widest part of its enormous trunk. The ground was slightly higher here and the puddles remained at bay on almost every side except one. A small rise ran from the end of his makeshift shelter along the length of the tree and up into the side of a small hill where it met with the base of the great oak. Using his knife he began to cut away at the underside of the tree which was rotted and mossy. Tossing the outer layer aside he continued hacking until he began to feel dryer, harder, wood. Continuing to whittle away, he piled the slivers of dried wood inside his pack until he had a nice supply of tinder. Using one of the driest pieces he piled the tinder upon it and took out his flint. Within a few minutes a small blaze emerged from the tiny mass of sticks, he turned back to carving out larger pieces. Bit by bit the pieces fell, bit by bit his body and mind grew weaker, losing their hold on what was real and what seemed to be a dream. Still he hacked away, determined to live…
Flash!
Snow… or rain, perhaps both, suggested that the climate this low was slightly warmer, yet the air still tried to freeze anything with even a hint of moisture. The hard and damp ground was unforgiving, and the pain... the pain was unbearable. Blood stained the earth, but whose blood? The fog began to retreat, at least a little, into the dark along with those haunting, burning eyes… what were they afraid of?
Flash!
A hand reaching down…
Flash!
Pain, excruciating pain; screaming! Who’s screaming…? “Aaarrrgghhh!”
Flash!
Tiredness and exhaustion gave the impression of near death. The woman and child… They must be warned. Who are they? Why are they suddenly so important? No! They have always been important, haven't they?
Flash!
A figure in yellow robes was gliding away, the still swirling fog avoiding him as if he was the plague. Peering back over his shoulder with a look of compassion, no not compassion pity, or worse; he slithered effortlessly into the darkened tree line.
Pushing the unwanted visions from his head, he tried to focus on his immediate problems. He was sure he had been trained to survive these types of situations, to handle the worst scenarios and come out on top, but by whom? For what purpose would he have had such training? Despite what he did or did not know at the moment about his past, he was relatively sure of a few things. Foremost, he needed to eat. Going on instinct he knew he had to devise a strategy of survival. He was pretty certain he had never been through anything compared to what he was going through now no matter how many battles he had fought. The deserts of Ghan’din, the people of Radn’ where everyone was a sworn enemy and the blizzards killed for sport… Where had that come from? Some distant memories of his own or some lucid dream he’d had? Shrugging it off with a slight shudder he emptied the contents of the worn leather pack lying next to the all but extinguished fire. A quick inventory of the items available showed little of use so he gathered them up, refilled the pack and began carving more fuel for the smoldering embers.
Once a bear of a man, his skin seemed to flap around slightly on his bones now, even that was turning to nothing, showing his lack of sustenance. His once clean shaven face now was covered with dark brown hair subtly streamed with touches of gray, showing either age or hardship; perhaps both, though he was far from an old man. Blackish brown hair flowed down past his shoulders and was pulled back at neck length and tied with a bit of leather strap to keep from hanging in the flames as he worked diligently to rekindle the fire. A small scar across his upper right eye marred his roughly handsome face very little and his cold blue eyes burned with renewed determination.
Perplexity furrowed his brow at the confusion left in his somehow damaged memory. Why had he come here he contemplated as a small flame jumped to life at the slow, even breath he had blown into the coals. Who were those people he had seen in those visions he’d had, Were they truly his family, someone else’s family? If he cared for them as he felt he did and they were real, how had he come anywhere near this godforsaken place with them. Why would he have left them alone, were they safe there, were they even real? Panic began to take hold, but only for an instant. “I’m not crazy” he stammered once again. “Aren’t you?” a voice seemingly answered back. Grumbling he forced himself into his now dry coat which had been so filled with moisture that it looked stiff as a board after being dried.
Climbing from the warmth of his shelter he realized that the rain had turned to an icy mixture of drizzle. Looking around he felt slightly uneasy and his shoulder began to ache. How did that happen he grimaced, astonished at the all but healed gash that was cut into his left shoulder? As he pulled his hand out from under his coat where his wound was, a flood of emotion rushed through his mind as memories filled him once again. There was something… he thought slowly. Someone… No, some things, he seemed to remember, barely. “My God, those eyes” he gasped aloud suddenly. In horror he staggered backwards at the thought of the memory and looked around as if stricken by insanity. Straightening himself his hands trembled slightly around the haft of his hatchet.
Forcing himself back to reality he realized he had gone down a gentle slope and was not far from a running stream. At least he thought it was a stream by the sound of it. Not a shred of wildlife to be seen he thought nervously to himself as he walked on, very strange. A small walk and quick survey of his surroundings confirmed his guess at hearing running water. Bending he began to fill up a small wineskin that he removed from his pack. “The girl” he mumbled “stop her, she will fall!” he continued to himself. Standing up he drank slowly to keep from babbling about memories that he was not sure where his own. Perhaps those… things, with the eyes did something to me, yes that had to be it. They were real and had somehow planted memories or maybe erased them… now he was really reaching. Just plain going crazy he thought eyeing the stream carefully.
Splash! The small hatchet surged through the surface of the stream and nearly split the fish in two despite that it had been close to a foot under water. Hurrying to scoop up the fish, he looked once again at the stream then at the forest as if spooked. Walking up the hill he headed for the shelter and warmth of the fire. “Strange” he said to no one “That stream should have been crawling with fish.” Somehow he knew; he had remembered from somewhere that these particular fished thrived in cold climates but only in open streams. He did not know how he knew and he did not care, he was glad for food. Sometime later he was again sleeping, the fire burning quite well. He would start out tomorrow weather permitting.
**** **** **** ****
A dozen set of slanted orange eyes hung in the darkness peering at large tree that had fallen. A small fire appeared to be lit under the trunk the and sounds of human breathing emanated from within the shelter of branches. One set of eyes looked like it's owner might creep closer but was held back by a second. The eyes faded into the dark. They did not approach the sleeper, nor did they see the lone figure clad in yellow watching them from even darker shadows.
**** **** **** ****
Silently, a sole individual in flowing robes of yellow watched intently as a group of shadowy creatures observed the man whose life he had spared several days before. He did not know the man, but knew somehow he was important. He saw things, and what he saw in this man was enough to merit closer observation, if not undetected guidance. Unexpectedly one of the shadowy figures gave the impression of approaching the sleeper. The figure in yellow crouched readily as if to spring between the camp and the shadow creatures, but not before the dark shape stopped short. His glowing eyes seemed to burn in anger as he turned back towards the others. They retreated into the pitch black of the night forest and the camp was again quiet and undisturbed. Slowly the figure crept away as if gliding effortlessly, silently into the night he went not a footprint in the snow would be found.
**** **** **** ****
Morning came as if sleep had never happened. After wolfing down the rest of the fish he had cooked the man finished the water he had, smothered the ashes of his fire and headed to the stream he had seen the day before. Upon arrival of the stream he filled his wineskin, viewed at his surroundings and plotted a course in the direction he thought he needed to go. He was not exactly sure where he was going but an inner voice seemed to tug at him telling him to head West and North. Thinking it could be nothing but the feverish madness he had the day before, he shrugged to himself and started off. He knew he must be crazy but if he were not; well he could not take that chance. People he knew might be in danger. What that danger might be he was not certain, but he had to see for himself if just to ease his mind.
The day was better than any he could remember, of course he had little to go on, and travelling looked to be fairly easy going. The sun was over head and gave a bit of warmth when it made it through the thick maze of tangled branches overhead. Even with no leaves the forest was impossibly dense. Even his hunger seemed not to bother him much. The fish, though it had not been much, gave his body the rejuvenation it needed to move on and he was grateful for that.
The third day into his journey the snow that had fallen two days previous began to lessen and he began to see traces of wildlife which was a good thing.. The past few days had been uneventful and he had little or nothing to eat surviving on roots and nuts he had managed to dig from the frozen ground. Sleeping through part of the day in clearings, if he could find one, gave him some warmth, and traveling at night kept his body temperature up. He built small fires and buried the coals in an attempt to keep warm from the frozen ground.
Two days passed and now the snow hardly existed at all yet the cold remained. He was sure he had started seeing signs of spring and last night he even managed to capture a rabbit with a snare he built. Sitting on a large log he undid his pack and took out a piece of the meat he had stored in a bit of cloth the night before.
Traveling had been slow but not hard, yet he kept having strangely familiar visions and sleep had not come easy. Several times he woke in a sweat, yelling the names of those he’d been dreaming about, a sick feeling making him want to vomit. After some time awake he was not even sure the names were anyone he knew. A few times he had sat there watching the flames burn slowly after such a dream and a feeling of doom would begin to slide over him, those orange eyes easing back into his memory. It had been a nightmare, noting more, at least that’s what he kept telling himself.
A light lunch and he was on his feet again, heading for what he thought must be a coastline. He could see that the terrain had been changing and at times got a faint hint of salt in the air. Saltwater and that meant ocean and maybe civilization. A village alone would be a welcome sight. After about an hour dusk was coming on, the sun was dropping low to his left which told him he was on course, but to what? Suddenly a tingle ran down his spine as if icy fingers were trying to claw through his skin. The eyes he thought; they were watching again, waiting. Those glowing slanted orbs of fire that hated him, wanted to burn his soul. He often thought he could sense something but nothing like this, at least not while he was awake. Glancing about nervously he headed for a rocky wall that might offer some protection on at least one side. Protection from what he mused sarcastically, a nightmare, glowing eyes? Laughing out loud as if he was mad he turned and yelled to the forest.
“You think you can scare me? You are not real!” He shouted as if demented. Taking out his knife he stalked along the crag of rocks and brush as if he were hunting a lion. Swiveling his head from side to side daring anyone or anything to approach him with those cold blue eyes, he moved on. Darkness settled and still he crept silently, danger shown on his face and the eyes followed. He could feel them, he could see them, dark shadowy shapes sneaking through the forest buying time and waiting to feel his flesh burn. “You have gone mad” He murmured “You may as well plunge that knife into your heart and put an end to this lunacy” he said, or did he think it, he was unsure. The voice taunted him again this time within his head he was sure of that. Do it! The voice mocked, you are not fit to live!
“No,” he screamed in a rage, “you shall not have my mind or my soul!” As the words left his lips he felt blackness, like the hand of evil itself at the back of his neck. Sneering he turned and brought his knife upward with lightning speed. The knife sliced air, nearly embedding itself in the rock wall. Behind him again the eyes loomed. Spinning he hacked once more at air. In an instant he could feel them everywhere leering, taunting him with their insanity. Each time he thought he saw them and each time he came up empty. The wound in his shoulder began to ache, his breath was coming in g pants now and his arm was heavy. “where are you” he roared, “face me!” He cringed with pain as the semi healed gash on his shoulder split open, blood seeping through his shirt and the inside of his jacket. They’ll not have me today he told himself; he began to run.
How far he had gone he was unsure of. Who, if anyone, had chased him he did not know. Shirtless he lay on his back, he could feel the half dead grass against his skin, feel the wetness of his own blood beneath his shoulder. It was the middle of the day and the sun was high in the sky blinding him so that he had to shield his eyes just to see past his nose. Trying to turn on his side he winced in pain but finally managed to push himself to a sitting position with his good arm.. Taking in his environment, he stared in amazement. How far must I have gone he thought bewildered. Trying to stand he tried to recall the events that followed his attack. Was it an attack? He had no wounds besides the one he already had, he had struck no enemies. Confused and sore he tried to piece together what was happening. He was in the middle of a small clearing enclosed by groves of various trees. The scent of the place was vaguely familiar which produced more confusion. He knew this place, had been here before but when? Slowly he walked towards a cabin and gazed through the half open doorway.
Flash!
Darkness surrounds the tiny cabin, a sliver of moon light seeps into the darkened room through a small slit between the roughhewn cedars that form the outer wall of the building. The wind howling outside through the already fading leaves of cedar and oak, maple and pine, is constant reminder of the oncoming change in seasons. Soon it would be raining heavily here, possibly snowing.
**
Painfully he entered the small cabin trying to remember more. He knew now that this had been his home, but what had happened for sure was unclear.
Flash!
. She was getting sicker. What of the child? There was a child wasn’t there? Tomorrow would have to be the day… Yes, tomorrow if it was not already too late!
**
Staring about unable to think clearly, unable barely to breathe, he prodded through some belongings that were strewn about the tiny cottage, bits of paper, small blankets, bottles of elixir, most empty, and some canned food. Not much was worth anything nor was there much useful in figuring out what had happened after he left. It appeared the place was abandoned in haste but what would possess them to do so like this, if it was a, them, situation. There were no signs of who he was remembering all too quickly was his daughter. No dolls, children’s clothes or anything else hinting that a child had even been there. Maybe he had been wrong about her, but she seemed so real, such a part of him. He had memories of her now, memories of before this place. “How can any of this be possible?” he sobbed feeling a sense of loss, the pain in his left shoulder getting the best of him. “It is possible” said a smooth voice. Startled the bearded, blue eyed man spun around flashing steel but stumbled on a crate and toppled to the floor. “You need not fear me” said a man in yellow robes, gliding towards the other with inordinate grace. “You, you healed my wound” the fallen man stuttered in disbelief. “Yes” said the stranger evenly slowing his advance. “If you will allow me master Amar, I will have a look at your, um, misfortune. It seems you have ripped it open before my healing could take hold completely.”
“Who are you?” Amar asked eyeing the yellow clad stranger suspiciously. I am called Darshana, he who understands.”
“Understands what?” was the reply
“Many things Amar, I understand who you are, at least now I do. At first I must admit you puzzled me, but someone such as you does not go unnoticed.” He offered lightly, if not amused.
“What of me?”
“Oh, like I said, many things. First things first though I think, perhaps a look at your shoulder now?” Stooping to look at Amar’s wound he began to chant lightly and after a few minutes Amar noticed the pain in his arm was all but gone, though the cut was still clearly visible but somehow fused together. “That will hold as long as you don’t run about swinging knives at ahadows.” Darshana told him looking quite smug.
Suddenly Amar gasped and ran to the back of the small hut snatching a tattered dress out from under an overturned dresser. Crying openly he fell to his knees. “What happened here” he demanded looking at Darshana. “Nothing I can tell you of, for I was not here.”
“You tell me what you know now!”
“I can only tell you what I sense from this place which is not much. I know that you once lived here with a girl and a woman. I also know that for some reason you left and after that the woman died.”
The Girl! Jeannah, what of her? Damn you , tell me!”
“I only know that she survived this place and has been taken aboard a vessel. Nothing more can I forsee.”
“She is alive then?” Amar said rising to his feet. “Yes, it would appear so” Darshana said as if this was all common conversation. “I assume you will be leaving then master Amar?” It was not really a question. “Yes Amar replied immediately.”
Sometime later Amar sat on the beach looking out to the ocean. Darshana was to find him passage on a ship if one could be found. She was out there and he would find her. They had found the body of his wife not far from the beach and had given it a proper burial, but Jeannah was still alive! His wife had died but there was still hope for his daughter. He was her hope, and she was his as well.
Hope still lived in Amar, Darshana could see it in his deep blue eyes the day he came to tell him of a ship, a ship that had been here several months earlier and had taken aboard a small girl who was frightened and three strangely dressed men. That’s all anyone seemed to know. Amar would find her, he had to, he at least had a chance.
