Supernova

by Georgia Chioni

  Mor jumped into the slot, just as Odora, seeing his legs cut off and frozen, let out a scream of despair.

  KASRA

  The swampy planet

  “Foreigner…foreigner, are you alright?”

  Those words repeated over and over again sounded like a long, raspy hum, whose echo pierced through his ears, and snapped him out of his slumber. He opened his eyelids with difficulty. He was alive. A white cloud enveloped him, and everything around him was a blur. He blinked several times, and his eyes gradually cleared up. All he saw was the sky, so he guessed he was lying down. He tried to move his limbs. As he did that, he felt water covering his nose and mouth. He coughed with difficulty, and reared his head to start breathing.

  “Foreigner?” the voice repeated. He felt something groping his face. He raised his head and neck a little bit more, while he leant on his hands to move around.

  “Don’t be afraid,” the voice carried on.

  Mor blinked. His vision was clear now. He looked around. He had passed through to a swamp. The water covering him was full of mud, smelling like grass after the rain. The soil underneath was somewhat cold, made up of sticky mud. The hand that had groped him was now raised over his nose, shading his eyes. It was wrinkled, frail, and white, full of gnarls. Mor looked at the old man standing over him, his knees almost dipped into the swamp.

  “Are you alright?” he repeated.

  He wanted to answer, but he started to cough, spitting out water. He observed the hunched old man. He had never seen such a timeworn, furrowed face. He was of indeterminate age. His hair was white, like an avalanche, cascading down his face, mingling with his white beard, which reached his belly. His eyes were a bright faded colour—so faded, you felt it would become one with the whites of his eyes. His hand clumsily fell on Mor’s nose and mouth. He realised he was blind. He looked at his body. The ice had melted, and his skin was back to normal. He took a look at his feet. They were still bulky.

  He began coughing to empty his lungs of the water he had swallowed.

  “Good, I think…”

  “You said that in a weird way.”

  “How d’ you mean?”

  “You sounded disappointed.”

  “Yes, you’re right. I wish I weren’t, I guess.”

  He placed his finger on his temple.

  “You possess knowledge. I can see that, too. You can’t do much about chance and error, though. You try to understand with your logic, but there’s no logic in these worlds. We live at random, my friend, and at random, we die. You have seen Evil’s face; you’re looking for the truth. You have doubts about many things. Doubt in life does you a lot of harm. You have to trust.”

  “In what? In what has happened to me all this time?”

  “In all the things you were given by the universe. In all the wisdom you possess. You learn things when the wind ceases, even in the storm. I see you’ve travelled a lot, seen many worlds. But make sure you see this world here. You feel rage, sorrow, disappointment. All this together. Clear your spirit to find peace, foreigner. Banish rage and malice. Feel the calm of nature, and accept it. Be grateful.”

  “Grateful,” he thought.

  “You live here?” he asked the old man.

  “Yes, foreigner, I’ve been here since I lost my sight, when the big war came to an end. But, as I understand, this is your first time here.”

  “Yes, my first time.”

  “You too are a traveller.”

  “Yes,” Mor replied. “Big war?”

  “Yes. The two big tribes fought against each other.”

  “What happened?”

  “The son of one of the kings killed them both. And…”

  “Let me guess…Now, he rules, and you have peace.”

  “Yes. He united the two nations.”

  “Until someone else comes to lay claim to the throne. Then, another war will break out. That’s the way it is. Wars and people’s greed never stop.” He looked around him more attentively now.

  There was a swamp surrounded by trees in the middle of a desolate expanse.

  “Where are the towns?”

  “On the two sides,” the old man responded, pointing to the east and the west. “What do you seek on your travels, foreigner?” he asked Mor.

  Mor gulped.

  “Truth? Peace?” the old man added.

  “Yes. I feel so tired.”

  “You will find them here.”

  He groped his face.

  “My hut’s over there. You can stay for as long as you want, until you decide what to do next.”

  “Thank you, old man.”

  He stood up and looked at the metal wristband. He opened the lid. The device was there, intact.

  “You can eat the seeds and fruit you’ll find on the trees. Ah! Don’t worry! Here, nobody’s going to hurt you.”

  “How come?” Mor asked out of curiosity.

  “They believe that here is the tomb of the king that sleeps, and woe betide anyone who disrupts his sleep. He will wake up and submerge everyone!”

  “Is it here?”

  “On the rocks, in a big stone, which has his face carved in it…How should I know? After all, I am just an old blind man.”

  Mor looked at him pensively.

  The old hunched man slowly walked towards his hut, while Mor went up to a tree. From its bare bent branches hung some orange-reddish seeds. He grabbed one greedily. It tasted weird but sweet. He plucked a handful of them. He gulped them down without chewing. The old man was right. They were delicious.

  He looked around him. He was in the middle of the swamp, which looked like an oasis in the desert. All he could see on both sides were vast expanses of land. He was tired of roaming the infinity of spacetime. He mechanically touched his wristband, and unlocked it. Then, he decisively took it off and threw it into the swamp. The wristband immediately sank. It was gone.

  He was overwhelmed with a feeling of inner peace. He gazed at the sky. There was a world, with an infinity of worlds hidden behind it. Some of them dark, others bright, sometimes beyond imagination. Secret worlds. No matter how hard he tried, he would only learn too little. The world’s secrets were wide shut, along with the secret to existence itself. The truth was hidden inside the stars, and these were scattered in chaos. So many distant places in indeterminate times, making up threads that wove the world. It was time to put an end to all this.

  There, in the middle of nowhere, he would find the peace he was looking for. There, in the godforsaken swamp. He would clear his soul in the muddy water.

  “Yes, old man. I will stay here,” he whispered.

  He plucked another seed, and followed the path leading to the small hut.