The Weight of the World

by G M Archer

  Joseph pulled his hand from his arm, his blood slick and dark on his hand, “Shoot it!” He screamed over the other wails.

  I pulled the trigger, hammer dropping and hesitating, I continuing to move with the thing’s stalking form. The bullet cracked through the screams, hitting nothing on the floor and ricocheting with splintering marble, but the shadow on the wall twisted, flinched as if it was grazed.

  The shadow, it had hit the shadow. It ran at me, and I jumped back into the darkness, resisting the urge to close my eyes. Nothing hit me. The shadow stalked in the lights around me.

  “It’s not invisible!” I looked at Joseph, who was running at me, “Get out of the light! It’s a shadow! It can only attack your shadow!”

  “It’s what!? Make up your mind, Atlas!” He fell back out of the light and I moved towards him, the screams clawing at my ears, chilling my bones. I tripped, the gun falling out of my hands as I fell forward, my pocket with the Moontear falling open, and the stone clattering to the ground. I tried to scramble out of the light, but the shadow beast raced across the room.

  The second it got into my light it wailed, an unearthly cry, writhing back. Joseph lunged forward, watching his silhouette draw the broadsword and slash at the creature. It trailed out a line of blood, the thing crashing away with an eerie wail. The lanterns hushed to moans.

  Joseph tied some fabric around his arm, breathing heavily. His eyes wavered on his sword, the blade stained with black sludge.

  “Good- good thinking,” I said, shaking.

  His eyes darted around the lights, “Let’s get out of this awful place.”

  I handed him the horn, grabbed the Moontear and searched blindly around the floor for the pistol. He watched a light pass over his lantern and retrieved it.

  “Do you still have that horn?” He called.

  “Yes.” I tied my belt around it.

  “Good, so help me it better be worth it-”

  A low whining wail, a death’s cry cut out somewhere in the darkness, the lanterns responding similarly. Though quieter than the screams, it was much more chilling, the sound of suffering, of pain.

  “Leave the pistol! We need to get out before that thing decides it’s not dead!” Joseph commanded.

  I was already to him and headed for the stairs as he motioned in that direction. We fled away from the agonized moans, all our stealth lost as we traded it for haste, not even slowing down till we breathlessly reached the door. Joseph slammed it shut and we stood still and breathless in the welcoming silence.

  Chapter 9- Only to be Deceived Into Unpredicted Misfortune

  “You should ask Serif about it”, Neve gently turned Joseph’s arm in her hands, the blood that pooled at his wounds progressively getting darker.

  She turned to lead us on, the sea of dogs swirling around her, “As uncomfortably close as your encounter was with that thing you really have to tell me more about it. I’d like to chronicle some information about it- I bet such material is not easy to come by.”

  She took us again through the maze of circular rooms and hallways, frequently talking to or answering a dog, most with a scroll or book in their mouth. We entered a room overladen with artifacts of every shape and size. Shelves overflowing with records, files sit amongst giant chess pieces, and skeletons and skins of every odd beast and bird were stacked and strewed around weapons. Serif’s head popped out from behind what was apparently a desk, unrecognizable because it was surrounded and overburdened with papers.

  He slowly pulled a thick pair of glasses down his nose, regarding us with an air of almost skepticism. He flung the glasses off and stood dramatically, flaring out a paper in front of him.

  After squinting for a moment he shuffled around till he found the glasses, again placing them on his nose, “Congratulations, you’re not dead and I see you’ve managed to get the trumpet of victory or whatever it is. I have graciously translated your document for you, we can arrange payment later. It’s some sort of stupid hackneyed prophecy that could have multiple meanings.” He placed a finger at the top of the paper as he began to read, “A hero, warrior, something about a legacy, blah, blah, will come with a warrior of . . . nightmares I think- it says terrors of the night but that doesn’t flow smoothly- I mean, none of it would if you translated it exactly- anyway, a warrior of nightmares and shadows to face-”

  My heart skipped a beat, and with a hushed tone I spoke, "Warrior of shadows and nightmares to fight the oncoming storm of darkness. Only will they succeed when-”

  “If you knew why’d you have me translate it!?” He flung his papers into the air, each piece raining down and hanging on some random object.

  “How did you know it?” Joseph asked, looking at me with brow furled.

  “A dream”, I whispered, “I had a dream and an angel told me that.”

  “What’s the rest?” Neve asked.

  I started to speak at the same time Serif did.

  “She can tell you!” he waved his hands dismissively, “I can see when I’m not needed.”

  Neve rolled her eyes and made a motion for me to continue.

  “Only will they succeed when they are free, when they gain their wings and fly, but in the end, their fate is to sacrifice and die.”

  Serif nodded.

  “You heard that in a dream?” Joseph asked.

  “Yes”, I whispered.

  “That’s fascinating”, Neve said.

  Joseph started to ask something else but Serif scuttled over, turning Joseph’s arm around with a morbid fascination, “What happened to you?”

  “I was cut by the claws of the monster that was a shadow under this library”, Joseph raised an eyebrow at Serif’s boldness.

  “Oh you’re going to die.” Serif said flippantly, dropping his arm.

  “What!?” I said

  “Not funny”, Neve crossed her arms.

  “I wasn’t trying to be,” Serif turned back to look over his shoulder.

  “What do you mean he’s going to die!?” I screeched.

  “Cease to be alive,” Serif said.

  Joseph looked at his arm with an abhorred expressed, then his brow furled in anger “So how do I avoid ‘ceasing to be alive’?”

  “I don’t know. I read something about how to cure that poison once. It was cheesy but I can’t remember what it was” Serif shrugged.

  “Serif!” Neve yelled.

  “Don’t get mad at me, it’s not my fault.”

  I gritted my teeth, “It would have been nice if you mentioned that there was a shadow monster that had deadly claws.”

  “I had no idea that was what was down there. All I knew is that people have died trying, I’ve lead a bunch to the door and they don’t come back. I warned you about that.”

  Joseph looked at me uneasily.

  “You are not allowed to die, Joseph, I won’t have it and neither will Alexandra,” I said stubbornly.

  “Death is not exactly something I want to experience, Atlas”, He turned to Serif, “So is there a cure? What can I do?”

  “I just said I read about it once but don’t remember,” Serif shrugged.

  Neve turned to the small fox-dog, “Tell everyone to go find everything they can on shadow beasts and the poisoning of such.”

  Serif stroked his chin, “I think they’re called Panstalkers . . .”

  “Ok, Panstalkers as well,” the dog halted as Neve addressed it again, made sure that was the last thing she wanted, and then took off.

  “Joseph, we couldn’t survive on our own. . .” I said quietly.

  “Atlas, just calm down, I-” His eyelids fluttered once before rolling back into his head, and I reached out helplessly as his weight came crashing down with a clash of his armor.

  The next three days were probably some of the worst in my life.

  The black in Joseph’s viens krept across his whole arm and chest, a dark web of death. I gave up looking at it’s progress after it reached over his biceps, letting Alexandra check the progress of th
e poisoning. I could only expect what would happen when it reached his heart.

  All the same, I don’t know wether it was harder on me or Alexandra. I went and got her from the Rook and she went from a distraught mess to a grim fisage, watching Jospeph sputter in and out of consiousness, succeding less and less each time to force him to eat or drink.

  On top of that, the doctor of Voltaren was more harm than good, he could barely see and had little to no knowladge of medicine, his main suggestions blood-letting and leech therapy. Alexandra caught him once trying it without our consent and had stayed on guard ever since. Not that I think he would dare cross her after that encounter. The nurses tried to be helpful, but proved to be equally ignorant in the art of healing.

  The cane farmer and his boy showed up at some point, offering some food and a couple coins. His friends soon came after, kind stragers so far from home. Or the place that had once held that name.

  Neve had just come, covered in serveral shawls and bent over to make it look like she was much more elderly than reality. With her watching Joseph I basically dragged Alexandra out of the ramshakle clinic for air under the guise of needing to go fetch water.

  We walked in awkward silence to the well, neither one of us brave enough to start a conversation. She watched the darkness down the well as her hands absentmindedly pulled the rope, eyes grey behind her smudged specticles. Never had I seen her glasses dirty.

  I turned slowly and gazed down the street, the town silent under an ovdercast sky, the smell of cold rain on the wind.

  “A messenger at the inn this morining said that Varrick’s troops are marching on the capitol of the Terminus empire. Who knows how old that information is? He could have already conquered it by now.” I attempted to break the silence, glancing at her to see her slowly pulling the bucket off the hook.

  “Did they say anything about you?” She was gazing at her blurry reflection in the water.

  “No.”

  “I suppose news does travel slow.”

  There was a pause with her eyes never moving, blinking slowly.

  “Do you think Donovan is ok?” I asked.

  She shrugged.

  “I guess we’ll have to have our wedding somewhere else besides the castle chapel now” I attempted at some humor.

  Her lip twitched slightly, “Maybe you could ask Varrick nicely to let you borrow it for a day.”

  Another pause.

  “I wonder where he is,” I mused quietly, refering to Donovan, not Varrick.

  Thunder rumbled distantly.

  “Wherever he is he has to be better off than us,” She put the bucket on her hip and began to shuffle back towards the clinic.

  Again I beared the awkwardness as we trudged back to the clinic in silence.

  “Alexandra,” I grabbed for her arm, seeing Neve standing at the door to the office as we approached.

  Having been looking at the ground, she looked up what I was pointing at.

  Neve was stiff, eyes wide, “Thank goodness you’re here, he’s hysterical! I didn’t want to leave , you told me not to-”

  Alexandra dropped the bucket, water splattering all over the cobblestones and her dress as she ran up to the door, Neve barely avoiding her as she tore into the clinic. I tried to keep up as she flew through the main lobby, down the hall, shoving the doctor aside as she stormed into the room.

  Jospeh’s breathing was ragged, his eyes wideand face slick with sweat as his shaky hands unstrapped his bracers.

  “Stop it! What are you doing!? Relax!” Alexandra pinned his wrists at his side.

  His eyes flicked to her, and though he strained, the warrior could not even lift the maid’s hands.

  “A- A man like me- d- dies with no marks- of the Guild. Take- my f-father’s armor off me. Let-me- die-die- an honest m-man” He sputtered.

  “Stop it,” Alexandra’s voice was as firm, but her eyes began to water.

  “Sh-shave my beard- and bury-me, bury me in an unmarked gr-grave.”

  “What is he talking about? What does he mean?” I looked at Alexandra, hovering in the door, Neve peering down the hallway with a look of fear and worry.

  “He’s being ridiculous,” Her head snapped to me and then back, “calm down Joseph.”

  His head lolled sideways on the pillow to stare at me with his bloodshot eyes, “What- what do I mean she- as-asks.”

  “Joseph,” Alexandra gripped his wrists tighter, “Stop, I’ll tell her later. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t need to-”

  He suddenly tore his hand free from her grip, a sudden burst of stength, and as she stumbled back he jerked his tunic down to reveal his chest, black viens cracked around the girstly brand of a rooster over his heart. I gasped, stepping back.

  “You’re- You’re, branded!?” I stood in shock, Alexandra pulling his shirt back over his chest, “Why!?”

  “No.” Alexandra said quietly, turning her head away from me.

  “The- Guild-c-can only guard no-nobility. They t-told me to leave- you. When I ref-refused they told me that to-to break the code made-made me a traitor. I did the right- thing and it shamed th-them. It was this- or-death.”

  “It’s . . . my fault.” I backed up, “You’re branded lower than the filthiest men of Viafinis and it’s my fault.” I contiuned to step back.

  “Atlas, stop”, Alexandra began to frantically shake her head.

  “How far I’ve fallen from grace. How many I’ve taken with me. Look at the misfortune I bring.”

  “Both of you quit being so dramatic!” Alexandra’s eyes dashed between us, tears starting to fall.

  “That’s not- it’s not fair!” I screeched, much like a child, and feeling as helpless as one too.

  Joseph started to say something, but his words were lost in a fit of hacking. His eyes fluttered closed, head falling back.

  Alexandra panicked, her breath hitching, her hand immediately jerking to his pulse. She let out a quick shutter of sigh as she watched the hairs of his beard rise and fall with his breath. She stepped back, rolling her shoulders, regaining her composure as if she were still a maid of the castle, quelling panic in the name of professionalism.

  She turned my direction with her eyes closed, opened them to my devestation, choked on a sob, let out a muffled wail and colapsed on the floor. I started to step towards her, putting out my hand. Numbly my eyes glanced at Joseph’s limp bracer, the image of the roaring lion marred by that of a rooster burned into flesh.

  A maid that should’ve been in a castle and a man that should still be a knight. All my fault.

  And I turned and ran. I ran past Neve’s fearful confusion, I ran out of the ramshakle clinic, and out and down the road as if I could leave my troubles somewhere beind me.

  Chapter 10- Disregarded by What is Deserved

  Joseph was branded.

  I walked through the maze of streets, legs moving on their own sluggish accord. I was lost but I didn’t care, I only wish my mind could be that way as well.

  I sit down on a bench underneath a withering apple tree, the gnarled thing dropping fruit to rot on the street below.

  Branding was serious, it had been done for centuries, originally done to low slaves by plantation owners. To do it to a Guild Knight was despicable, awful, a theft of not only status but human rights. It was a curse. It marked a person an enemy of the populous, any who displayed the symbol had no right to property, marriage, and especially offspring. If these rules were broken, the individual would lose a body part, starting with the tongue.

  The thought of that being inflicted on Joseph was sickening, but being branded was supposed to be rare and reserved for the traitorous and deranged, carried out by the Guild. Varrick was fonder of simple execution or imprisonment.

  So had the King known about Joseph? Surely not, or he wouldn’t have let him stay in the castle. But the Guild answered to Varrick, he had to have known.

  “You, young lady!” A group of three guards approached down the street, the lead raising his hand
.

  I considered fleeing, but it would confirm me as being guilty of something, so I just stood and faced them.

  They drew near, the lead speaking, “Where is the knight that was with you?”

  “He is ill,” I said quietly, feeling similarly sick as I uttered the words.

  The two moved to the sides of me. I suddenly recognized them from the square on the first day, a nervous feeling creeping over me.

  A grin slipped over the lips of the lead guard, “How . . . unfortunate. Especially since it leaves you so . . . alone.”

  I took a glance at the two to my sides, “Why don’t you leave me alone,” I growled.

  They laughed.

  “The Guild keeps careful watch over me.” I warned.

  “I checked with the latest records. All the Guild is currently with the King, none are traveling, especially to here. Such a pretty girl to be caught up in whatever scheme you’re in,” The leader’s smile only grew smugger.

  The leader grabbed my wrist as I turned to flee, and with my free hand I drew free one of the short swords on my back, swinging it in a wide arch to my side, the blade skittering across the guard’s breastplate.

  I stabbed forward at the leader, the man shocked, but still dodging to the side, not relinquishing his hold on my wrist. I slashed the blade across his forearm, the steel catching in the leather that covered it but still drawing blood. The guard to the side grabbed my arm and twisted it, the sword falling free from my hand. A hand smacked across the side of my head, the sharp pain making my vision blur.

  I stumbled, the leader grabbing my throat. His surprised snarl fell slack as a blade lurched through his throat. I jumped free from his dead grip as a warhammer smashed into the head of the guard to my right. Another step back let me see an arrow finish the last before he could cry out.

  I immediately dropped to the ground and retrieved my sword, keeping it level but relaxed as I eyed my saviors.

  Guards?

  They eyed each other, faces shadowed under silver helms, “That her?” one asked.