“Your plan has failed,” Maroke said. “Garland Ainsley was a fool if he thought he could pull this off.”
“You’re wrong, Maroke,” said Kaden. “The gate is opening. You aren’t coming through with us.”
“You’re outnumbered,” he answered. He turned his head to look at Silas. “And you,” he said. “Don’t be fooled by those that claim to be helping you. Their selfish desire to rescue you is nothing but a ploy to make you a dictator bent on destroying a race. You don’t want to be a part of something like that, do you?”
Silas didn’t know what to say. He stood firm, sword in hand. The gate needed to open. They had no chance against this many enemies.
“The gate’s taking too long,” Kaden whispered.
“Kaden?” Silas said, unable to control the tremor in his voice.
Kaden tightened his grip on his sword and looked at Silas with sympathy.
“There is no escaping,” Maroke said. “Do not give up your lives to buy you time. The gate has not been opened for many years. You need more time than you have. Do not be foolish.”
“I failed,” Kaden said. “I am so sorry, Silas.”
Before Silas could speak he felt a sharp pain run through his chest and the shock of it made him drop his weapon. As he looked down, he saw a sword embedded in his chest, puncturing his heart. Kaden stood, holding the sword’s hilt, staring regretfully at Silas. A shout resounded from Maroke yelling for his guards to take action. As Silas felt his life ebb away, he saw only sadness in Kaden’s eyes. Silas wanted to ask him “Why?” but the words would not form on his lips. He could see that Kaden hated what he had done, but for some reason, this was the only way. The Stühocs were nearly on top of them now.
Kaden knelt down with Silas as he fell to the ground, helping Silas fall softly.
Silas could barely hear as his companion was hit hard on the back of the head. Silas’ body was wet with blood and the pain was unbearable. Finally, the blue-lit room turned completely black and Silas Ainsley was dead.
Chapter Seven
Darkness. The last thing Silas could remember was being suspended above his own body, screaming, yelling, but no sound would come. He rose further and further from his body, which lay on the rocky ground, drenched in a pool of blood. He had sensed fire, but could not remember from where. Creatures surrounded his body on the ground, things he could not make out from the increasing distance. There was also a man, bound and tied by the creatures, a prisoner. They were taking him through some sort of blue swirling light, a pulsating wall that seemed to have opened up from the inside. But all this was fading. Silas continued to rise, to float away more quickly until he was past the clouds and on further through the chill of the atmosphere. Faster and faster he went. Stars flew past him in streaks. With each passing moment his heart thumped harder with an increasing tempo and his growing flight speed made his insides flip uncontrollably. Eventually he was able to maneuver himself to face the direction he was moving. The light. To him it looked like a bright, white version of a black hole, spinning, sucking every object to its destructive core. Silas’ breathing became deeper with worry as he realized he was one of those objects. The light soon enveloped him. Sounds in the distance grew to a loud piercing harmony and then, darkness.
When he opened his eyes, he thought that what he felt before was a dream, but what he felt now was more real than anything he had ever experienced. The creatures surrounding his body were nothing more than a distant memory. He reached to his chest, not knowing why. There was no pain as he had expected.
He opened his eyes and found himself in a room.
It was cold and made of rough stone like an old prison cell. As a prisoner, Silas was wrapped in sackcloth. The burlap rubbed harshly against his skin.
His eyes took a few moments to adjust to the darkness, but there was nothing to see apart from a wooden door across the tiny cell – a door with no handle. Silas tried to lift himself up, but his arms and legs felt weak. He felt as if his neck would not be able to handle the overbearing weight of his head. He slumped back to the cold floor and tried to remember something of how he came to be in this prison.
All he could think of was his flying experience, and his name. Silas. Silas Ainsley. It meant little to him other than he knew that was what he went by. That was what people were supposed to call him. But what people? He could not remember any people. Perhaps that is what the man bound by the creatures had called him.
The creatures. What were they? Who was that man, and why had Silas been floating above his own body? And where was he now? His own questions were beginning to frustrate him. But none of them mattered if he couldn’t lift himself off the ground.
He breathed in the chilled air and closed his eyes. He felt almost lifeless, as if he had been asleep for a thousand years and just woke only to wish he could sleep again. But there was no hope in staying in his cell. He opened his eyes once more and detected something that he hadn’t noticed just a moment before.
At the base of the cell door was a tiny opening between the wood and the stone. Silas now noticed a pale, red light trying to push its way in, but unable to penetrate the darkness of his cell. What was noticeably interesting about the light, however, were the shadows that crossed over it.
Every second, a shadow passed by as if a group of silent school children were making their way down a lunch line. Silas hoped the ominous red light and passing shadows were not children. No child should be in this place, wherever it was.
Silas clenched his jaw and fist at the same time, determined to at least stand. He actually surprised himself with the strength that he found within himself. Once he lifted his head, his shoulders and torso were not as difficult to move as he had imagined they would be. There he sat, straight up, his head swimming slightly. Now for the legs, he thought.
He brought one knee to his chest slowly, unsure if he was going to be able to stand. With his left hand he pulled his other knee to his chest. Placing one hand on the ground, he began to push upward, raising himself to his feet. His sudden change of position made his head spin. He reached out to the wall to steady himself. He was surprised to be standing and found that his body was not as tired as he thought. Perhaps his awakened state was slowly bringing him strength. Again he looked toward the door, shadows still silently creeping by.
He took a step forward and wondered what reason he had to move to the shadows. Something was drawing him to them, as if he must follow. His hand dropped from the wall and his feet carried him, albeit unsteadily. He didn’t expect to be able to break down the large wooden door. As weak as he was, he wasn’t even sure if he could open it were he to find it unlocked, which he was sure it was not. Regardless, he stumbled his way to it and rested his arms on the stone frame. Staring at the ground beneath him, the shadows were still moving in slow, fluid motions, all in the same direction.
Silas began to count them. One, two, three, four…
Once he reached some number, perhaps forty, he began to lose count and stopped. He needed to know what was beyond the door. Why was he in this prison cell? Who had put him there? What had he done wrong? Anger began to fill his mind, an irritation of not knowing what was happening to him and why he was there. His fingers balled into a fist and with the side of his hand he struck the door. Ever so slightly, the door swung on its hinges outward. His brow creased faintly as he rested his hand on the door and gave a gentle push. Again, it opened somewhat, revealing for just a brief second what looked to be a corridor. The wooden door was not locked. In fact, when he took a closer look, he noticed there was no latch at all.
Again he pushed on the door, but this time he held it open, peering through the slight crack, hoping he wasn’t attracting attention. What he saw turned his insides colder than the stone floor. People. All of them were dressed in the same, potato sack-like garment that Silas wore. Everyone was silent; none of them looked around. They seemed lifeless and void of all emotion. Each of them seemed sullen and depressed looking, as Silas had f
elt just moments before. He let the door close and he slid to the ground and sat. A very real, yet unexplainable dread came over him. He had no idea where these people were going, but he was too terrified to simply ask them.
He was almost sure that if he tried to communicate with them, they might not even acknowledge his existence. He gathered his strength and breathed slowly, calming the fear that had him in a chokehold. It was a fear of the unknown, and the reality of what he was seeing. Perhaps these people weren’t the problem. Perhaps the problem was their destination. It looked to be a group marching to its death in solemn reverence.
Gradually another thought entered his mind. If this line of death-walkers never stopped, there would be no way he could just stay in the cell. There would be no one to provide him food. There was no lock or latch on the door, so perhaps he was not expected to stay where he was. Was he expected to fall in line with the others? An almost certain death, he thought. Either way, he was dead. He would either starve here in this hole, or fall in line and die in another hole, a pit at the end of the corridor. Silas imagined the line of bodies walking to the end until finally falling lifelessly into some fiery chasm that consumed its victims for eternity.
Silas shook the thoughts from his head and slapped his cheek. The blood rushing to the imprint of his hand actually felt good. Well, at least he was alive. Something had happened to Silas to bring him to this moment. All he had was his memory or vision of floating. He was quickly beginning to discredit the vision as a dream the more he gained his wits.
He opened the door to a crack once more. People were still filing down, one-by-one, the red end of the corridor not yet visible. He lifted himself to his feet again. Every time he stood it was easier. He found comfort in his gaining strength.
The idea of what he was about to do would have terrified him if he had thought it through before he did it. With only a slight hesitation he opened the door, being careful not to hit a person in the corridor, and filed in line just behind a fat man wrapped in an oversized potato sack.
Once in the line, Silas could hear whispering, however nothing could be discerned. He lowered his head and looked at the floor to blend in with the crowd. He had to see where this was leading. The fat man was his frontal shield. His back, however, was entirely exposed to the others behind him. Silas dared a glance back, but found more of the same expressionless faces, people dragging their feet to their imminent fate, whatever it was.
Curiosity was burning within his mind, but he dared not ask a soul anything. He knew nothing of their intentions; furthermore his attendance came highly unnoticed. Silas looked to his left and saw that a man had come much closer to his side than Silas would have liked. The man was slumped and he looked terrified. His curly hair shook and an expression of terror was smeared across his face. It was the first emotion Silas had seen from these people. But then it happened. He caught the man’s eye.
For a brief moment, the two of them stared into each other’s eyes, not knowing what should come next. They kept walking, but their eyes did not fall. Should they speak? Should they form an alliance to weather through the coming storm? Was there even a storm coming? In a short panic, Silas turned his face down once more. He didn’t need to start anything. He just needed to see what was happening at the end of the corridor. Although the fat man kept him safe from any frontal attack he also hindered Silas’ view.
Silas didn’t notice the man come much closer to him until they were almost touching. His heart froze. What was this person doing? He hoped the man wasn’t about to cause a scene. Silas could sense that the man turned his face upward once more, looking in Silas’ direction.
“What do you think is going on?” the man asked in a whisper.
Silas considered not saying anything. He feared for some reason he might be punished somehow, or that the people around him might turn on him and kill him. But if one man were able to brave speech, perhaps the others would find comfort in it. Without looking at the man, he spoke.
“I woke up in a cell, and now I’m here.”
“Me too,” the man said after a few seconds. The tone in his voice proved a disappointment. Silas waited for the man to speak. “Do you remember anything?”
Silas finally decided to look at the man. “Only my name.” Silas neglected to tell him about his out of body experience. He didn’t need to tell the stranger everything.
“Me too!” the man said in a harsh whisper. “My name is Dink.” He held out a hand to shake, but Silas just turned his face to the ground to watch his snail-paced feet.
“Silas,” he said. “My name is Silas.”
“Well, it’s good to meet you Silas. I’m sure it will be good to have a friend where we are going.”
“What do you mean?” Silas asked.
“I have no idea. I just suspect it would be good to have friends. I think everyone here is like us. Nobody knows why they’re here.”
Dink lifted a hand and tapped the fat man on the shoulder. This made Silas almost stop in his tracks, but he kept his head down, daring to glance up only once.
The fat man turned and looked at Dink briefly. “Do you know what is going on?” Dink asked.
The fat man tilted his head down and glared at them as if to say don’t speak to me!
Silas was beginning to see that these people around him were not to be feared. They were all just like him, afraid to talk to anyone, afraid of the unknown at the end of the corridor. That end could be the expiration of life.
Dink moved up to the fat man's side. Silas did not want to lose any sort of ally he may be able to gain, so he moved to Dink’s left. The fat man looked over both shoulders and lowered his head to the two of them.
“What is your name?” Dink said.
At first, the fat man completely ignored Dink’s inquiries, but then his lip began to quiver until finally speech was produced. “People call me Boo,” he said. “I’m not sure what people though…” There was a long pause and Boo then braved a question. “Did either of you have experience some sort of out of body thing?”
At the same time, Silas and Dink answered, “Yes.”
This was strange and Silas was not sure of what to think of it. All of these people were undergoing the same circumstances that he was experiencing yet, most of them were too afraid to even look up, just as Silas had been merely seconds before. He now only feared the end of the corridor.
They began to hear noises in the distance. Talking. Shouting. Like a reverse domino effect everyone’s head shot up. Silas tried to make out what was said, but he could not understand the distant speech. He looked over at Dink and Boo. The two of them had their heads cocked trying to hear what was being said.
Silas then tried using his eyes. The red glow was getting brighter in the distance, like the sun rising in the morning. Shadows bounced off the walls as the line filed through. Silas, like anyone else who may have been watching, knew the glowing had to be bad. If it were not fire, Silas would be surprised. Relieved, but surprised nonetheless.
His two new acquaintances noticed the brightness as well. Boo began shaking. Dink remained calm and collected, but his eyes gave him away. Silas felt cold as he listened to the drum pounding away in his chest. They were soon close enough to the red glow to witness what was to become of them.
As they moved, they saw a creature that looked like a dog, but it had long, furry, human hands and wore a flowing purple cloak. It sat high on what seemed to be a judge’s bench with a large book that looked to be ancient. It held a quill in one hand and wrote as each person said something to it. It had fangs that came past its lips when its long snout was closed, but it was rarely closed since it was speaking to each individual person as they went by. It’s thin, dark eyes barely moved from the book.
Along the corridor, more of the human-dogs were patrolling, forcing people into a single file line. These animals were muscular and stood upright. Each of them was snarling, baring their teeth to intimidate. They wore dark, coarse pants; their fur was their shi
rt. Their ears pointed strait up and high like devil horns adding to their already substantial height, towering over anyone else in the line.
Silas noticed one of the beasts to the right making its way to him. He was frozen in place as it stomped towards them. He knew he was about to be mauled. Before it came to where Silas was standing, it grabbed Boo by the shoulders and lifted the obese man, slamming him into the single file line.
“Stay it this line!” it yelled. It turned a fierce yellow eye to Silas, but before it could say anything Silas jumped behind Dink and Boo, falling in line with the rest. The dog moved down the line, doing the same to others as it did to Boo. Silas looked to the large man, but he wasn’t going to turn. Boo stood petrified.
Silas tried to get a response from him. “Hey, are you alright?”
He still wouldn’t budge. Dink turned slightly to catch Silas’ eye. “I think that did it for him,” he said out of the side of his mouth.
Silas understood what Boo was feeling. With talking dogs and a mysterious red glow, how were any of them still feeling sane?
The line moved all too quickly. Before Silas could blink twice there were only four people ahead of him in line. He could clearly hear the dog-man at the judge’s seat now. It sounded bored as if this were a job it was sick of doing.
The dog asked for the name of the first person in line, wrote it down in his ledger, and repeated it back. “Sam Oling.” It pointed, with its thumb, behind it. “The gate is only a brief walk that way. If you try to run or struggle, my guards will tear you to pieces and you will be tossed through the gate anyway.”
Sam said nothing and walked to whatever this gate was. The line moved forward again. Boo began sobbing and Silas was now able to look past the line and see the gate.
He watched as Sam Oling passed through what looked to be glass. Silas half expected a ripple, but there was no disturbance as he walked through it. The glass was neither transparent nor reflective. The arch around the glass was ablaze; Silas realized its blinding light was the source of the red glow. Sam Oling disappeared through the glass like a ghost.
The Marenon Chronicles Collection Page 7