Catching Hell Part One: Journey

by Marc Watson

  He salvaged what little he could, drank the last of the water he had carried, and attached the water skin to his side. With a slow run and then a rush off a nearby depression, he was back to the air, slowly gaining what height he could in the early morning updrafts to inspect his surroundings.

  It was close to home. He knew the area he was in, near the north end of the Valley of Smoke. Not only had he made it closer than he believed possible, but he had actually overshot the Valley somewhat, heading back out into the open drylands that stretched out in both directions. Either Rider Stroan was off on his directions or Aryu was even faster in the air than he had thought. No matter the answer, the most important point was that he was only a half-day from home. An excellent result.

  He circled around, looking northwest again, straining his eyes to see fire or destruction. Any sign that something big was brewing again. He couldn’t see a thing; the horizon a thin wavy line in the distance south, and the peaks of the Great Range north. The morning was warm and clear, with no sign of the rains from the previous day.

  He hoped Johan was alive and alright.

  He still questioned the choice he made the night before to go on, but his faith in his best friend seemed to help reinforce his resolve to keep going home.

  Aryu never really had time for faith. Beyond the natural feelings about his cruel physical jokes (though this morning they weren’t quite as much of a burden as they were at this same time yesterday) he had simply never subscribed to the grandiose notions of divinity. The truth of God’s existence was not in question. Even after so many thousands of years, His mark on the world was left quite effectively. It’d likely be another few millennia before such destruction was forgotten.

  Where Aryu lost his faith was in the belief that God gave one fat damn about this land, this planet, or the people that dwelled on it. Since he was certain He did not (Correctly so, it should be noted. God no longer lived here, and as such, did not care about anything anymore), he felt it was a waste to believe in anything at all. Science was gone, the Power was gone. All that was, he saw, and that’s what he believed in. Tactile feelings versus useless emotions.

  Mankind is a fickle thing though. Some part of him still believed. Why else would a man born with wings have this chance to rush home when a man without would be days away and unable to help? The paradox, which has shaped mankind for ages, was still alive and well. As far as faith and divinity go, always keep your options open. Now more than ever Aryu knew the master plan for him in this world was far bigger than Tan Torna Qu-ay. He just had to find it.

  Off he went, warm sun shining down as he flew. No thought but to get home entered his head, and he certainly had no reason to believe a beast of fire bore down on him, closing the distance quickly, with noble yet murderous intentions on its mind.

  -----------------------

  Aryu rushed through the Valley of Smoke as quickly as wind and wings allowed him. He was nearly home now, the day barely half done. He didn’t stop or even slow down since he'd left that morning, and he was quite sure he wouldn't have to before he made it to his destination.

  The creek bed was still lush and green on each side, springing up trees and bulrushes in small estuaries. He and Johan had grown up playing in these pools. After being away so long, the only feeling more prevalent than how much he missed it all was how much he wanted it to stay safe.

  The valley walls were high on each side of him, closing in as he approached Tortria Den, a tight part of the valley where the walls became high and close together, leading to a drop-off into the more sprawling valley below. In times past it had been a great and powerful waterfall but now was just a unique rock formation with a small creek trickling through it, cascading down onto levels, and forming pools. It was a popular picnic destination for friends and families.

  It was also the last major step to pass before the valley opened and widened, creating the nestled, lush home of the village of Tan Torna Qu-ay.

  As the walls tightened about him, Aryu felt a rush of exhilaration at the thought that he was almost home. He gained as much momentum as he could before the walls and floor of the valley suddenly fell away and he was thrust out above the wider expanse of the Valley of Smoke below.

  The horizon returned, and the sun beat down on everything he saw. The creek and valley floor stretched out straight ahead of him, bending to the right in the distance. Beyond that small bend was his goal.

  Nose pointing down, wings collapsed back, Aryu began his dive to the new valley floor, a maneuver he'd mastered when he was younger. Moments from the ground he pulled up, using the speed he'd gained to glide fast and far along the tops of the small trees by the creek, bending in and out like a small bird chasing a fly for dinner.

  He followed the turn to the right, and Tan Torna Qu-ay came into view.

  He had remembered it being so small because he had so thoroughly explored each nook and cranny it possessed, but it was actually a decent-sized settlement of nearly twenty-five hundred people, spread from one side of the valley to the other and deep into the north and south. At its center, which Aryu could now clearly see, was a park with a swimming pond and areas for warm outdoor lunches and trees large enough to provide good shade. A rarity in this part of the world, which was so often dry and deserted.

  Once he passed over the edge of the village, Aryu knew instantly that something was wrong. Where the outlying farms and folme herds had been was now filled by more buildings and people than Aryu remembered. The village didn't just look bigger; it was bigger, and now he saw why.

  The parts of the northern border that he could see were filled with caravans and make-shift shanty settlements. He could see people milling about. As he looked to the east and west, he could see the sprawl continued in both directions, straight to the valley walls. Aryu figured there to be thousands of people gathered here, and he had no idea why.

  It occurred to him they may have been caravans from the south that had stopped here on their journey north. The highway passed in the opposite direction from where he believed the Army of the Old to be, so it was a possibility, but from what he could tell these people were quite hunkered down and appeared to be in no rush to be on their way. A stark contrast from the caravan they had come across yesterday.

  He passed over familiar homes, businesses, schools, and churches built to honor Gods both new and old. The village’s center was where the hall of the town council was located. It was there he had to go, and he began winging his way to Longhold Park at the center of town.

  When he was low enough, eyes began to turn skyward, spotting him against the blue.

  Instantly, all hell broke loose.

  Aryu had been raised here his whole life. People here had seen him and his wings grow. They shunned him but were not afraid by this time in his life. That was not the reaction he was receiving now.

  Every man, woman, and child began pointing skyward, screaming and yelling as he passed by, terror on their faces. Many began running, either into their homes or following him as best they could. Soon, a crowd was following, running at top speeds to keep up with his pace. As he got closer, it looked like all the children had disappeared. Aryu scanned the group for his parents but couldn’t see them. They lived on the other side of town and likely didn’t see him coming.

  Aryu was shocked by this reception. Even at this time of great uncertainty, he was sure that no one returning from their quest would be greeted like this. Aryu and Johan had concluded that this success would do little to change people’s minds, but this was certainly not what he had expected.

  Either running after him or running away, one thing was clear; these people, many of which he'd known all his life, were absolutely terrified at the man they now saw gliding over them, and suddenly Aryu became terrified as well for reasons he could not explain. Something was more than wrong, and it was entirely to do with him.

  He set down near the council building next to Longhold Park, letting his feet touch softly. The crowd that had been
following him, shouting one thing or another, was still approaching. They tromped across the park, coming at him from all angles. Aryu didn't know which way to look first. Each was a face he'd known forever, now twisted in fear and rage, directed at him as they ran. As the crowd approached, he began deciphering words and phrases, none of which were encouraging.

  “Get him out!” one shouted over the noise. “Don't let him be seen!”

  “Why are you back?” said another. “Why would you do this to us?”

  “Get rid of him!”

  “We must hide before he's discovered! There's no time!”

  Had torches and pitchforks been readily available, they would have likely all had one or the other in hand as they came.

  Aryu was dumbfounded, not knowing what to make of the scene as it unfolded all around him. Without thinking, he took another panicked look around, inadvertently spreading his wings as he moved.

  That was all it took to hold the mob in its tracks as they stumbled to come to a halt, tripping over one another. All he knew was that his wings were a trigger to something.

  “Stop it, boy! For the sake of everyone, are you trying to get us killed?” said a familiar voice from behind him, a voice that had no right to call him ‘boy’.

  He turned, finding the face he didn’t want to see, that of Esgona. Or, what was left of him.

  Esgona was always brash and cocky, but popular in circles beyond the realms of outsiders such as Aryu and Johan. A smooth talker from a young age, he also fancied himself a ladies’ man thanks to his clean, curly hair, dark eyes, strong build, and handsome features.

  That was certainly not the boy he saw now.

  His face was badly scarred down his left side, from hairline to jaw, like he'd been dragged across broken glass. His left eye barely opened, and what eye Aryu could see was opaque. His hair was cut very short, with what appeared to be another large scar across his scalp on the right side. The clear limp he approached with served as notice that the rest of his body likely hadn't fared much better. His right eye was still good, though, and it was locked on Aryu like a dagger.

  “You put those damn things away before we all suffer for your stupidity!”

  Aryu turned quick, sweeping his wings around like fan blades, kicking up a stiff wind that had those in the inner circle shielding their eyes. Now was not the time for his tolerance of Esgona and his arrogance.

  “You will address me properly, Esgona, before I get angry enough to make you!”

  “And how would a fool like you be addressed, BOY!” He hobbled forward, his injury clearly making his life difficult, but doing nothing to stop his running mouth.

  The crowd grew angrier, shouting in agreement with Esgona's words. Had Esgona gone on his quest, he should still be away. Esgona was still around when he and Johan had gone, and there was no way one would even return a day sooner than they should. Be it a day, a week, or a month, you never came back from your quest before you were supposed to. Dishonor and ridicule followed you and all your progeny if you did, just as it had Johan.

  “Before I show you just how I will be addressed, you had better tell me what the hell is going on and why you dare treat me like this!”

  Each word seemed to rile up Esgona even more, almost like Aryu was spitting in his face with each syllable. Esgona stared at him incredulously before making a motion towards him again, this time his intentions of expressing himself in a more physical nature were written across his face, bad leg or not.

  Aryu was a much tougher man now than a year ago. He'd had many fights in that time. Stood against many foes. Won some and lost some, but learned something each time. He knew he could take Esgona at a whim, especially in his obviously weakened state. He had no desire to do so, though. All he wanted were answers, and a fight was no way to get them.

  In a clean spiral motion, he pulled his wings tight around him and spun away just as Esgona had gotten within arm’s reach, the crowd cheering and encouraging Esgona with every step and hobble he made. Aryu ducked back and tried to stop him, but Esgona was clearly enraged and came at him again.

  Aryu drew the sword.

  He had no intention of even touching Esgona with it, but in the state of madness and confusion he currently found himself in, with unfriendly faces all around him cheering on his old bully as he tried to fight a man clearly his superior, he had no other options. His wings could glide, but he couldn’t just take off. They weren’t strong enough for that. If drawing this sword and using it to keep the masses at bay was what he had to do, then so be it.

  The sword came about and pointed directly at Esgona as he approached again, bringing him to a swift standstill. His eyes widened instantly as he looked at the blade. Silence from the crowd followed as every eye locked on in horror at the weapon. Aryu at last had their attention.

  “Now before you do something very stupid,” he began, “I believe we should first start with the meaning of your disrespect. I've gone too far and seen too much to be spit on by a whelp like you, Esgona.”

  Esgona, still staring at the blade, stuttered as he began to look up, meeting Aryu’s eyes.

  “You…you've got to be kidding,” he answered. “You would seriously ask me that...me?”

  “Yes, you and only you, Esgona. You seem to be the one out of all this madness who wants to talk with me the most, so here's your chance. I'm just laying the ground rules and making sure you listen.” He nudged the blade tip closer to emphasize his point.

  No answer came before someone in the crowd shouted again, “They're coming! Over by the council building, by the Gods, people, run!”

  The screaming and madness resumed as people looked over to where the voice indicated. Aryu could see nothing in the chaos, and he opted to keep the sword fixed on Esgona, making sure he had no funny ideas while the masses dispersed. Esgona, to his credit, stood his ground and made no move this way or that. He only glanced around at the spectacle, trying to see the council steps. Aryu slowly followed his gaze, intent on finally seeing what the madness was all about.

  Answers are like rain. Sometimes you get what you want, sometimes not enough to satisfy, and other times you can get a flood when all you wanted was a trickle.

  Esgona’s mother, Sia, head of the council of the village of Tan Torna Qu-ay, was coming down the stairs, watching Aryu hold her son at bay with a very impressive sword. Aryu barely saw her.

  All Aryu saw was the robotic beast in the shape of a man that was lumbering after her like a grotesque motorized puppet, walking at her side as she approached the scene. Two blue lights where a man would have eyes spun about wildly, the centers locked on Aryu.

  Aryu’s sword dropped to his side as Esgona shied back away from the approaching monster as he did so. Aryu’s mouth went dry as they came to him, the sound of gears and pulleys grinding to a halt until the machine stopped.

  “Hello, Aryu O'Lung’Singh,” it said in a voice so pleasantly human it made Aryu gasp as he fell to his knees, terrified beyond words. “I've been waiting for you, sir. I am the Herald, and I believe we have some rather important things to discuss.”

  -----------------------

  Nixon hid away in the shadows of an inn on the outskirts of the mob scene. He was wracking his brain trying to understand everything he'd just been witness to. There, not more than a stone’s throw away, was the bearer of the sword. He could see it on his back the moment he landed. He could watch it clearly emerge from the sheath as the bearer drew it against the other man (Or are they just lads? he wondered. They've not been out of infants’ clothes for long.).

  He could see the perfection, power, and history of the blade, just as he could his own. Yet the owner did not turn to meet him. Even more interesting, the owner didn't seem to know he was there at all.

  Through all the hunts and all the bearers of that sword, all of them had used its powers and their own to grow more dangerous than the world could handle. That was Nixon's purpose. If the darkness and evil intentions welled up enough in someone
to have them be a danger to the natural order of things, Nixon awoke from his slumber, began his hunt, and tracked his prey to the ends of the earth until, should he meet them, the moment in time that was dedicated to their battle. If the bearer saw him coming, even if he didn't know about Nixon and his charge by name, he knew a fight was looming. They could sense the power of the phoenix, knew it was against the path of their own, and began the battle until one fell.

  Nixon, of course, had never fallen. Not until last night.

  His abilities had always been the purer. That was his edge. A bearer of the sword always had great power but would never have had it long enough to grasp the level of mental understanding required to wield it. Even the false god often questioned if he had the Power fully under his command, and he'd been alive as long as Nixon.

  Now, in this place, Nixon watched a young man, who had likely not even been in possession of the blade for long judging by the inefficiency with which he was using it, ignore him completely. The young man was focused on the argument he was currently engaged in with an obviously handicapped opponent, only to collapse at the sight of an old woman and mechanical man.

  Nixon needed time to ponder all these things. Eons of life had never brought about such a scenario.

  Jus' wait, he told himself. I'm not beyond understandin'. I need more time t' know wha' is goin' on.

  He drifted deeper into the shadows, a thousand new possibilities dancing through his mind. Not one of them making the slightest bit of sense.

  Chapter 6

  -----------------------------------

  The Cleansing Wind

  The next few moments of Aryu’s life were a blur of scattered images and feelings: mostly painful, largely fearful, and entirely negative.

  Aryu remained on his knees as the machine came towards him. The sword was at his side but never fell from his grasp.