I'm not laughing anymore. There's nothing funny about the devastation surrounding me as I make my way that much further into the desolate site. There is nothing amusing about the smoldering ruins of what once was my hometown, of which I am now the sole inhabitant and will go unto the dust to be a forgotten memory.
I walk forward with steps that feel as heavy as my heart does in this moment. I'm looking upon a familiar sight, but it seems so alien that I expect to realize that I am not where I think I am. But there are no obvious signs that I am on the wrong path. In fact, everything is telling me that this is all very real, and all very much mine.
Everyone I've ever known, everyone I've ever cared about, even those I'd only just met, they're all dead. There is not a single survivor that will crawl from the wreckage and prove to me that I am not alone in this cruel, wide, indifferent world. I cannot even get my feet to move any further than just past the boundary of our, now, just my town.
I drop to my knees and hold my hands over my face, but do not cover my wide open eyes. It is as though I need to continuously see what is before me. I just, I just want to cry, but feel as though I have lost the ability. No matter how far I sink into this mire of sadness, I simply will not express my sorrow and grant myself some relief from the pain.
"What happened here?!" I hear a voice ask of me, and know it to be my mind. "Why did it happen?!"
Apparently, it has forgotten. But I have not. And so it casts its perception back and I am along for the ride.
"It was a nice, quiet evening, the kind you find so pedestrian that they are ungodly boring " my mind narrates to me with far more detail than necessary as I watch the shadows jump and distort themselves to match the implied imagery. "You were walking along the avenue just watching the people closing up for the day, looking for excitement, as you are wont to do. So quiet, so dull, so just like every other night. And then, they appeared as though out of the darkness itself and made their presence known."
I look directly behind me as I rise. The shadows cannot do justice to what I have seen. It was a formation of thirty horse, ten to the front and two to the rear of each one. They appeared without warning or any kind of announcement. They just stood there, not even their horses fidgeted during the pause. It was as though a painting of impossibly still life.
They were armed and armored to the hilt, and their horses mirrored their riders' attire. Each of the forward ten are holding a long pole with curved blade to one end and a short, stumpy spike on the other. Even the hooves of the massive beasts being ridden have a metal plate wrapped around each hoof with spines sticking in every direction.
"There wasn't anything you could do," my mind insists as though right in my ear. "Everything happened outside of all reasoning."
There simply was no getting around the logic, for when it commenced, it was outside of all realistic expectations.
There was no signal, no call to arms. Through complete stillness they remained menacing and all at once they were moving, charging with all their might. I could even see the unnatural strength of their mounts as their legs churned into the dirt and kicked whole swaths of dirt.
Panic erupts all around as those who hung around for the sake of curiosity find that such interests will not translate to security. They run every which way in the hopes of finding a safe haven, but not only does such a place exist nowhere to hand, but the legs of humans cannot hope to match the speed of those that belong to seasoned war mounts.
I alone seem frozen to my spot as I watch with abject horror as the blades come closer to our persons. I don't even register that there are others persons, not until their blood splashes upon my body and leaves behind a sickening paint that covers my face. I couldn't, do anything. I just, felt so…
"But how did you know about the blade?" my mind queries.
For that I have no answer. All I know is I focused on the blade meant for me and watched it dash toward me at incredible speed while somehow being slowed down in the same instance. I could even see the gleam of moonlight reflect off its polished surface and in that instant I knew what I must do.
I carefully timed the moment by the pounding of the hooves as I closely observed the blade make its arc toward me. I waited till the last possible moment, how I was able to do this I am not certain, for my body was screaming at me to move, to do something in the hopes of preserving my life. And yet, and yet…
"And yet, I told you not to," my mind reminds me. "You listened to me, perhaps for the first time in your life, and I saved us both."
Yes, for ill or good fortune, we survived.
I recall you had me almost kiss the edge before finally giving me the go ahead to turn from certain death. You even gave me a slight spin to really sell the violence, and somehow, somehow, it worked.
"You always wanted to be a hero," my mind speaks up, but I cannot determine the inflection. "And heroes survive above all else."
But I am no hero, not even a good man, just a simple coward.
I allowed my body to fall to the dirt, but it was not the Earth that was my bed, but a pair of blooded bodies and there were more to fall atop of me as I mingled with those of the slain. All told we collectively created a mound of death in which one who is yet living can hide away from the specter that follows these marauders.
I shut my eyes as tight as possible, and willed myself to block out the sounds, but I still heard them. The screams. The cries. I can still hear them. One by one, they all fell. No one was left alive. No one, but me, but then the horsemen didn't know that, else they would have surely corrected their blunder.
All the while, I keep my eyes closed and pray that I won't be found out. A prayer that goes answered, but I cannot be certain if this was a boon or a curse. I think I'll leave it to the more informed of individuals to make the distinction, that is if they should feel so inclined to do so, though why they would, this inclination is beyond me.
I remain lying upon the ground, amidst the dead, for a time indeterminate, before I dare open my eyes. The only sight to greet me is that of a death mask staring directly into my soul through the glazed eyes of one who has slipped the bonds of mortality. Though dead they seem to be asking all the pertinent questions which have no words to give them form, only the power of emotion.
Slowly, I push upon the weight that holds me down and press against the flesh that imprisons my still living person. It is a barrier composed of the frost that only death can bring with it. I try not to dwell on the sacrilege I'm committing by not being versed in how to handle the dead. Instead, I focus all my energy on breaking free and eventually, I succeed.
I practically explode from my crypt and take in copious amounts of air as I hold myself aloft. It takes all of my strength to accomplish this simple feat and I am far too weak to perform any other activities. All I can do is stand in place and allow myself to bring my thoughts under control as I…
"As you stared upon that which could not be," my mind chastises me, at least that's the way it feels to me. "The whole of the town lay in ruins. Every building had been crushed and was burning. Bodies were strewn all over the streets with massive cuts that either threatened or fulfilled the promise of cutting the victim in two. There were massive holes stamped in the backs. This was complete annihilation."
I can hardly believe my eyes as I stagger forward and out of the pit. Upon my knees do I fall and then crawl as I reach to the slain. What I am hoping to do? I have no idea, but none of it matters for I soon lose all strength and pitch forward into the dirt. I hold there as my eyes seep and my lungs breathe in the dust.
It is only at this point, with the enemy nowhere to be seen, do I feel my anger boil within me. Now, do I feel strength come to my arm and I ball it up and smash it against the ground, but I am not satisfied. I rise to my knees, pick up a rock and hurl it into the darkness. I scream after my enemy only now, knowing that I am completely safe.
"You always knew so many different curses and you called down all of them upon their heads," my mind continues to remind me of the facts.
"But what did it matter?!" I shout aloud and hold myself toward the sky. "The enemy was already gone! And I, I, I…" My anger is leaving me, being replaced with sorrow. I fall to my knees and press my hands against my face. I weep, and the tears cascade down my face. I look to the dead. "Please forgive me. All I ever wanted was to be like the characters in the stories I was told when I was just a boy with stars in my eyes."
"You could have stood your ground, then maybe things would have been different," my mind makes a bold claim that cuts to the heart of the matter.
"I could have laid waste to those marauders," I put the pieces together and speak before said pieces have a chance to settle into a proper image.
"Perhaps not," my mind is forced to admit. "But you might have at least saved someone, anyone, but you didn't. You didn't lift a finger to help. You didn't even try to impede the butchery. You simply hid yourself away, like a coward, and waited till the danger passed."
I feel as though ripped apart by the words and want to fight back, but I haven't the nerve. Truth is far too powerful a force for me to contend with and I am near to surrendering what life I have left.
"But wait!" my mind cuts through the heavy waves of sadness. "Don't you remember?!"
My interest is piqued. Without further explanation I know exatly what is being inferred. It is a thought, that invokes a memory. I wait and the thought becomes stronger. I know what I have to do.
I smile as I stand up and hurry on my way, each step bringing with it renewed hope. There is a way, and I'm going to seize it! Salvation is at hand! I'm so giddy with anticipation that I can't keep myself from laughing. For a time, I completely forget that I am traipsing along in a veritable land of the dead.
"But wait!" my mind jumps in, but I am too happy to pay it much mind and completely dismiss it.
Why? Because I know what I have to do, I can yet redeem myself. It's thinking of the stories that made it come to the surface.
My parents told me many bedtime stories, one of which was a legend. The Legend of Kitsinyana, a lake where the dead are interred. A sacred place, where their souls are bound and waited. Waiting for the day, when they would be needed again. Waiting for the moment when the cry of vengeance would reach into their graves and raise them from the depths.
This is that day! I will release the souls and set them after those horsemen. I may have been a simpering coward, and can never make up for it, but at least, I would avenge all those who died this night. They shall not have fallen in vain for their spirits shall be bound with the warriors and give them eternal strength.
With each step I can feel it, the power that rests. For that very same lake of legend, is no more than a short walk from where I had fallen. I can see it all, clearly within my mind. I will unleash the power. I will wake the sleeping souls and together, we will ride down those villains and slaughter every one of them.
Then at least, I would be able to stop them from carrying out the same deed. I would prevent this pitiable circumstance from ever happening again. No one else will suffer the same fate as I, to live while others die. And in the end, they will know it was me and will lament ever having felt they had power over the weak.
I am nearly salivating as I think of the promised retribution that will be mine, once I reach my destination. I could feel it, the power rising through the Earth itself. It is connected to me as I am to it and my bones reverberate with the intense energy that feeds upon me in as much as I am fed by it.
I make it to the boundary marked by a ring of trees and feel my anticipation build to a near maddening level. I push forward with all my strength and pull away the branches that stand in my way. These are the final obstacles to the fruition of my ambition. I break through the final trees and behold such a sight.
Before me, spread out as far as the eye can see, is the lake which houses the sacred dead, the catalyst for my vengeance. I wade into the water and I don't care that it's ice cold. I don't feel it, can't feel it, not when I am so close. Each labored stride bringing me still closer to the center of the lake, to the epicenter, from which I can release the needed power.
The water is now too deep for me to walk, so I have to swim, but that is a pitance to pay compared to what I stand to gain. All I need do is propel myself to the best of my ability and I will soon be upon the tiny island that sits near to the center of this bastion of spiritual energy which I can feel through my skin and into my bones.
I reach the small patch of land floating within the ether, as it were, and pull myself onto it. I espy the stone edifice that lays dead center. The point at which all of the power that draws from the dead is focused and can be called upon by those who are devout and know the correct incantation.
The end of my nightmare is within my grasp, it's only a matter of time before I call upon the slumbering vengeance to serve my ends. I approach the stone floor and gaze upon the single raised stone in the middle that is covered in red, the blood of those who have been interred here and have given their life force to the ritual.
I set my foot and stand upon the hallowed platform. I allow myself a moment to breathe and take it all in. This time cannot be rushed as I must savor every second left to me for I am to become the avatar of justice and the forfeiture of my life is the price I have to pay. I set to work with all the anticipation that I can possibly muster.
I kneel down, and I pray to the fallen. I invoke the covenant struck between the living and the dead. I demand they rise and seek out my enemy. My voice rises into the sky and rends asunder, the still, night air. My words echo all around me, racing away before coming back, with all the intensity with which they were uttered. Then, all is quiet.
I wait for the longest period of my life and that includes my time pretending to be dead. The words had been spoken, there's nothing else to do. I wait even longer. Nothing happens. I repeat the words, this time throwing as much power as I possibly can into each and every syllable. Nothing. Something is very wrong, but I do not yet know what.
"You are forgetting," my mind chides me and with its words comes that same feeling of uncertainty which returns with far more potency. "You didn't listen."
I puzzle over the words unspoken but internally heard when a chill creeps all over my body and with a hollow laughter fills my head that is neither I nor my mind.
"Don't you remember what you have forgotten?" my mind puts to me in riddle like fashion. "You were just a little boy. You would sit for hours on the hard, wooden floor listening to your father parlay all the different legends. You couldn't get enough and you ate up every syllable uttered, especially that of the Sacred Lake. You desired to be the one to call forth the spirits, to feel their power."
I nod along to the story being told me as I recall all the details, but still do not understand where I am lacking.
"Then you grew up," my mind continues and behind its words I can hear the laughter, subdued at first, but growing stronger by the second. "Your father tried desperately to reaffirm the legend, but you didn't care. He tried to teach you the words you would need to know, the key as it were. You laughed at him. You didn't have time for legends, those were for children. Whereas you were nearly a man. Your father pleaded with you, but you only laughed louder."
Laughter, that's all I can hear now, my own, long winded laughter which teaches all around me as if such sounds were even now being produced from my throat. I try to push my way past it, I cannot find a means to do so. I reach out for my father, as though he were here, with me, now, but I can't get past the stupid fool I had been. The fool who said his piece and walked away.
"SHUT UP!" I scream into the night air and slam my fists into the stone beneath my knees. "SHUT UP! SHUT UP!! SHUT UP!!!" It doesn't help. All I can hear is the laughter, as the damn fool I'd been, walked out the door, out into the slaughter that was coming. "Please, please, just be quiet for one moment, just one." I start to weep.
At last the laughter stops, replaced with the quiet murmuring of the night. My hands are bleeding, the bone of my knuckles exposed, but like the cold water, I can't feel it. Though this time, it isn't anticipation that leaves me so numb, just the realization of how idiotic I'd been.
Before me lays a door of sorts, which will allow me to enact my revenge, but it's locked and there is only one means to release it. My father had tried to give me the key, but I threw it back in his face. I didn't want what he had to offer and needed it even less. I was too big for fairy stories and felt insulted that he still believed in them.
"Hope," my mind chimes in. "Hope had been the force driving you forward. You'd hoped to atone for what you had done, or failed to do. You hoped to make reparation for your offence…"
"But I cannot," I finish the thought without bothering to clear my eyes of the watery curtains. "And why? Because I had been a self-centered child thumbing his nose at his betters."
How am I to live with such a conclusion, after all I had done to make it this far? How am I to make peace with myself when all I see are the bodies burning all around me? The simple answer is, I can't and I never shall. I will have to live with my offense to my dead fellows and fate, the bitch that it is, will likely have me live forever.
"Salvation is not a gift given lightly," my mind chastises me. "And you have done nothing to deserve it."