by Clayton Wood
“Kyle!” a harsh voice shouted from behind. Kyle turned about, blinking through his tears, seeing a man running toward him. It was Darius; the bodyguard's shirt was a tattered mess, a large rent exposing the thick muscles of his chest. Darius ran up to Kyle on his bare feet, ignoring the sharp branches and pebbles littering the forest floor.
“Darius!” Kyle shouted back, nearly buckling again as another surge of pain spread from his shoulder to his arm. Despite this, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. “You're alive!”
“For now,” Darius grumbled back. He ran up to Kyle, grabbing him by the right arm and pulling him forward. “The mine is ahead,” he added, breaking out into a run. Kyle clenched his teeth, forcing his legs to match Darius's pace. Kyle's lungs burned with each breath, and it wasn't long before he was struggling to keep up with the bodyguard. His foot struck a small rock, and he stumbled, landing on the ground with one knee. Darius ignored Kyle's plight, dragging him across the forest floor. Kyle scrambled to his feet, each step sending sharp pain through his knee.
“Damn it,” Kyle swore, trying his best to keep up with Darius. But the bodyguard’s pace was too much for his knee, and it gave out from under him. The bodyguard gripped Kyle's wrist hard, yanking him to his feet.
“I got you,” Darius stated, wrapping an arm around Kyle's waist and hauling him forward. Kyle grimaced, stumbling along as best he could, dodging tree trunks as they ran. Kyle spotted a hint of bare rock through the trees in the distance, and realized that it was the excavation site, only a hundred or so feet ahead. He felt a surge of hope then, his limbs filling with a second wave of energy. He caught up with Darius, matching his long strides. It wasn't long before they burst through the tree line, the massive rocky spiral of the excavation site opening up before them. There, on the far side of the site, halfway down the long spiraling pit, stood the entrance to the mine shaft Darius had spotted earlier.
“There!” Kyle blurted out, pointing at the mine entrance. Darius ran along the now-rocky path, his torn shirt rippling in the wind. Kyle glanced backward, but from his vantage point, he could see no sign of the Behemoth. They were still a few hundred yards from the mine entrance, but with a little luck...
Kyle felt Darius skid to a sudden stop, one muscled forearm barring Kyle's way forward. Kyle nearly lost his balance, his gravity boots sliding over countless scattered pebbles. He glanced at Darius, but the bodyguard was staring off into the distance, his eyes sweeping the area ahead.
“What?” Kyle asked. Then he noticed the air around them shimmering ever-so-slightly, like the air rising off of a sun-baked parking lot on a hot summer day. A dark shape materialized out of the air in front of them. It was a tall man in a red cloak, a black sash tied about his waist. A green diamond-shaped symbol had been woven into the center of the sash, the all-too familiar symbol of the Death Weavers.
Kyle felt his mind go blank with terror.
Darius shoved Kyle backward, moving to stand guard in front of him. The bodyguard stared coldly at the lone Death Weaver, his blue eyes unblinking. The Death Weaver smirked, the air around him shimmering with the might of his multi-layered gravity shields. The air near the Death Weaver warped, and another man appeared beside him, and then another. More and more red-cloaked figures popped out of thin air, until more than a dozen Death Weavers stood before Kyle and Darius, blocking the way to the mine shaft ahead.
“Turn around!” Darius barked, grabbing Kyle's arm again and pulling him away from the line of Death Weavers, sprinting back toward the tree line. Kyle ran alongside Darius, his heart pounding in his chest. The forest was only a hundred feet away, maybe if they reached it, they could find a place to hide...
A massive black dome rose above the tree line ahead.
Darius skid to a stop, pulling Kyle to his side. Kyle's eyes widened as he stared upward, beyond the treetops, at the huge metallic dome lifting through the sky like a dark sun. Upward it went, leaves whipping about madly, branches waving violently in the wind of its passage. A huge, diamond-shaped eye rose into view, peering from atop the treetops, its green light aiming right at them.
Kyle stared at the Behemoth, his mouth agape.
“Come on!” Darius yelled, spinning Kyle around again, then stopping dead in his tracks.
A tall man in a rippling black cloak stood before them, pale, bone-thin hands extending beyond his loose sleeves. A brilliant green gem embedded in the man's forehead shimmered in the sunlight, splaying spots of verdant light across his ebony cloak.
“I'm disappointed, Kyle,” the Dead Man stated, his pale lips pulled into a frown. He gazed down at Kyle with his piercing black eyes. “I was hoping for something...unexpected.”
Kyle felt his knees buckle, felt his bottom strike the rocky ground below. He barely felt the pain of the impact, a numbness coming over him. He stared mutely at the Dead Man, too terrified to speak. The Dead Man sighed, dropping down to one knee before Kyle, his face only inches away. Kyle drew backward, but was unable to turn away; the ghoulish Weaver's eyes were almost hypnotic, pinning his own gaze to them.
“I had such hopes for you, Kyle,” the Dead Man lamented, putting an icy cold hand on Kyle's shoulder. “You were so different from the others...so pure.” He shook his head sadly. “It's tragic, the process that Xanos demands.” He gestured at the line of Death Weavers standing behind him. “Preparing men for war necessitates taking a piece of their humanity from them, Kyle. I took this from my students, just as Xanos took it from me.”
Kyle felt the coolness of the Dead Man's hand seeping through his shirt and into his flesh, and stifled a shudder.
“But I did not take it from you,” the Dead Man continued. “I treated you gently, in hopes that you would retain some measure of your humanity, your enthusiasm. I thought that I could mold you into what Xanos required without ruining what made you special to me.”
Kyle shook his head angrily, tears forming in his eyes.
“You tried to kill me!” he blurted out, pulling back from the Dead Man's hand. “You tried to kill my friends!”
“I never tried to harm you,” the Dead Man countered. “Think back...when did I ever threaten to hurt you? I had to take you by force...I threatened your friends because it was the only way to ensure your loyalty. If circumstances had been different, I'd like to think you would have joined me voluntarily.”
“Never,” Kyle retorted, shaking his head. “I hate you,” he growled, feeling something snap inside of him. He grit his teeth, rising to his feet and clenching his fists in a sudden rage. “I hate you!” he screamed.
The Dead Man stared at Kyle impassively, his black eyes unblinking. The ground shook suddenly, a massive boom exploding from behind them. Kyle whipped about, seeing two black, metallic legs in the distance, right in front of the forest line. There the Behemoth stood, many times the height of the trees behind it, its green eye staring down at him. Kyle stepped backward, feeling something cold touch the back of his neck. He spun around again, seeing the Dead Man standing there, staring down at Kyle, his face expressionless.
“Xanos is wise,” he stated softly. Then he turned to face Darius, who was standing silently beside Kyle, his blue eyes darting from Death Weaver to Death Weaver. The bodyguard's eyes met the Dead Man's, stopping there.
“You,” the Dead Man stated, lifting one pale hand to point at the bodyguard. “I believe this is long overdue.”
A bright flash of light shot out from the Dead Man's palm, slamming into Darius's chest. Darius didn't even have time to cry out as he flew backward at breakneck speed, his shirt exploding into flames. He careened through the air almost too quickly for the eye to follow, slamming with a loud crunch into one of the Behemoth's feet. He ricocheted off of the hard metal, landing in a limp heap on the dirt below, his chest and back engulfed in red-hot flames. Darius's shirt shrank and blackened with the heat, his flesh hissing and popping as the fire spread.
“Darius!” Kyle screamed, lunging toward his friend.
A cold
hand grabbed Kyle's left shoulder from behind, fingers digging into the already-injured flesh. Kyle howled in pain, unable to break free from that iron grip.
Darius stirred, rolling slowly, agonizingly onto his stomach. Something was terribly wrong; he wasn't moving his legs, Kyle realized with horror. The man's back had been broken.
The Dead Man stared impassively at the bodyguard, his iron grip unyielding on Kyle's shoulder. He gazed upward at the Behemoth.
“Show the man some mercy,” the Dead Man commanded disapprovingly. “Put him out.”
The Behemoth stirred, leaning slightly to one side. One leg rose up slowly into the air, dirt and pebbles cascading from the bottom of its monstrous foot. Kyle saw Darius reach out with one hand toward Kyle, his blue eyes locked on his own. The bodyguard's lips were moving, but only a tortured moan managed to escape them. Kyle choked out a sob, tears pouring down his cheeks, reaching out to his friend with his own hand, held back by the cruel grip of the Dead Man.
The Behemoth's leg paused for a moment, then dropped downward through the air, its massive foot crashing down on Darius from above.
Chapter 15
A huge plume of dust shot up from around the Behemoth's foot as it crushed the rocky ground beneath it, sinking a full foot into the earth. An ear-shattering blast nearly threw Kyle backward, a burst of air from the shockwave of the foot's impact tearing at his clothes. Kyle stared mutely at the massive foot, at the spot where Darius had been only moments before.
Darius, the ever-faithful bodyguard. The man who'd risked his life countless times to save Kyle. The only true hero Kyle had ever met.
His friend.
Kyle stared at the Behemoth's foot, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Unwilling to believe that his friend was gone.
The Behemoth's foot stirred, the mass of black metal rising slowly, a shower of dust and pebbles falling from its sole. Kyle watched it rise, unable to look away, unable to help noticing the charred remains of Darius's shirt still stuck to the bottom of it. Along with...other things.
Kyle turned away then, feeling the Dead Man's grip loosen on his shoulder as he did, and vomited.
“Well,” the Dead Man stated calmly, gazing upward at the flattened, bloodied corpse still stuck to the Behemoth's foot. “He's certainly not the one we're looking for.”
Kyle waited for the sound of the Behemoth's foot striking the earth once more, then turned forward again. The Behemoth stood motionless in front of him, its glowing green eye locked on him. He felt the Dead Man's hand back on his shoulder; this time, his grip was gentle.
“I'm sorry, Kyle,” he murmured. Kyle said nothing, feeling a horrible sob burst from his lips. He wept then, his shoulders heaving as he did. He fell to his hands and knees, his tears staining the parched rock below, not even bothering to shrink away from the Dead Man's touch.
He didn't even feel it.
The Dead Man said nothing, his hand remaining on Kyle's shoulder. He'd dropped to one knee by Kyle's side as he'd fallen, his cloak ever-rippling around him. He remained silent, holding a hand up as one of his Death Weavers made a snide comment, stopping the man in mid-sentence. The only sound afterward was the wind blowing through the trees, the soft, gentle whistling of air running its fingers through the grass at the forest's edge.
Kyle wept, feeling the tears drain from him, until he had no more.
He sat back on his butt then, staring at the huge hole left by the Behemoth's foot, at the wet crimson staining the rock in the middle of it. He'd never been particularly religious, his parents never raising him to be, but he felt that he needed to pray. Not for himself, but for his friend. For all of his friends.
Despite himself, he prayed that their deaths would be as quick as Darius's. And he hoped that he would not be alive to see it when it happened.
“Come, Kyle,” the Dead Man ordered, grabbing Kyle's arm under his armpit and lifting him to his feet. Kyle did not resist. “It's almost over,” the Dead Man added, patting Kyle on the shoulder. “You've suffered a great deal because of my failure. If I had been wiser, I would have killed Kalibar instead of wounding him. Orik would have become Grand Weaver, and I would not have had to hurt you.”
Kyle laughed bitterly at that, the sound surprising even him as it came from his lips. He turned to face the Dead Man.
“I hate you,” he spat.
“I know,” the Dead Man replied. He withdrew his hand from Kyle's shoulder, turning his eyes away from Kyle's and staring up at the Behemoth. “I had hopes for us, Kyle. You've been given a remarkable gift.” He turned back to Kyle then, his black eyes boring through Kyle's. “Not your ability to generate magic,” he added. “Your teachers at the Tower are obsessed with that, so much so that they're blind to your true gift.”
Kyle swallowed in a dry throat, wondering how the Dead Man had known about Master Owens and Master Banar.
“The ability to generate a lot of magic has its uses,” the Dead Man continued. “...indeed, the fact that you could weave magic so soon after being drained by the Void is unprecedented. But recall that I myself cannot generate any. It's the ability to weave magic...to understand magic...that is truly valuable. Your intuition. You grasped the fundamentals of magic more quickly and completely than any of my other students.” He shook his head then. “When I heard that your teacher declared you unfit to become a Weaver, I laughed. The fools don't even understand what they have in you.”
Kyle lowered his gaze, unable to look into the Dead Man's eyes any longer. The black-cloaked Weaver sighed, turning away from Kyle once more. He stared at Darius's remains, his black eyes glittering in the sunlight.
“Death is not so bad,” he murmured. Then he turned back to Kyle. “When I died...before I became one of the Chosen...it was only painful for a moment. Then it was like that feeling you get before you pass out. Lightheadedness, a short struggle against the final slumber, and then...nothing.” He turned back to face Kyle.
“It was anticlimactic,” the Dead Man continued. “Only significant in that it marked the end of something. For me, it marked the beginning of a new life, but now that I've died – twice – I do not fear an eternity of nothingness. When my time comes, if it comes, I will be ready.”
“I don't care,” Kyle mumbled, feeling only a faint fear of what the Dead Man might do to punish him for such insolence. But to his surprise, the Dead Man did nothing.
“I know you don't care about me,” he replied, his deep voice almost gentle. “But I do care about you.” He paused for a moment, then sighed. “Kyle, I want this to end as peacefully as possible for you. For your sake, and for mine.”
Kyle felt his pulse quicken, felt his heart begin to pound in his chest.
“What do you mean?” he asked, gooseflesh rising up on his arms. The Dead Man said nothing for a long moment, staring off into the forest beyond the Behemoth, his expression unreadable. When he turned back to Kyle, his eyes were sad.
“You're going to die today, Kyle.”
Kyle felt the blood drain from his face. He licked his lips, his heart hammering in his chest.
“Today?” he croaked. The Dead Man nodded.
“This is how it happens, Kyle,” he replied apologetically. “It's no different when you're older. The days go by, one after another, and you assume there will always be more. One day, you're wrong. There's no fanfare, Kyle. Time doesn't slow down. It just keeps going, pushing you along with it, no matter how hard you dig in your heels.”
He paused for a moment, then smiled.
“I think I lived more vibrantly in the few minutes before my death than I had for most of my life before it...those moments were the most pregnant of my adult life. I never missed the process of being more than when I realized I was about to lose it. You see, I didn't realize that I was to be reborn. Xanos did this purposefully, I think, in order to allow me to fully comprehend what a treasure the moments of my life were.”
Kyle stared mutely at the Dead Man, unable to speak. He knew the Dead Man was sa
ying something, heard the words, but the man might as well have been speaking gibberish. The only thought he was capable of now was that of his own impending death.
“We fear our deaths as soon as we realize it will happen to us, but we live as if it will never happen,” the Dead Man observed. He stared at Kyle for a long moment, then wrapped a slender arm around Kyle's shoulders. “I'm telling you this because I wish it had been told to me. And because I don't want your death to seem unimportant.”
“I don't want to die!” Kyle blurted out, finding his voice at last. The Dead Man grimaced.
“I don't have a choice, Kyle...and neither do you,” he countered. “Xanos has demanded your death.”
“But why?” Kyle pressed.
“Someone is killing His Chosen,” the Dead Man answered. “This should not be possible. This person is protecting you, or it is you. I believe you are not the one Xanos is looking for, but He is wiser than I. If your protector is near, they will reveal themselves in saving you. If not, then you will be proven to not be the one He is searching for.”
Kyle turned to stare at the pit created by the Behemoth's giant foot, his eyes drawn to the red-soaked rock. The Dead Man noted the focus of Kyle's gaze.
“Xanos is thorough,” he explained. Then he stood up, staring down at Kyle. “It's time, Kyle. Stand up.”
Kyle stared up at the Dead Man, terror gripping him. He stayed where he was, sitting on the ground, paralyzed with fear.
“Don't make this more unpleasant than it needs to be,” the Dead Man warned.
Kyle bolted then, leaping up from the ground and sprinting as fast as he could away from the Dead Man and the line of Death Weavers, running into the depression created by the Behemoth's foot. He jumped over the bloodied portion of rock, pumping his legs hard, aiming for the large space between the Behemoth's feet. He half-expected one of those feet to rise up and smash down on him, finishing him off as they'd done to Darius, but they didn't move. He ran between them, seeing the edge of the forest only fifty or so feet ahead now, his lungs burning with the effort. He sprinted as fast as he could, pushing his body to its limit.