Sunday, January 04, 2004

THE REVENANT

The full moon shone darkly upon the forest, casting a silvery glow over the once-green foliage. An unnatural silence hung over the trees. Nothing, not even the ever-present chirping of crickets, was to be heard. There was no life to be found in the forest at the darkest hour of the night .

A sound shattered the silence. The crunch of rotting leaves and twigs beneath a soft footfall, normally inaudible, echoed loudly through the empty forest. A small, lithe figure stepped into the clearing. Bits of cloth hung around the dark stranger, once fine silken clothing, now reduced to tattered rags. His hair, once finely cropped, raggedly curled around his shoulders. His face was pale as the moonlight, his cheeks gaunt and sunken. He had once had a name, but that had been lost in the mists of time, in the haze of- of what? His did not remember anymore. It did not matter. A thin, nearly skeletal hand clutched the notched, bloodied sword as he gazed with black eyes upon the twisted corpse lying before him.
In a rush, the details of the event returned to him. The event that had occurred here a lifetime ago, that transcended the boundaries of the living and the dead, and shattered his world. But the pain, the old, hollowed pain that had lived with him for an aeon… It was gone. He did not feel such things anymore.

He was back in his home.
“Don’t go.” The woman’s eyes were pleading, brimming over with tears.
“You know I can’t stand to lose you…”
“I’m sorry… it’s my duty, to our forest, to our people!”
“But what about me?”
Before he could reply, she stormed out of the hut with a choked sob.
He rose to go after her, to explain why he had to go…
“Sir!” A young soldier stepped up to him and saluted. “The troops are ready, awaiting your inspection, sir!”
He sighed. She would have to wait, once more. Once more the scale tipped towards duty.

The troops stood at attention before him, young, eager faces, ready to throw themselves to their deaths upon their enemies. He gave them a nod. They would know what to do when the time came. An arrow whizzed past his hand, grazing his finger. Blood sprayed, staining his shirt.
Whirling, he drew his slender sword from its sheath as the scene descended into chaos.
Soldiers clad in dark armour strode into the clearing, swords swinging. The sounds of battle rang out throughout the clearing. He charged at the nearest group of the soldiers, waving his sword with practiced ease. A sharp sting caught him in the back of his neck. He grunted, and yanked the crossbow bolt out from his neck. It had struck a glancing wound, and there wouldn’t be much damage. It was at that moment he noticed the whitish substance coating the bolt, mingling with his own blood. The bolt dropped out of his hand as he collapsed into darkness…

He awoke sleepily in a clearing. He recognized the red and yellow garb of the raiders, worn on the multitude of soldiers marching around the clearing. On the other side of the clearing was a form, bound and gagged. He focused his sleepy eyes, and drew a sharp breath. He closed his eyes, knowing he would never forgive himself if any harm came to her. He steeled himself for whatever was to come.

A man approached. He wore many medallions on his garb, designating his high rank, quite possibly the leader of the band. He smiled genially.
“Let’s play a game,’ he said, with no trace of hate or malice in his voice.
He withdrew a vial from his pocket.
“Sumac,’ he said, shaking the first vial.
“A minor venom, it will cause a little pain, but nothing else.”
“Voyria,’ he said, producing a vial in his other hand.
“The most dangerous venom known to Sapience. Death within minutes.”
He moved to replace the vial, and droplet of the black liquid splashed onto his captive’s arm. “Oh, and…try to escape, and I’ll have you know that I have archers positioned all over the forest.” He wiggled the vial again, and placed it into his pocket.

Tendrils of burning fire raced up his arm, and he gritted his teeth. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the pain faded away. He gazed with hatred at his captor.
“What do you want?”

“Just a game,” the man said cryptically.
He withdrew two pointed knives from his pocket.
“This knife;” he said, indicating the knife covered in a thin, lime-green substance, “is coated in sumac.”
“This one,’ he said, gesturing at the other knife, dripping with a thick black liquid, ‘is coated in voyria.”
“You will pick one, and cut yourself with it. She gets the other one” He pointed a thin finger and the bound figure on the other side of the clearing.
“If you survive, you’re free to go.”

He sighed. He did not have to make a choice. He reached for the dripping black knife.
The man smiled at him. The woman cried out in denial from the other end of the clearing.

He moved to cut the arm with the dripping knife. It was the only way, he thought.
Too late, a droplet of the substance dripped onto his arm. He grimaced, anticipating the burning sensation. It didn’t come. The knife make a small incision into his arm. He gazed in horror at his captor, as a terrible ache came over his limbs. But it was nothing, compared to the ache he felt in his heart…

“You have chosen. Then this one,” the man held up the other knife, ”is for her.”
“You tricked me…” he said, gritting his teeth.

The man said nothing as he moved over to slice the woman’s arm with the knife.
He watched with helpless rage, knowing that he could not act without killing them both.
He watched with burning sadness, as she started to bleed.
He watched as she slumped over, still.

The man walked over to him, and cut his ropes with the same knife. He stood up, eyes hollow. The two men gazed at each other for a moment. He clenched his fist. The man would pay for what he had done…

But he was interrupted, as an arrow whizzed between them and lodged itself in a nearby tree. Arrows flew, and people screamed as the band of Tsol’aa defenders descended upon the encampment. But it was unseen, to all but he, as the man slipped away, almost unnoticed, and became one with the shadows.

He had gone after him, for days, hunting down the person who had destroyed his life. Days became months, months became years, years became decades. Yet he still plotted his revenge. In the end, nothing else mattered to him. He felt no anger. He felt no love. He felt no pain. He felt only vengeance. He was vengeance.

And as he gazed with black eyes upon the twisted corpse lying before him, he thought, My vengeance is finished. He knelt down beside the corpse, and withdrew a pointed knife from its pocket.

I am finished.

Smiling darkly at the black substance coating the knife, he flipped it around with casual ease, and drove it into his own chest.

Posted by norbert at 1/04/2004 07:07:00 PM