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The Weary to Rest

Only the moon allowed him to see the two wooden sticks between his hands, which he rubbed furiously together in hopes that a spark may fly. The trees towered over him, croaking beneath their branches as they whispered the secrets of the wind. It had been three days since the last clue he found led him to another burned down village, and still he tried fervently to shake the images from his head. Eventually the moss caught flame, and a sigh of relief escaped his lips as he untied his pack and set it on the cool dirt. The red sky of the night promised fair weather in the morning, but for now the fire would have to work hard to keep the young man warm. He unbundled his pack and placed his mat near the burning logs, just out of reach of any burning specks hoping to scorch his clothes, and relaxed into a blissful stupor. The emerging stars, twinkling in the deep sea of the sky, were the last to say goodnight to the young man before his heavy eyes gave in to the beckoning of slumber.

— — — — — —

“My head throbs as I open my eyes, and I cough from the plume of dust my body created as it was dropped to the ground. A thick hoof jabs me, hard, and he yells at me to stand up and walk on my own for a ways. I panic, appalled anew by the voice, yet I obey against my will and follow along as though this was anything but abnormal. The coarse, dark hair of the captor shines brilliantly in the midnight moon, even despite the sandy breeze that covers us as we trod forward, forever seeming to move in one direction. No matter how hard I try to scream, no sound comes out, and my lips never move.”

— — — — — —

He awoke before the sun that morning, covered in a cold sweat he had come to know well since they began to visit him roughly two weeks prior. His eyes stung with the dust of sleep, and he could not stop himself from yawning. He was never able to shake off the sense of dread that accompanied those dreams and lingered well afterwards. Rising sharply, he quickly rolled his mat into his pack and smothered what was left of the embers with dirt from the surrounding ground. Picking up his sword, he flung the sheath over his shoulder and secured the weapon tightly to his body, aching with the countless days of walking and unrelenting dreams. Once gathering what little belongings he carried with him, there was no trace left he had ever been there at all.

As he made his way down the dusty path of the forest, the sun was bright and hot, and the branches of the trees helped shade him from the giant ball hanging in the middle of the sky. He came upon a clearing that looked rather familiar, recognizing it immediately as the one in his dream. Closing his eyes, the young man felt the breeze brush past his cheeks, carrying the sweet smell of lilacs from the edge of the woods. It reminded him eerily of home, where the village was filled with the echoes of children who ran from inside their wooden houses, gathering closer than need be along the banks of the little river to skip rocks upon its surface. But that was before any of the chaos ensued, before anyone knew anything of the ram men and their treachery. They had come quickly in the night, and he remembered the loud screams that had awoken him. A bright orange glow ate the village like a ravenous fiend, swift to leave nothing behind. They had been looking for him, he knew it. Ever since the dreams began, he could feel an aura drawing ever closer, and deep inside him something writhed in agony with every day that passed. He could clearly recall the beasts standing over the dead bodies of villagers, their thick chests held high and the fires causing their twisted horns to cast dancing shadows over their faces. In an instant, the young man’s nose filled with the scent of ashes and iron.

The snap of a tree branch jolted him back to where he stood, and in seconds the blade was out of its sheath and pointed at the creature hobbling towards the young man. He was used to seeing these creatures, with their thick skin glistening from a layer of slime and eyes that seemed to glow with an intent to feast. They never came up higher than his shoulder, and were easily defeated with one swift blow of the blade. As the creature closed in on him, the young man raised his sword and sliced along the horizon that bisected the creatures head from the rest of his body. It was the 12th one that week, seeming to increase in number with each day that passed. He sheathed his sword and surveyed the area. No clue was left that time except a few hoof marks, heading North. He set off in that direction, and when the area looked safe he unpacked his bag and rested for the night.

— — — — — —

“I am being carried again, slung over the shoulder of the giant beast. Another one walks behind us, and I suspect it is to watch for any potential enemies. Again I am unable to speak, though I try harder and harder every time to even let one sound escape. My wrists sting, raw from the rope, and my ankles are shown no mercy either. We reach the edge of a new woodland, and the beasts speak in a language I do not understand. I feel the large muscles beneath me tense as the giant ram lifts his arms and grabs my waist. He carelessly drops me again to the ground. My body wriggles to sit up as the two towering monsters continue to exchange grunts. Before I realize what is going on, the bigger of the two ram men grabs my arms roughly and begins to shake and search me violently. My eyesight goes blurry and my head starts to ache, the world around me jumping up and down. My lips part and I scream for help;

‘Arseni’!”

— — — — — —

Arseni jolted awake; my name, he thought. She screamed my name. It was still nighttime and the crickets continued their song. He wiped the sweat from his brow, sitting stunned for only a moment before swiftly packing up and destroying the camp. He could feel the burn of rope against his wrists. Making his way through the surrounding shrubbery, Arseni could not lead his mind from the dream. It had been almost two weeks since the village was raided, and he could still hear the screams of the village folk as they watched their children kidnapped and most of the rest slaughtered. He squeezed his eyes shut and upon opening them, a single tear streaked down his cheek, taking the dust from his journey with it. He wiped it away briskly, his deep mourning melting into anger.

From a small pouch he tied to his waist, Arseni pulled out a soft, rose colored handkerchief; really it was more splotched with red stains and dirt than pink, making his mind wander about what it was used for before he had found it. He rubbed the thin fabric between his fingers. He remembered his mother giving it to Arys when they were little, maybe five years old, to wipe her tears after she had fallen and scraped her knee. This tiny square of delicate fabric was a special item to Arys, and of the three clues Arseni had found up to that point, he wondered what came over Arys to leave this particular one for him to find. Arseni returned the handkerchief to the pouch and hastened his steps.

The sun began to set over the horizon, and the heat of the day gave way to a cool breeze. Wiping his carmel hair from his sweaty forehead, the gentle wind was pleasant and welcomed. He came upon a beautiful riverbank, and decided it would be a good time to rest; after all, he had been walking nonstop since before the sun even rose. Pulling his trousers up to his knees, Arseni waded into the icy water. After a few minutes of waiting, a good sized trout swam up to inspect the peculiar pillars that appeared on the bank. It had no chance to escape before Arseni snatched it up, holding it tight enough so that it didn’t escape and loose enough to not have it slip right from his hands. He ate well that evening, for he could sense he was getting close. He would need all the strength he could get.

~ ~ ~

There was no dream that night. Arseni awoke from the bright sun peeking through the leaves of the tall woods. It was the first full night of sleep he had gotten since beginning his journey, and despite appreciating the rest he began to worry. What happened to Arys? Why hadn’t he seen her that night? When departing on his journey, the only way he had been able to follow them was through their shared dreams; though she couldn’t feel Arseni, he saw through her eyes on occasion the events of the day. The first time it happened, Arseni had been napping on the dock by the river. He dreamed that he saw himself lying there in the sun, with his feet dangling into the water. He saw himself as if it were not he but another boy that looked just like him. As he walked closer to the dock, the unnerving sight of himself caused Arseni to jolt awake, only to see Arys standing over him.

The dreams were rare, but in each case he knew Arys was worrying about something, for they only happened when she was exhausted and anxious. The dreams were visiting Arseni every night since she was taken. He had been following the clues she left for him ever since leaving the village; first there was the small headband she used to tie her hair with every day, then the pouch he wore around his waist, then a small carved, wooden figurine he had made for her, and then it was the handkerchief. Arseni imagined she knew he was coming for her, and that she was leaving him a small trail to assure him he was on the right path. That night, since he did not see her he was unsure of where to look for the next item. He had no images to recognize from a dream. He packed up and continued to go North as he had been doing.

As he made his way over the small hill just outside of the woods, a deafening noise made Arseni drop low to the ground and take cover. From beneath the canopy of the trees, many birds quickly took to the skies, perhaps hundreds fleeing the forest. There was only one thing that could cause such a bellowing sound. He had defeated two of them already, but each one proved a greater difficulty than the last. Unsheathing his sword, Arseni prepared to face the creature. From inside the forest came another roaring wail, and the thing emerged into sight. The ground trembled beneath every step it took. The hot sun illuminated the scales of the monster, glinting a deep garnet color. It stood half as tall as the trees, and its long body moved with sinuous grace. Had a dragon made offspring with a bull of six legs, this creature would represent it. The very glare of its eyes afflicted terror into Arseni. As the beast stood at the edge of the wood, snarling and baring its many teeth and prominent fangs, it let a final wailing call escape its narrow snout.

The next few moments were a blur, as the creature charged and made its way at Arseni. Arseni ran towards the beast, their bodies just seconds away from colliding when he jumped and rolled out of the way to the side. The giant body of the beast lacked the capability of changing direction as quickly as Arseni, agile and swift in his movements. As the forward momentum of the creature flung the thing past Arseni, he stabbed his sword into the side of the beasts body, working hard to sink it deep through the scales and creating a large fissure from below the shoulder all the way to the hind leg. The air was filled with such a shriek, the trees closest to the battle rained their leaves down to the ground like offerings of surrender. The beast whipped around, and Arseni wiped the blood from his face. It charged at him again, and seconds before an impact Arseni jumped to the other side; his feet just left the ground when the beast lifted its foot and slammed Arseni straight to the dirt, still moving forward and dragging the young man along with it. His body left a deep groove in the earth.

Underneath the burning sun, the beast coiled around and around Arseni’s body. He lay there, his torso aching and his shoulders torn underneath his tunic. He thought of his village, the pain that was caused the day the ram men came. He thought of Sorin, the little boy in the home next door to his, always begging Arseni to teach him the ways of the sword. The smell of the market, the village women setting up their ripe apples for sale along with the fresh milk of their livestock. The smell of the orchards was so clear that his mouth salivated. He thought of his mother, bravely defending the children of the village, and then he thought of her again, lying cold on the ground not moments later. Then he thought of his sister, with her caramel colored hair tied with a beautiful green ribbon. He opened his eyes. Arys was all he had left.

Trembling with exhaustion from his journey, Arseni pulled himself from the ground. As his head throbbed, he looked directly into the beast’s eyes. He remembered the courage his mother portrayed as she gave her life, and he was ready to do the same. The beast charged for a third time. As it swiftly approached Arseni, he took a deep breath, watching the figure of the creature become larger as it drew closer. Right before Arseni would be trampled, he feigned a leap to the left; as he watched the beasts foot come up to catch him a second time, Arseni exhaled sharply and dropped backwards. As his already aching shoulders impacted the ground, Arseni closed his eyes and let out a scream as he stabbed towards the sky.

Moments passed in silence. Arseni was afraid to open his eyes, and it was only the loud rumbling of the earth that forced him to look at what had happened. He was drenched in a sticky liquid, and the body of the beast had collapsed only yards away from Arseni. Its belly had been split, and its contents were sprawled on the ground just behind it. It laid there, limp and weak. It did not strike fear into Arseni anymore, nor would it ever strike fear into anything ever again. Arseni, bloody, drained, and alive, sheathed his sword and picked up his pack. He turned North, and continued to walk without ever looking back.

— — — — — —

“My body is so weak, I struggle to put one foot in front of the other. The sun had seared my skin from the countless hours of no shade, and I wish for water even just to wet my parched tongue. Even when I fall to the ground, they lift me up again and push me forward. I cannot walk anymore. The bigger of the two monsters grabs me and shakes me, telling me I had better move my legs or I would have none to move. His eyes seem to glow yellow as he peers into me, a contrast from the silver moon above his head. Before letting me go, his clawed hand begins to take off the bracelet upon my arm. As I scream for him to leave it be, he rips it off and it makes a clanging noise as it falls to the ground. He yanks me up and drops me onto his shoulder as we continue to move forward, the bracelet glistening in the moonlight.”

— — — — — —

That morning it was cool, the dew not yet evaporated into the day. Arseni stared into the flickering embers of the fire, the handkerchief between his hands. I should have known better, he thought, Arys would never willingly leave this handkerchief behind. It was her most prized possession, after all. The only thing left from their mother, and he knew she would hold it dear until her dying day. An unpleasant feeling turned his stomach over and over. They were leaving these clues for a purpose. He packed up his things and trudged forward.

~ ~ ~

Arseni paled. As he picked up the bracelet from the ground, he could see the enormous gates of the Garneia Valley. It had been long abandoned by the kingdom who ruled it centuries before, and he had only heard stories of its existence. There was no doubt that the ram men brought Arys there, Arseni could feel the way it invited him in like a flame draws the moth, as if he belonged there. Legends told of a temple deep within Garneia, visible only to those chosen by empyrean divinity to enter without consequence. These stories were passed down through the grandmothers of every village, and Arseni recalled Grandmother Ilia recounting the legend many times. The air around him seemed to grow still, and the young man felt the journey of the last few weeks begin to weigh upon his shoulders. He continued onwards towards the gates as they grew taller and more impeccable with every step he took.

As he approached the entrance, Arseni could see there was no other way into the province other than the gate, for it was guarded on all sides by treacherous landscapes and secured with mountains. The gigantic double-doored entrance towered over 300 meters tall, he reckoned, and to ascend it would prove to be a more than difficult task for any skilled climber. When he finally reached the gate, he stared at it with awestruck wonderment. Deep grooves etched an elaborate design identical in both doors of the gate, and the smooth stone showed no signs of erosion from the countless centuries of their existence. Arseni inspected the gate and did not find any clue as how to open it; there were no other entrances, no levers of any kind, and there was no possible way he could push the massive doors open. He came back in front and stood before the doors.

As he stared at them, his head began to throb until it grew into a wailing and sharp pain; his eyes rolled back and it was as if a brilliant light consumed him. The young man’s body burned from deep within, and it spread through to the tips of his fingers and his toes as he choked out a scream. Images flashed quickly within the light; his mother smiling, the apples in the orchard, a green ribbon in the wind, a flowing fountain, a blazing fire, Arys bound with rope, a ram man with chains. He could no longer stand, and he collapsed to his knees. His hands slammed into the doors as he tried to catch himself, blind to his surroundings, and as his hands made contact, the light behind Arseni’s eyes intensified and the pain from his head devoured him completely.

The earth began to rumble, and the deafening sound of gravel against stone filled the valley. Sand abraded Arseni’s body, and he could not breath as the wind whipped around him, filling the air with billowing clouds of dust. He struggled to remain upright on his knees, the light behind his eyes blinding still. After what seemed like an era, the rumbling subsided and the sand settled around him. The white light began to subside, and he could dimly see his surroundings as the air around him cleared. Gasping for air, Arseni’s arms trembled to hold himself up, hunched over on his hands and knees. Upon the backs of his hands and up his arms, the same designs of the doors now burned Arseni’s skin. His head bobbed as he lifted it to see the gate, which had left two deep scores in the earth as they dragged open. Taking a moment to breath, Arseni stared through the gates. He could see the path to the temple. If the ram men had been unaware of his arrival, they were well aware now.

~ ~ ~

The smooth walls of the temple reverberated even the smallest of sounds. As he made his way through the enormous hall, Arseni could hear droplets of water splashing somewhere in the chamber. The little claws of mice could be heard scampering upon the cool tile of the corridors. He tried carefully to walk without a sound, but the space in the hall welcomed any disturbance as an invitation for gossip. As he looked upon the pillars supporting the grand ceiling, with its wax-covered chandeliers, he could not help but feel tiny next to the towering stones. As he observed the great hall, he heard the clicking of hoofs approaching. Arseni quickly made his way to one of the large pillars, and peered out from behind it.

The ram men came into the hall from a corridor at the far side of the room. They were speaking to each other in a series of grunts as they made their way up the steps at the head of the hall, up towards what looked like a dried up fountain. The fountain had the same markings as the entrance and now, as Arseni’s arms. Arseni recalled his Grandmother telling him about the fountain, which flowing would provide immense power and wisdom. She had told him that the water would only be restored through empyrean sacrifice… but he struggled to remember her words, and wished he had paid just a little more attention to Grandmother Ilia’s stories.

He couldn’t hide for long before the ram men could smell him. They grunted in his direction. Arseni stepped out from behind one of the pillars, looking right at the creatures. Arys was nowhere in sight. He unsheathed his sword, and the ram men bleated what seemed like laughter. Then one of them spoke in a voice so deep and earthy, Arseni felt it through his feet.

“You cannot wish to leave here alive, you are the key.” Anger overcame Arseni like a fire consumes the forest. The night they raided his village, Arseni had hid from the fight among some barrels of goods. When the fires died down, and there were no more screams, he emerged to see his beloved home destroyed and in ruins. He looked at the bodies on the ground, the shopkeeper, the fisherman, Sorin, his mother. All of them gone, and Arys no where in sight. He should have been taken, or killed, but instead he cowered. He felt a fire grow inside of him then, and as he stood before the ram men in the temple, he felt a rage he never knew he was capable of.

He charged at the beasts. He swung his sword high, and brought it down with a great force as one of the beasts ducked down. The ram caught the sword in his bare hand, and Arseni, caught off guard, was hurled away with a great force. He watched as the beast single-handedly snapped his sword as if it were made of ice, brittle and weak. Arseni surveyed the room; ruble covered the edges of the hall, and he could see the shackle and column of a rusted chandelier beneath a small pile of stone. He rose up and rushed towards the ruble, grabbing the shaft of metal and turning to the ram men.

One of them had disappeared, and Arseni faced the large one, standing at the end of the hall. The ram man stood tall, a little over 2 meters. His legs were thick and muscular, both his thighs and calves bulging like his chest. The dark fur that covered him made him look menacing, his warped horns held by a broad neck. Arseni braced himself to charge, and the ram man bared his teeth. They charged together, and within a few steps the ram man was on Arseni’s side. He swiped with his long claws, just barely nicking Arseni’s tunic as he rolled out of the way. Arseni stabbed at the ram man with the rusted column, hardly piercing through the skin and fur. As the ram turned around, he made a lunge for the young man and charged with his horns. He slammed Arseni against one of the stone pillars, his horns digging deep into the young mans arms. Arseni screamed, the sound echoing through the hall. As the ram man gored him, Arseni mustered every last ounce of strength he had and ripped his arm out from under the horn. He struck the rams head with the shaft of the chandelier, and the ram loosened his grip upon Arseni. As he lifted his arm to strike again, the ram man charged Arseni into the pillar once more, causing him to drop the shaft. It made a clanging noise as it hit the stone tile, and Arseni let out a cry. He was ready to battle with his bare arms when he heard Arys scream. He looked up and his heart plunged well below the ground.

Arys was on her knees in front of the fountain, the other ram man behind her. She was covered in chains. His twin sister was smaller than he had remembered, dirty and weakened. Arseni screamed as he fought hard to escape the horns of the ram, but he was not strong enough to push the ram away. He watched his sister there, knowing deep inside that it should have been him in her place. The ram men exchanged grunts, which echoed in the space of the hall, and the horns loosened on Arseni. He slid down the pillar to the ground. The ram man seized him, bringing him upon the steps next to the fountain and forcing him to his knees. Arys was crying, silently, the tears streaming down her face as she pleadingly gazed into Arseni’s eyes. He failed. Just like the village people, just like their mother, he couldn’t save Arys. She knew this, and she smiled through her tears.

For a moment everything faded away, and they were home again. They sat by the river, their feet soaking in the chilly water as the sun warmed their backs. He turned to look at her; it was like looking at his own reflection. Her blue eyes were pure and filled with joy, and she grinned as she laughed, her cheeks flushing pink. It was contagious, and soon Arseni found himself laughing with no cares in the world alongside her. She could always make him laugh. As they sat together, enjoying the summer sun, Arseni looked again at his sister. He imagined she was moving her feet through the water, sending ripples outwards in each direction. He smiled as her eyes met his. In one moment, she became unrecognizable. Her eyes grew dark and wide, and her expression froze, her mouth stretching open in a stricken manner. She fell limp into his arms, and he held her tight against his chest. He screamed for her, screamed for her smile to return, but instead he felt her body go cold. His tears matted her hair, and he kissed her head over and over as a throbbing pain in his head consumed his body.

The sun shone bright that day, and the trees danced in the breeze. As the murmuring river drifted lazily along, it took with it the bitter memories of lost souls. Lilac filled the air, and the gentle shade beneath the trees called for the weary to rest.

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