by D E Dunn
As I catch my breath and try to steady myself, I can make out muffled screams from my refuge. My heart stops as I hear a loud thud above me. I can feel my eyes pulling as they dilate, my breath shallow, almost non-existent. A volley of screams, bangs, and twisting metal follows. My whole body shakes violently in fear.
Thump, thump, thump, thump – dripping from the ceiling above turns to trickling down the walls. Running over my hand, and down my arm.... the blood of my pursuers.
Chapter 4
The Forgotten
Season – Beginning of Fall
In the rise and fall of the worlds turning, things are lost in the mists. Time forgets, and men forfeit their memories of them. But when men are lost, and left to find their own way apart from others, their foundations stay as part of them. In these places time stands still, and the world of centuries ago remains. The people there still walking in the shadow of their people gone before. Their lives a silhouette of a memory long gone. Their identity a reflection of a people forgotten.
Part 1
Crossing the Line
I spent a night in rubble, staring fearfully through the cracks of moonlight, gazing deeply into the crusted blood stubbornly clinging to the spaces in between my fingers. Crawling out the next morning I couldn't even think. Shredded bodies and remnant limbs littered the ruins. I was too scared to even show it, my whole body tense, face cringing, waiting for the inevitable moment when I was to be torn apart. I crawled completely on the ground until I reached the woods, then bolted.
I wandered, dead inside, after seeing all of the bodies torn to shreds. For all of the ferocity that the bandits held, the mecha dispatched them as nothing more than meat to be destroyed.
But I had no time to dwell on it as the world spun, my foot never meeting the ground. I tumbled violently downward grasping at every bush as I crashed through them, finally managing to hold onto one. I looked down at the earth disappearing into thick vegetation, I looked up to find the steep hill I had somehow missed. I needed to clear my mind. I stopped for a moment to gather myself.
After awhile, I continued my way down the hill carefully, passing through dense leafy brush. As I got lower and lower, I felt the air changing. The plants were greener, thicker. And a feeling came over me as though the place felt me back. As if every bush and tree had a knowing. A consciousness tapping into my own. Slowly the atmosphere darkened, it felt like eyes watched me from all around. I paused briefly, listening. The last thing I remember is hearing rustling beside me and turning quickly. A strike, and numbness permeated my head, dazed, my ears ringing. I felt my legs buckle and my knees pound into the dirt. Another hit, and darkness followed.
***
In a forest, a bird call echoes. 'how long have I been here?' I wonder to myself. I feel wetness strike my face, but from where? The world suddenly coming to me in swirl and blur, my dreams still in and out. First I place the sounds, and then my eyes, barely open, and aching, catch a glimpse of a gnarled vine. I shake my head gently as a small ruddy hut spins and I struggle to grasp where I am. Finally I lock onto a pair of golden brown eyes. My consciousness and focus snapping back instantly. I jump as I’m shocked awake. Hearing a jingle I look down to find myself sat in a chair in shackles chained to the floor.
“do not be afraid girl” a distant but hospitable voice softly says.
I stare at the man, the pain in my head making me wonder. “what are you going to do with me?” - the unconscious words slip from my lips.
“That is for our God to decide” the man states blankly.
“your, God?”
“yes, our God. You come from the machines, do you not speak with them?” he asks me with some surprise.
Talking to a God? I think to myself, the concept unfamiliar, and terrifying. “no...” I mumble quietly in a disconnected demeanor.
“a God you do not speak with,....” he replies with pause.
We stare at each other for a moment, silently. He looks as puzzled of me as I am of him.
“we do speak” he breaks the silence with renewed confidence, gazing at me with a look of compassion, “and with some luck, you'll soon be on your way...”
Soon men who appear to be guards flood the room. The man with golden eyes takes his leave, and leaves me alone with them.
“come with us girl!” one of them snarls, pulling me up by my chains.
He holds me while another unlocks my shackles.
'The followers of a Mad God, they're going to kill me, aren't they? And nail me to a tree.' My mind runs wild with the terrible possibilities.
I stand stiffly as one by one the chains fall. The guards towering over me. I stare into their eyes, and see only hate looking back. The last lock undone, I shove the guard in front of me with all of the force I have, kicking the guard to my side over as well. I bolt for the door. Breaking the doorway, I feel the sun on my skin, a swift smack follows, and darkness again.
Again the world slowly appears, again swirling, and again greeted by golden eyes.
“you're not going to have much of a head left, if you keep this up girl”
I look at him, my eyes sunken into my head. I feel sick, sullen, and just wrong. Defeated.
Again, he leaves, again the guards, this time carrying me off with my chains on. I'm dragged through a small village, and brought to another small hut. It's primitive, though kind of charming, and feels like a home. The guards drop me in a familiar, and rather civilized wooden chair. An old man, appearing blind, and bordering on ancient shuffles in. He is wearing a long, dirty, floor length robe. He asks me questions, and rather odd ones at that. I feel woozy and don't even know what I’m saying, or remember what I’m being asked.
“I think he's heard enough” the old man crackles.
“he?” I ask.
“our God my dear” He replies.
I suddenly regain my focus. “is he in my head?” I ask. My voice peaks with fear.
“no, he could never risk contacting you directly,..., It's a dangerous time for Gods” He replies.
“what do you mean?"
He smiles at my question, and nods to the guards, who swiftly carry me off.
Journal
Weird Old Granny Wes. That's what everyone called her. And she was weird. Crazy even, but she was nice. Controversy in private conversation.
Did anyone ever really forget? What we were, who we used to be? Granny Wes, the oldest woman in our village surely didn't. She prayed to the old Gods without answer her whole life, and never stopped believing. Back then I didn't understand what an old God even was, or why Granny Wes was weird. No one else dared to pray, but everyone turned a blind eye to Granny. It was against Valasian law to pray to any deity outside of the machine God. The punishment was death to all that prayed, and extended to all that aided the heathens. But no one ever said a thing other than “faith is the world”. No one ever reported Granny Wes.
-Wendy
Part 2
The Strange and Familiar
I'm dragged off to a cell, a room carved into a hill, mostly underground. The guards throw me to the floor. Too weak to rise, I drift into sleep.
Hours of nothing drift by. I open my eyes as the moonlight shines through a single barred window. It's night, I'm in a stone room. A wooden bench with a damp sheet to lay on. I pull myself up, my chains dragging the floor, and fall onto it. More comfortable than the stone I guess. Three head injuries in two days, and everyone wants to kill me. I'm hungry, shaking, disoriented, and can't see that well. I also feel a coldness in the air, a hint of winter wind blowing through. I guess it's about fall. I hurt so much. My insides feel twisted, my stomach hollow and caving in. I look around the cramped dank cell, and fall deeply into sleep. My only escape.
***
I'm awoken the next morning by the sound of my door being opened. The guards pulling me to my feet, and marching me back to that old mans hut. They call him the priest. I wonder what he wants this time.
He comes in, holding a plate with t
ea and bread.
“have you eaten?” he asks me pleasantly.
I gently shake my head no.
“People here aren't used to strangers, please, help yourself.” his shaky hand sits the plate on the table next to me, and motions to the guards who remove my chains, and leave.
I think about running for a minute, but I don't think my head can afford it, I gently sit. He sits with me, fumbling to find everything, his eye lids closed and trembling. I guess he is blind. I push his tea toward his hand, and he smiles.
We eat and talk for a time. Simple stuff, nothing serious. He diverts any questions I have about the Gods. I tell him of my journey, but he already knows, I guess I told him the first time, though I don't remember. All of the sudden a dog comes trotting in, he gets up to fetch it a treat, more nimble than before, almost graceful, no more caution, he moves with certainty.
“are...are you really blind” I ask, cautiously.
“I am, but you see, ..., the dog has my eyes” He replies
“What do you mean?” I ask shocked
“this dog here, is the Gods favorite, he loved him from their first meeting, when he wandered into our woods. The dog was blind though, missing its eyes completely. So the God asked for an eye, and I volunteered one of mine, but he needed both. The follower of a God cannot say no. So now, I see what he sees, many interesting things.”
I shrink for a moment, and though curious, disregard my further questions, and ask another.
“Are there followers of the other Gods?”
“Oh my no...” he says meekly.
“Why not?”
“If you go, I'm sure that you'll find out....” He replies limply
After a time, the guards return and begin to chain me.
“there's no need for that...” The old priest creaks.
The men look disgusted at me, and grabbing me by my shirt, return me to my cell.
***
Later in the day, after hours spent staring out of the tiny window in my cell, the guards appear again. This time taking me into the middle of the village. All of the guards leave but one, a rough man, balding, with crooked teeth. He takes hold of my shoulders, pulling me in towards him.
“If the old man is going to feed you...” he stares angrily into my eyes, “you're going to work for it!” he says harshly.
“Be nice...” a mans voice calls out from around a fence “she's just a girl”
“wretch is what she is...” I hear him mumble as he walks away.
I take notice of an ax laying beside a stump.
“Don't even think about it...” the other man snaps, as he comes around the fence and dumps a heavy load of chopped wood into my arms.
“take it over there” he demands pointing at a hovel in the distance.
I move wood from the fenced yard to various places in the village for a better part of the day. The people of the village have a familiar form to those that I’m used to. Their clothes are more primitive, but their faces and builds are nearly the same. There are others though, mostly men, who come in from the forest. Armed with spears and armored in leathers, with an ancient and unfamiliar appearance about them. Something between a well camouflaged animal, and a statue. A supernatural gleam in their unblinking eyes.
I feel strange navigating through the daily lives of these people. Suddenly tossed in among strangers. I feel disconnected, like a spirit floating among them. Some look angry, others afraid, but most of them ignore me.
In the evening I pass the man with the golden eyes. “girl, come sit.” he calls out as I return from dumping a load.
“So are you going to release me?” I ask as I sit.
“Of course, we were never going to keep you. But what people would let a young one wander into a land so dangerous that it has consumed all of the greatest warriors who entered? We will let you go when we know what to do with you. Until then, enjoy your stay.” He says calmly.
I feel like arguing with him, but instead change the subject. “The murals around town, what are they?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“portraits of the Gods painted in tribute by our artisans” He responds.
“you have many Gods?”
“we have one, but there were many, once.”
“what do you mean, were?”
“these days the Gods are not themselves, they lost a fight in their minds to darkness”
“is that why the priest wouldn't say anything about them?”
“we haven't had an outsider in our lands for a long time, back when we did, we priests would not speak of them”
“But you are...”
“I'm not a priest, anymore, and you don't look like a machine, or demon”
“which God is yours?”
“Vicstaeres” he points to a mural. Intense eyes staring out from the waters of a spring, its edges strangled by vines.
“if that is your God, then why do you have so many portraits of that one” I point to an intricate portrait of a woman standing before great trees.
“Felresi, Vicstaeres was once in love with her”
“what happened?” I ask
“The answer is from a time that all have forgotten...” He stares into the distant woods.
“Don't you think I know what to do with me?” I re-inject after a pause. “I know how to handle myself”
He smiles towards me. “you're too young to know”, he waves over a set of guards, “get your rest girl” he says as the guards grab me by my wrists and pull me back to my cell.
Journal
Sometimes I have this dream. It's dark, a cloudy evening as I stand before this ancient tree, with stones piled around it's base. I see this pair of eyes, a feeling like I know them, but they are strange. Then a man stands before me, I can never see his face, but he rests his hand warmly on mine. I feel a certain love run through me, and raise my head to look upon him, but lightning flashes, blurring him out, and I always awaken before I can.
I've only had this dream a few times in my life, but here I have it almost everyday. Though it's just a dream, I long to know him some day.
-Wendy
Part 3
Longing
I've been here for weeks now. The days go by with me mostly alone and in my cell. The guards take me here and there for work, or sometimes tea with the priest. Some days are warm, others getting colder. Today is cold, and I’m given a poncho as I'm dragged off from my cell. I'm left at the priests hut, and put the poncho on as I wait. Soon he comes in and with help, ushers me to his garden. 'Fall, the perfect time to grow things' – I think to myself. But as the leaves are browning, his plants are in full bloom.
“How do you do it?” I ask
“I'm just receptive to the plants needs” he replies
“So you just guess what they need?”
“no, no, they tell me” He says as he feels the leaves.
“tell you? You mean they speak?”
“they think, and I feel their intentions”
“how is that possible?”
“Plants are more than they're credited for. Some think of them as inanimate objects, and nothing more... as well, they sit there, planted their whole lives without movement or speech.... But they're as much alive as anyone.”