“Life form, what planet is this?” the strange Entity asked, in a way that cut through Bowenn entirely.
“V-v-vena!” Bowenn managed in a startled response. Could it be true, could it actually be from another world? “What happened to the Alpelites? Was that you?”
The Entity inspected its two illuminating hands as if it were the first time it had ever seen them.
“Energy…” it said, “the energy of the universe… in these fingertips…” Reaching down to a lifeless Alpelite corpse by its feet, the being withdrew the sword from its sheath, studied it, and continued its stare into Bowenn.
Silence engulfed the plains, and it was as if for a moment calmness and serenity might linger – before the sudden crack of thunder abruptly pulled Bowenn back to his senses. Recognising the danger, the whole troop withdrew their swords. His heart and mind were racing; for the first time in years, he felt himself tremble. Like a lone reed caught in the tempest, he stood and stared for what felt like eternity, before the glowing Entity lunged forwards and it was over in a second.
Bowenn was on his back staring up towards the crimson night sky; the bodies of his comrades lay motionless beside him, covered in blood. As the rain from above fell onto his face, his last remaining thoughts were with his wife, children, and all he would miss. His mind also went to his parents and how proud his father would have been at the way he had died, with a sword in hand. This brought small comfort. But also how sad his mother would have been, and this filled him with nothing but sorrow. A thought too went to young Adnan, whose lifeless eyes he could feel staring his way. The darkness closed around him and, as Bowenn’s ending arrived, he did not feel the fear that he had once pictured. He heard the roar of loud thunder, and then… Bowenn finally awoke from the nightmare.
1
Sy and Ed
296 Days until the New Year
He was dreaming this night, as he did most nights, of the stars. He dreamt of distant planets and galaxies; of cosmic dust and supernovas; black holes and white. Standing alone upon the shores of the vast Asterleigh Lake, he stared up towards the silk-white clouds holding the statue of the great god Medzu. He knew this dream as he had dreamt it many times over. Therefore, it came as no surprise when the statue of Medzu moved; first its hand rose towards the sky, then its head turned towards him. He had learnt the skill of lucid dreaming many years ago from a book in the Grand Library of Asterleigh, so this time he was determined not to look away; he was going to hold the gaze of the transcendental being for as long as he possibly could. The light was beyond blinding, yet brought him no discomfort; his one desire was to continue this lucid state to see where the light brought him. However, like the many nights before this one, he could not hold its gaze. And, once again, he awoke just as the lucent reached its celestial brightest.
He sprang up with a curse. Why? Why can’t I travel any further into the dream? He reached out for a match to illuminate the darkness, only to notice with surprise that he was no longer in his room. He did not appear to be anywhere; there was no light nor colour, no physical material of any kind. The bed he slept on, the chairs and dressers, all the books and toys in his room were gone; no walls nor ceiling, no outside, there was only nothing… he looked down towards his hands, but they too had vanished. Am I still dreaming? As this line of thought concluded, he experienced the sensation of falling. He was descending in a spiral, like a stone plummeting into the depths of the ocean, he collapsed into the vast blackness of space and time. He was shooting past planets and stars now, moving so fast they were in his eyeline for only a fraction of a moment. He was moving closer and closer. In the distance he saw a white hole spinning, before it gradually disintegrated, transforming into a great eye of many different colours and shapes – colours he had never seen before, and shapes in dimensions he never knew existed. The lids opened and blinding light was once again all he could see. He heard the word “Ed” as if from memories of long ago.
“Ed,” the voice repeated, echoing around his empty consciousness. Ed? Is that my name? The light was growing but so too was the voice. “Ed!” The voice was a deafening yell. No, he found himself pleading, not now, not yet, please just a few more seconds. He opened his eyes to find his brother’s hand upon his shoulder. Ednon glanced up towards him, his face covered in sweat.
“Are you okay, little brother?”
Ednon looked at his hands to see whether they were visible to his eye; reassured they were, he clenched to see if he could feel them. Once he finally determined he was no longer within a dream state, he responded with a panted “Yeah.”
His brother, though four years older, shared many appearance traits – both were dark-skinned, with long curly hair and deep brown eyes.
“What were you dreaming of?” Syros asked.
“Same as every night.”
Syros did not need to question further. He had lived in the same house and slept in the same room as his little brother ever since the day Ednon was born; the two of them used to go into a great deal of discussion trying to interpret the dreams. Syros had once theorised it was a sign from the god itself that Ednon would grow into a famous warrior who would one day win the war against the Alpelites in Medzu’s name. Although, to Syros’s disappointment, Ednon never took any interest in the military and instead chose a life of pacifism. Ednon had much grief from the other children of Jovian village, who teased him as a coward whenever he did not join in their fights and games of wrestling. However, Syros was always there to come to his defence when their words of taunt and insult became acts of physicality. Ednon remembered when his brother once hit one of the tormentors across the head with a rock the size of his hand. He could not lie and say he did not appreciate the action. Their grandfather, on the other hand, did not approve whatsoever; his brother was not allowed to leave their room for a whole fortnight in punishment. As a sign of solidarity Ednon also stayed in their room, opting to read old history books while his brother played with a wooden sword.
Those days were long behind them; his brother was no longer a child playing with toy weapons. He was a man with facial hair starting to break out across his face and the wood had now turned to steel inserted into a sheath across his midriff. On the night of Syros’s announcement, Ira had told him if he were to leave he was never to come back. He remembered thinking his brother was going to retract his plan, as the threat of never seeing each other again would be too great for him to go – but he left anyway. Now the only time Ednon saw him was these occasional visits during the night when Syros would break back into their old room to tell him of his new life in the Asterleigh training camps.
“How was your New Year?”
“Fine,” Ednon lied.
The night had been a disaster. Instead of going to a celebration of the New Year with the other villagers of Jovian, where the adults would drink and laugh while Ednon felt out of place with the other children, his grandfather had come down with a sickness and Ednon had spent the night caring for his needs. He did, however, manage to spare enough time to cast his gaze towards the crimson night sky. The passing of Sechen did only happen once a year; he dare not miss the sight of it.
“I will be leaving tomorrow,” Syros announced in a proud voice. “My first military campaign. You won’t be seeing me for a while. Time for me to write my pages within the history books, little brother.”
These words, as well as the way his brother spoke them, aggravated Ednon. “Why do you have to go? The war will continue with or without your involvement. The state doesn’t care whether you die, they’re using you!” He found himself almost yelling, only refraining so as not to wake their grandfather asleep in the next room.
Syros laughed. “Little brother, whenever you speak I seem to hear the words of our grandfather. Perhaps you and the old man should take your pacifism to the forest and join the Venians.”
Ednon had only seen a Venian once. He had been an infant, travelling
with Ira and Syros through Molosis Forest to their new farm in Jovian village on the outskirts of the capital, Asterleigh, when he had noticed something peering at him, hidden within the trees. He could still picture the large emerald eyes staring into him, sparkling within the darkness, as if they were surveying his very life essence.
“There is no destiny, Sy, no universal plan. The universe is entirely impersonal. There is only chance; that is all life is made up of, chance after chance. There is no valour in death, there is only death. The Supreme Leader and the military will not care if you die, but I will…” he paused for a moment before completing, “and so will Ira… ”
The smiling face Syros had previously shown was gone. He had always known his younger brother was smart – it must have been the benefit of all his constant reading while he himself was out training his body for battle.
“You speak as if you see the whole universe, Ed, but you can’t possibly know everything. I was born to do this. If I die in battle then fine, but it will be for something greater than I am. There are still wonders left in this world, little brother, you do not know what happens after death, your books couldn’t possibly have taught you that. Perhaps we awake in a world a little less war-torn than this one; or perhaps we are reborn as fish or plants, free from the knowledge of how dark conscious thought can become. Death is a certainty, little brother; the path afterwards isn’t.”
With tears beginning to pour from his eyes, Ed sat up in his bed as if to give himself greater dominance in the argument. “You speak as if you want to die!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, not caring whom he woke up. “I am sad all the time. Are you really going to add to my sorrow?”
“We all feel sorrow, little brother, every creature, man, woman and child. None of us asked to be born into this hell, but we must find our own happiness, a purpose to guide us through existence.” A look appeared in Syros’s eyes, an expression Ednon had seen only rarely. “I am going to kill them all, little brother… Mark my words.”
He stood up and withdrew his sword from its sheath, and pointed it upwards while eyeing the tip. The blade was long and polished – Ednon could see his own face reflecting back at him. “I found my purpose, Ed, perhaps you should find yours.”
“Put down the blade, Syros.”
Both brothers turned to see their grandfather standing by the open door to Ednon’s bedroom. An extremely old man, his skin the same dark tone as the brothers, with a long white beard and bald head with hair only to the sides, Ira was holding himself up on two wooden crutches. His face was pale and his eyes were almost completely glazed over.
“Grandfather!”
“Come to give me another lecture on hatred, old man?” Syros smirked.
Ira let out a deep sigh. “No, Syros, no lectures on hate. I fear they have always been lost when you and I talk. I still see only the boy whose trembling hand I held while leading him away from that burning hell. Not the man you have become.” He coughed violently into his hand, which stopped him in his tracks.
“Let me get you some medicine.”
“No, Ednon, sit down. I want you to hear this as well,” he said, turning his attention back to Syros. “Sy, I do not blame you, we live in a system that builds young men to hate. You, like many others, have fallen prey to the way things are, how they have always been. More bloodshed won’t heal the hatred within yourself, nor will it solve the conflict between us and the Alpelites…” He coughed again, this time almost falling to the ground. After a moment, he managed to recover his bearings enough to continue.
Pain crossed Ira’s wrinkled face. “Perhaps I am the one to blame. When the two of you came to live with me, I knew you would be filled with this hatred. Ednon was too young to recall what happened that night, but I knew you, Syros, would be old enough to remember everything. Perhaps I should have done things differently. Maybe I should have shown you more love, but I knew from me alone it would never be enough. But, Syros…” he pointed a wrinkled finger towards Ednon. “Look at Ed, despite this cruel world he has a golden heart, look at how much he cares for you, don’t become another nameless soldier to die for senselessness, don’t do it for me… do it for him.”
Syros was focusing on the floor. Ednon was surprised to see how long his brother had held his tongue; usually whenever his grandfather went into his long speeches, Syros would interrupt with a witty remark or retort. It had, of course, to Ednon’s knowledge, been almost two years since the pair had last seen each other. Syros broke the elongated silence by uttering the words “I am only my steel.” Placing his sword back into its sheath, he lifted his head to look into his grandfather’s eyes.
Ira gave his straggly grey beard a stroke. “You certainly have your steel, but lack humanity.”
“What would you have me do? Stay here and do what? Live and die here as you will? You’re a coward.”
“Yes, I am. But sometimes a little cowardice within yourself can do wonders.”
“I hate you.”
“That is a shame. But I fear I will not be the one who ends up saving your halo that now seems so lost within the darkness.”
A long pause followed. Ednon could feel the tension within the room. He was thinking of what to say, what combination of words would prevent his brother from leaving and persuade him to stay here with him and their grandfather, but he could think of none.
“I’m going,” his brother said after a while. “Nothing you say will change my mind.”
“I know,” Ira conceded.
Syros kissed Ednon on the forehead. “Stay golden, little brother,” he said, before making his way to the bedroom door. As he passed Ira, his grandfather uttered softly, “Keep safe, Syros.” Syros stopped for a moment, seemingly thinking of an appropriate response, but he did not say anything and merely continued to walk out the door. He did not even glance at his grandfather and brother, who were both standing in the middle of Ednon’s darkened room, watching him briskly leaving their lives.
2
A Monster’s Hate
295 Days until the New Year
He awoke to the sound of wailing and the stench of ash. He felt unsettled. What could possibly be happening in the village to cause such a noise? He sat there petrified, wishing the horrid noises would cease. Next to him, his baby brother awoke in his crib and began to cry. Syros covered his ears trying to deafen out all sound, but the scent of burning cinder grew underneath his nostrils as black smoke entered his bedroom. Where were his father and mother? Could they not hear Ednon? They usually came in whenever his brother was crying – so why were they not here? He was becoming so scared he shut his eyes and pressed his hands harder against his ears. His mind was racing out of control; he needed to calm his rampant thought process.
He repeated a mantra in his mind. Something Ira had once taught him during a family visit to his farm in Jovian. His grandfather told him it was a technique he should use whenever he felt anxious or scared. He sat cross-legged, stiffened his neck and back and repeated the phrase aaaiieoor… until his mind blanked completely. The noise of screams faded along with all previous anxiety. His mind was focused. He knew what he as an elder brother had to do. Getting up from his stance, he moved stealthily over to his brother’s crib, picked him up in his arms and found a hiding place in his wardrobe. He sat there for hours, waiting for the grisly cries to end, whispering “It’s going to be okay, Ed, it’s going to be okay…” as if it were once again a mantra. His brother had stopped crying and was now staring with his large amber eyes back into his own.
It felt like an age since the howling had ended, but he was too terrified to move. When Syros finally left his hiding place, clutching his brother, pale morning sunlight had crept in through the window. It was all but silent. The smell of ash was still discernible as he stretched out a shaking hand to open the bedroom door.
His house was empty. He shouted to his parents but received no response. He searche
d their rooms, but found nothing. Smoke was entering the house from beyond the front door. Heart pounding and body trembling, he decided to go outside and find its source. He left his house to a sight that must have been concocted in the darkest of nightmares. The street was covered in bodies, neighbouring houses were ablaze, blood spilled across every corner of the village, pouring down the cracks in the road as the rain did on a stormy winter night. He felt completely separated from his self, as if this was not something he was witnessing, as though it was all a bad dream and at any second he would awake from it.
The distant suns had barely risen. It was still an early horizon as he walked around the village surveying the motionless faces of his fellow villagers. He had lost all contact with his senses. He knew what he was searching for but dared not think it to himself. Ednon had once again started to cry as Syros came across two bodies he recognised above all others in the centre of the village, one male and one female, lying face down in the cobbled street. Still with his brother cradled in his arms, he reached down to turn over the body of the woman and looked into the lifeless eyes of his mother.
He awoke with a roar and, without skipping a heartbeat, landed a heavy punch to the granite wall on his right side. He hardly felt the pain as his hand swelled. He had dreamt of that night many times but never had it been so gut-wrenchingly vivid. He was gasping rapidly and was beginning to feel the pain surge through his hand.
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