So, I open my eyes to the darkness. And I endure.
My father chose strength, and I lost him because of it. Though it's only getting worse, I refuse to let the sheep bear my pain.
We've almost made it through to what's on the other side of the forest, and these days, I notice a change in the captives' expressions. When their bodies start to sway after a long day of work, I feel them stealing glances in my direction before picking one another up.
But in the end, the end comes, and the sheep run out of time. They rouse to cruel laughter and the gnashing of fangs. On a morning like any other, their steel shepherds, up and gone. And the wolves are circling in the pen.
All but the mercenary leader and the eunuch are present.
Spineless stands at the head of the pack. His axe lusts for my blood since I exposed my nickname for him in that afternoon's exchange. The Spineless, I said. My tongue simply gets the better of me. And now, the wolves are licking their lips.
Hungry, they are. If I'm not eaten first, I will be eaten second.
He marches right up to me without a sound.
Hungry, they are. If not the first, then the second.
Commotion trembles within the crowd.
"No fucking clue how long I've been waitin' fer this." Spineless stomps past me and wrenches the smallest of us into the air as though she were weightless. Dangling by the arm, the child thrashes and wails. The flock knows what follows. They close their ears on purpose, letting her cries dissolve into the forest as he drags her toward the tent.
A collective breath of relief brushes my neck.
One woman clasps her hands, whispering thanks.
Another claws at the grass, murmuring for the child's survival.
I hear the truth trembling beneath their voices. Over the course of this journey, they have come to emulate my actions, hoping to find solace in the comfort of faith. But these people are not praying for her.
They know they are going to die, yet they pray to be the third, the fourth, the fifth—anything but the first. All this time, while I tried to lead by example, by endurance, by faith… They mistake my worship for survival. They've come to believe in an escape.
_What…_ I ask myself. _Have you been doing?_
Clasp your hands and close your eyes.
_She is first, so you are second!_
Clasp your hands and close your eyes.
_You must never remove these wraps, do you understand?_
Clasp your hands and close your eyes.
_How many firsts must bleed between their teeth?_
Clasp your hands and close your eyes.
_I envy you so much._
Clasp your hands and close your eyes.
_You are not the light that fell from the heavens._
Clasp your hands and close your eyes.
_So it's all just one big lie?_
No! My God is not a means of escape. Mine saves all, or none at all. And if He will not speak here, then I must act in His name. I know I am better off doing the same. I know I am not first! But if a single sheep is to die before the shepherd, then the number of his flock doesn't change at all.
The old man stands up, but I drag him down.
"What are you thinking, kid? You-" Before the old man spouts his ridicule, I've slipped my emaciated limbs through the chains and taken off.
Before he chooses his life's dedication, every soul in the village sees at least five hunts. Man, woman, or child, grandfather dragged villagers screaming through the fences, saying, "One of these days, we ain't coming back from these hunts. So if yer only good fer eatin', we might as well eat ya."
Grandmother forbade him from bringing me out of the village, but her insistence only served to stir my interest. Shortly before the event that resulted in my first lie, I overheard the basics of human vs human combat.
That is, don't get too comfortable with the enemy.
I've been watching from the very beginning. Before I closed my eyes, the story of my life was silent observation. I know my family's arts. I know my grandfather's tactics. I know the way he swings his sword. I know the weight he put into each step. I know where he chooses to strike and when he chooses to let the enemy strike instead.
These men were some of the strongest in that village. They are some of the strongest men I have ever known. But strength meets potential under the guidance of the stronger. And my grandfather taught them everything they know.
Their leader's discarded sword rests in the grass.
They were too cocky to move it out of reach.
My fingers dig into the dirt and wrap around the hilt. The movement slows me, but the sight of my rush stuns them worse. Furthermore…
Paralysis!
Three of the four are rendered immobile for the moment.
My sword comes up, smelling of piss and rust. It dulls the blade, but all the better.
Judging by the distance between their flames, his arms are the length of my grandfather's. When he held me underwater, he switched to his left hand after I nearly dragged him in. Cocky. He wouldn't waste his dominant hand on a child. And when he struck me, the blow was sloppy—more forearm than wrist. I felt where the stolen gauntlet ends, and his flesh begins.
My stance is unstable. Force comes from the ground, and my feet are barely keeping me upright. But the weight of this journey is bound to the metal of my blade. So when I swing, the will of the heavens comes down on one man's paw.
But I don't.
At the last moment, I redirect the weapon upward and slice instead of chop.
Blood splashes on my feet as The Spineless wails in agony. "Argh!"
He releases the little girl in his surprise.
It is a dark fortune that her thinness is somehow far more severe than my own, so there is little shift in my center of balance when I wrap my arms around her.
With six ways out of the clearing, I am faced with a choice that may cost me everything.
One through five require me to change directions. I am already at a disadvantage due to my stature, but lifestyle and health mean less than a second's difference between recapture and escape.
That leaves me with only one option.
"Son of a whore!" Spineless bellows as he fades into the distance, "You know he doesn't listen to reason! If Jonah catches them first, we're all dead!"
The sixth, straight ahead, is where I can expect to find The Eunuch. He would sooner punish me for my escape than punish their comrades for their evil deeds.
That being said, I take the sixth with three of the mercenaries in pursuit. The Boulder Twins, Albus and Albane, as well as The Black Hand, Goodhall. This path is a blessing to me, having been cleared of obstacles. Further ahead is a sharp left turn, which leads to the end of the path, where the procession has been toiling for the past seven days.
Despite this, I have no choice but to abandon familiarity.
Sharp is a lying tongue, but I thank the me of few nights ago, who chose deception to leave a shallow cut on my old friend's back. It is the one good decision I made since leaving the village.
They expect me to make that turn. Two of them go through the greenery, expecting to surprise me ahead. The largest and fastest of the group, the younger of the twins, is right behind me, and closing the distance fast. "You stop there, granny son! It's just trick! It's just trick!"
With both hands occupied, I cannot make use of the blessing attached to my grandmother's finger, and the oaf is almost upon me when I fake the turn. To my left ankle's complaint, I pivot left, then right, in one smooth movement.
His hand swipes above my head as he collapses under his own momentum.
There is no time for relief as I come face to face with what lies straight ahead. Perhaps I should take my chances with their captain, after all. For the wall of white roses invisible before my eyes is like a door into the depths of hell.
And yet I have no choice…
I fear not the darkness. I fear not the darkness. I fear not the darkness.
I take a deep breath and hope to charge through.
And I do.
Sunlight's reassurance disappears as I step on thin air.
Before I know it, I am tumbling downhill with the crying lamb pulled close to my chest. My bones are not prepared for an impact, never mind several.
One. Two. Three.
The earth strikes me again and again, stone and root battering my frame as I tumble. Each blow steals breath and sends sparks across my vision, until I fear the hill itself is determined to grind me down. I cling to the heat against my chest and pray the heavens to keep it burning.
Tumble is a lethargic slide as downward comes to halt.
Coughing up debris, I release the little girl and try to rise.
My elbows buckle twice before I manage to push against the grass. A sharp pain explodes in my left ankle as I gain unstable footing. I should be grateful to have sustained minimal damage, but I cannot help but wonder if the hill had a grudge against my blood as well.
Perhaps my grandfather pissed on it during his days of nomad youth.
When I open my eyes, I think myself blind as well as deaf.
Being in this part of the forest trivializes the Curse of True Blindness.
Looking around, I see nothing. Nor do I feel the warmth of light upon my skin. There are trees. I know there are trees because I'm covered in branches from the fall, but the circulation of flame that distinguishes life from death and the inanimate is a clear absence as far as the eye can see.
Without a breeze, it feels like air is brushing past my nape. A slow, steady breath, far too cold for the living. Stillness. Not wind. Stillness. Not Weather. Stillness. Just an unwavering, perpetual stillness, as if this part of the earth has been frozen in time and abandoned by The Heavens, themselves.
I need not question whether I have descended into hell. For any place that sustains life without the divine breath is surely the home of the devil. I need only question whether I've lost my head. For I've done so willingly, and alone.
"Where are we? I can't see."
Of course. She, a tiny gray flame in the darkness. And the first of many torches I live to carry. "I cannot say. But it will not be long before we are followed. Are you hurt?"
"I'm scared…"
"Yes. So we need to get as far away from here as we can."
The flame in her chest stirs, and I notice a red tinge, barely visible. "But I'm scared!"
My hand clamps over her mouth far too late.
"Ssh! Ssh! Shush!" I whisper, frantic, my voice breaking into a hiss. "Do you believe me a man of steel? Do you believe I am not scared? Try being scared your whole life! I yearn to cry like you! Every breath, every step, every reminder of my name, I want to curl up into a ball and cry! Yet still, I am trying to keep you alive, but if you refuse to be quiet—"
She bites my hand before I finish. "You mean 'Soll-van-elll'?"
"Ow! I… yes. How did you…"
"Everybody knows your name."
"Who exactly is 'everybody'?"
"Everybody," repeats the now strangely cheerful little girl. "Including my grandpa. He knew it first!"
Her grandfather? Who in the world could that be?
"He was right in front of you before we stopped walking," she says, almost singsong. "And he told me… you're going to save everybody."
What? The old man? Wait… how can I know this girl is real? Perhaps the lack of sustenance has driven me mad, and I'd run off with an uprooted sapling that was now communicating to me using the rustle of leaves. "I'll answer all your questions later. Look around. Do you see any sources of light?"
"Umm… It's pretty small, but I think I see something shining."
"What color is it?" I press.
She tilts her head, squinting through the dark. "It's… yellow."
Sunlight. My mind screams that it's a trick, but my hand tightens around hers all the same.
"Then we walk toward it," I say. "If it moves or disappears, you tell me. Many are the evils that use light as a lure."
She nods, her grip small but fierce.
Together, we press through the hidden forest, a faint glimmer tugging us deeper into the night. Yet every step unsettles me. Every stalk, every root, every leaf is blasphemy etched against the marrow of my being. And not mine alone. The seven covenants of life are the choices of design carved into all of breathing existence.
Without my sight, I cannot attest for one and two, four through seven, but the third covenant states that a creature that breathes is a creature that burns. And here, that law is mocked. Here, life thrives without God's permission.
That is an… oddity on its own, but the absence here is different. Long before I closed my eyes, there were times I could not depend on my vision. Nighttime itself is a trial in our village, and moonlight does little to bring us through when candlelight is no longer an option. Many a night, I roamed a lightless village with nothing to guide my path, but the hem of my grandmother's robes gripped tight between shaking fingers I could not see.
"My, my. It's mighty dark out here, isn't it?" She would tease. "If only someone had a pretty little smile to light up my way."
Grandmother never told me how she managed to stay calm.
Whichever of her darknesses she carried for our sake that night was far thicker than the absence of light. But this is far worse than the absence of flame. I struggle to imagine anything exists here, or ever has, for that matter.
If the Eclipsant returns, then I fear she will never feel warmth again. And that color I saw when she screamed. Was that a figment of the mind as well?
Perhaps I should say a prayer to ensure our safety.
"So is it true?" chimes the little girl, breaking my train of thought.
I shake my head. "Pardon?"
"Is it true what my grandfather says?" asks the little girl again. "You'll save everyone with the skills you learned from him? Oh, and I'm not trying to rush you or anything. I know you'll only do it when you're good and ready!"
Good and ready?
I've been good and ready since the first day!
Her grandfather didn't believe in my destiny. He used it as a story to stop her from crying. I still haven't a clue as to the first real step in accomplishing that goal, heavens forbid relying on 'the skills I learned from him.'
But… "Yes," I tell her. "It's true… It has to be."
"How?"
"Ask your grandfather," I respond dismissively. "Please hold your questions until we get to the other side. We need to listen for any predators that might be lurking in the dark."
"Okay!" Barely a moment passes before she speaks again. "Why?"
"Pardon?" I ask again.
"Why do you want to save us?"
"Because I love the world," I answer without hesitation. The words feel right as they leave me, steady as prayer. Of course, I love the world—why else would I endure? Why else would I bleed? Yet somewhere beneath my voice, deeper than thought, a silence stirs. "And I love you."
"You love me?"
"I love all of you."
"Then how come you never talk?"
"How come I never talk? Nobody does."
"Yeah we do. We talk a whole bunch… about food, about family, about home, and about the day the chains finally fall off."
"You don't talk," I correct her. "You moan. You groan. You complain. You beg. Instead of acting to change the present state, you try to distract yourselves and get comfortable with the way things are. I intend to be a shepherd, not a sheep."
She releases a sound akin to a whimper. A pang of regret strikes me, having spoken so sharply. Though I suppose it's better to let her know these things before they get the better of her. Were Grandfather her companion here, she'd have learned it in less gentle terms. His truths were always knives, and he meant every one to cut. Better a scar now than a grave later.
But I am wrong. "Wow, so pretty!"
She releases my hand and bolts into the darkness. For a heartbeat, I let her go, listening to her footsteps scatter across the undergrowth like frightened prey. Then the night swallows her sound, and I feel the weight of every wolf, every chain, every flame closing in. My jaw tightens. If she runs alone, she dies alone.
"Wait!" With a curse, I plunge after her, thorns tearing at my flesh, the dark eager to claim us both.
The farther I go, the warmer it gets, until it feels as though the forest itself is exhaling against my skin. I wish to be mindful of the darkness, but my injuries cause my steps to be less than graceful. They're a loud, echoing mess that ends with me stumbling just when the child's flame is within reach.
Then, sudden—open air.
I roll out into the sunlight and a breath of air so sweet it tastes like sugar in my lungs. The sound of running water greets me, a mighty fall crashing nearby. A meadow's scent floats in the air, a careful combination of scents that does not belong to this world.
The scent of peace. The scent of freedom.
No chains, no steel shepherds, no scent of smoke clinging to the wind. Just the rush of water nearby and the sound of flowers bending gently to the whims of a careless breeze.
Have I crossed into a dream?
No. My mind knows our reality; it wouldn't conjure up a dream like this.
On my feet, I take a step closer to the promised land, where rivers of silver flow and cherry blossoms bloom under the morning sun.
It feels like a place I don't deserve to stand in. And yet, my feet move.
Everything I am is beyond this point.
My hands travel up to my eyes.
I dig my fingers into the gap between the cloth and my skin while moving forward. Slowly, I start to pull. Because if there's even a sliver of promise beyond this life, then I am willing to leave this corrupted world behind.
My past.
My present.
My destiny.
Even if it means giving up my own-
"Solvanel!"
A shivering warmth latches itself onto my body. Bone grinds against bone through two thin layers of dry skin as it coughs wetly into my ear, "Stop! Stop! You have to stop!"
My right cheek is wet. Her breath smells of iron and rotting wood.
A rush of lucidity flourishes inside my skull like blood into still water, and distant recognition stumbles off the edge of my tongue. "Little… girl?"
"Yes, it's me!" cries the young captive. "Please, you have to stop walking! It's okay if it happens to me, but you can't die no matter what!"
"No, no. You misunderstand," I say, steadying her trembling arms. "What awaits us is Paradise. We would be leaving death behind."
But she shakes her head so hard I fear her neck might snap. "I don't know what it is, but it isn't where you're supposed to go."
"But-" Grandmother and Grandfather are waiting for me on the other side. Mother and Father, too. All the villagers who fell to the darkness. This is where they are promised to be. I'm sure of it. She is but a child, but I can't help the whimper that comes into my voice. "But why?"
I lift my right leg in an attempt to take another step.
"Because," she exclaims with a jolt, clutching me tighter, "I'm scared! I don't want you to
Confusion knots in my chest. "Why would I fall?"
"Because there's nothing there."