Crown of Vengeance fie-1

by Stephen Zimmer

  The presence of the rocks caused Logan to reflexively wince nearly every time that he saw one of the badly misshapen corpses upon the ground. He knew full well the brutality with which the contorted, broken villagers had met their ends.

  A deeply forlorn and sorrowful assemblage of sights surrounded him. His eyes hardened in anger and regret as he saw some of the village women cradling the crushed bodies of their children or husbands, shaking with sobs and piercing the air with their sporadic wails.

  Some children were crying in agony amid the ruins of the village, several newly created orphans just realizing that their parents would never again be there to comfort them. An infant wailed from somewhere off to his left, drawing Logan’s attention. He saw that it was just now being pulled out from the lifeless arms of the mother who had used her own body to shield her baby, saving its life.

  Young men were openly weeping over the lifeless, still bodies that once held the spirits of their life-mates. Logan tore his eyes away from the delirium of grief within one such young man’s face.

  Near the shards and splinters of timber that once formed an outer entrance to a small longhouse, a little girl was sobbing with her face buried into the blood-matted fur of a dead dog.

  The scenes were overpowering, rapidly draining Logan with each ensuing moment until he was absolutely devoid of feeling. A cold, empty numbness filled him, the depths of which seemed to be without limit, save for the volcanic anger welling up from deep within him. It brought a fierce storm in its wake, as a whirl of emotions surged back to the forefront of his mind.

  Before many more minutes had passed, he had to sit down, hanging his head and forcibly averting his eyes from the unrelenting scenes of suffering taking place all about him. His thoughts, fueled by competing emotions of sorrow and rage, whirled about within the tempest of his mind, as if contesting for dominance.

  He struggled to grasp anything by which he could begin to feel a shred of purpose or sense. None of the calamity suffered by the doomed village was deserved in any fashion. If anyone had tried to comment that misfortune befalls the just and unjust alike, somehow implying that this carnage was all just a part of some obscene order of life, he knew that he would have reacted violently, smashing his fist right into the face of the speaker with no compunction.

  Any order that doled out such terrors to the innocent could be consigned to the fires of hell for all that he cared. The suffering around him was all too vividly real. No matter what sort of eternity lay in wait for those who had died, even if there was one to begin with, there was no justification for the horrid loss and pain.

  He thought sardonically about the One Spirit that the villages had so lovingly and loyally spoken of, and wondered how their God could have possibly refused to intervene in something such as this tragedy.

  Logan could accept an imperfect world. Mistakes, fallibility, and obstacles were necessary components for the true growth of a person. Even mortality, in its own way, could teach a lesson about the intrinsic value of life. They were things that he could accept, even if sometimes grudgingly or resentfully.

  It was the extreme pain and devastating tragedies that he could not reconcile himself with. The more that he reflected on the hideous circumstances of the moment, the more that the totality of it all became a swirling mass of burning confusion in his mind.

  For a brief second, Logan wished that he was the One Spirit that these villagers worshiped, just so that he could do some things differently. He knew in the core of his heart that he would have done something different in response, regardless. It was merely an acknowledgement of the true way that he felt.

  He shook his head and let a bitter, rueful chuckle escape as he thought of what he would have done. Such was the hapless futility of wishing, without the power to follow it up with. Logan swore to himself that he would never have allowed the same things to happen to powerless, mortal people, knowingly putting them upon great danger’s cruel pathway. No child would lose its mother, nor young lady her dearest love, nor husband his cherished wife, if Logan would have been able to have any say in the matter.

  In that moment, he came to the conviction that he truly could have done much better by the villagers than their One Spirit had, if he held even a fraction of a god’s power. The acrimonious feeling was so strong that if the One Spirit had suddenly manifested physically before him, he would have testified to that certitude with an unwavering intensity.

  The same feelings, though they had welled up rather involuntarily in him at first, also made him feel somewhat guilty. His dispassionate intellect could recognize his sheer audacity and presumptiveness in the matter, for a Creator would undeniably hold supreme rights over the creation.

  Whatever the case might truly be, Logan knew that all creation did inherently have an element of helplessness in it from the beginning, in that it was eminently subject to its Maker, the prime force that had brought life about. Even if one could not accept a sentient Maker, life was still subject to the primal processes. Yet despite it all, Logan knew that he could not bring himself to lie to himself, or gloss over the genuine feelings that he carried within. In the end, after all of the tumult of his frustrated wishes and rages, he simply felt powerless.

  Nothing could be worse to a conscious being made to exist in such a maleficent world. He would have gladly embraced becoming powerful, if but for a short time. At least then he could demonstrate how things should be.

  He could not control the things of life, but nor could he hide anything from himself. The feeling was almost like being caught in the undertow of a powerful current, one that he did not possess the strength to break free from.

  Logan wished with all of his will that he could somehow, someday, elude the suffocating force of that current before he drowned.

  Gradually, the conflicting emotions within him began to resolve. The sorrow within him slowly fused to the anger, as he immersed in the resentment of being powerless. The anguish served to empower the fury to greater potency, even while becoming subordinate to it. Logan’s fists clenched in rage as tears of barely restrained anger ran in rivulets down his cheeks, and he shook with deep tremors that reverberated throughout his body and spirit.

  Those that saw the lone figure in the midst of the village gave him a wide berth, and none wished to gain his attention.

  ERIKA

  Erika and Antonio assisted with the carrying of bodies, as well as helping to remove debris from collapsed lodgings for the better part of the morning and early afternoon. The two of them labored unceasingly, until every muscle and sinew in Erika’s body cried out for rest.

  It was not without some measure of reward, as they were able to free a couple of surviving villagers that had been trapped in the wreckage of the collapsed longhouses. One, an elderly man, had been pinned to the ground by the collective weight of broken planks and frame poles. The other, a boy of about three years of age, was not strong enough to work his way out of a small cubbyhole that had formed around him during another longhouse’s collapse. Both were terrified and shaken, though relatively unscathed, when they were finally freed.

  Some villagers urged the two foreigners to take a rest, and Erika and Antonio finally agreed to put aside their labors for a few moments. Like everyone, the two of them were sapped to emotional exhaustion by the awful sights spread all around them.

  Their minds, hearts, and bodies weary, they trudged slowly back down the hillside, continuing on to the banks of the wide stream that coursed near to the village. They flopped down heavily on the embankment, as if their own bodies were extra baggage.

  The two were silent for many long minutes, their faces dispirited as they stared out towards the flowing waters of the stream. Erika found herself wishing that the waters could carry the terrible feelings permeating her away. Finally, Antonio broke the unpleasant stillness.

  “Not a wonderland anymore, is it?” he muttered quietly.

  Erika looked over to him, before leaning over and putting her right arm arou
nd his shoulders. She gave him a brief hug of support and encouragement.

  “Was it ever? Not completely unlike where we came from, is it?” Erika replied in a soft voice. “We can change worlds, but can’t seem to shake what the worlds have in them. No, it’s not a wonderland, even if I hoped it could be so.”

  Antonio slowly shook his head. “No, it’s not… all my life, I wanted to get away to somewhere else, and here I am. This is what we’ve gotten into… And it’s really no better than before.”

  Erika quietly regarded him for a moment. He was speaking more openly than she had heard him ever since they had met. The fatigue had likely worn away his inhibitions, and his dark eyes glistened with considerable sadness.

  “A lot of what happened in our world, we only heard about… reports, and accounts,” Erika stated slowly, after a moment. “Now, we are eyewitnesses too, and we share a burden with a lot of people here, and a lot of people back in our own world. I’ve never had a feeling like this, and I know we have scars that will remain forever. I know that only comes from having gone through something like this.”

  “Couldn’t have said it better, Erika,” Antonio returned ruefully, nodding slowly, before repeating his words. “Couldn’t have said it better… What good is life anyway?” He abruptly turned his head away from her, and the oppressive silence returned.

  “So what are you gonna do about it?” Erika sharply asked him, a spark of fire flaring within her. Something empty and resigned in his voice had touched a bare nerve within her.

  She raised her head to look over at Antonio, and her gaze narrowed. Reaching out, she firmly prodded his chin back around so that his head was facing hers. She let her hand linger to force his attention in her direction. Her eyes commanded his to hold to her gaze.

  “So what are you gonna do about it?” she challenged him again.

  Antonio tried to avert his eyes from hers, but he soon was feeling the firmness of her grip increasing on his chin, and clearly sensed her inviolate will in that moment. He became fidgety at the boldness of the sudden question, and the strength displayed by the young woman.

  “Look at me, and you answer me, Antonio,” Erika told him a little more forcibly.

  With reluctance, he conceded the struggle as he brought his eyes up to meet hers.

  “What are you gonna do about it?” she repeated again, for the third time, impatience imbuing her voice with an even sharper edge.

  For a few moments, it seemed like the answer to her question would never leave Antonio’s lips. It was as if he was stunned, and it was all that he could do just to look into her fiery eyes.

  “I cannot sit around and complain… or feel sorry for myself,” he began, in hesitant tones. He took a deep, sighing breath, before forcing more words out. They had an unmistakably resigned quality to them. “I don’t like the situation, but wishing it away isn’t going to make it go away. I have to deal with it. I know that. You and the others have my support… I hope that you know that. I’m just so tired right now. But I’m not going to give up.”

  Erika nodded, and let a soothing grin cross her face, to replace the stern visage of seconds before. She spoke with a sense of reassurance and gentleness. “We do know that, Antonio. Just keep the fight in you. We cannot surrender within ourselves, or give up in any way. We all are going to need you. Each and every one of us.”

  “I’ll give you my best,” Antonio replied, appearing to muster a little more resolve within himself. He gave her a slight smile in return. “We’ll get through it.”

  “We will,” Erika replied, confidently. “One way or another… we will.”

  “Hey there, you two… I’ve been looking for you,” interjected another familiar voice, echoing with sympathy.

  Looking around, Erika saw Derek walking towards them. He was wearing only trousers, his upper body bared. His chiseled body glistened with sweat from the arduous work that he had been doing, sweat running down the contours of his well-defined musculature.

  He wiped his brow as the corners of his mouth turned up into a gentle grin, though his eyes reflected no joy. A hollow, faraway look rested deeper within his gaze.

  “Hey Derek,” Antonio said, looking momentarily boosted to see another member from their group of exiles.

  Derek strode up to them, placing his hands upon his hips while working to catch his breath in deep gulps. His chest heaved and recessed as he took in substantial breaths of air, obviously fatigued. He wiped his brow again with the back of his hand. More sweat began to muster immediately in the wake of his effort.

  “I’ve been on the other side of the village, and I brought some news with me,” he announced to the other two.

  “What is it?” Erika inquired.

  “Deganawida had some kind of emergency meeting with some elders of this village. It seems that they decided that even the area around the village isn’t safe to stay within,” Derek related to the two of them. “We are probably going to be evacuating the area pretty soon, to go deeper into the forest. Word has been sent to the other villages of the Onan, and other tribes of the Five Realms, to prepare them for the kind of assaults that hit this village last night… It was evidently the first time that kind of attack has ever happened.”

  “So we are going to be on the move again,” Erika remarked, a little regretfully.

  Derek nodded grimly, clearly sharing her frustration. “It sure looks that way, but what can we do? With flying creatures like those used in that attack, no village is safe. Well, I’m going back. I just wanted you to know what had happened, so at least you have some idea about what’s coming. If you see Janus, let him know about it. I’ve already located Kent, Logan, and Mershad, though I’m not sure whether Logan even heard what I was saying to him.”

  Erika nodded. “We’ll tell Janus, I promise.”

  “Hang in there,” he said, giving them a brief smile, though Erika could not fail to miss the half-hearted nature of it.

  After wiping his forehead clear again, he gave them a thumbs-up gesture as well, though his eyes betrayed the real truth. Erika knew that he was a very tough man, and also knew that his stoic demeanor was not just his own way of handling the tragedy, but was also intended for their own benefit. Casting a presence of strength, even if just a semblance of it, was a lifeline that they could all hold onto within the storm of misery. It was a foundation when everything else seemed so unstable.

  “Hang in there, both of you… It sounds crazy, but I know that it will get better. I know that it will,” Derek then added.

  “It will, Derek,” Erika replied more firmly, giving him a warm smile in return, wanting him to feel a little of the confidence that he wanted to instill in the others.

  He returned the grin, though it was laced with sadness. Derek then turned and set off with heavy steps to resume his efforts within the sea of tragedy.

  JANUS

  It had taken no small effort to force himself to walk into the village on that unforgiving morning. He was not about to let the good people of the village and his friends work through the rubble alone. Heavy hearted, seeing the world shrouded in the coldest gray, Janus had forced his legs to take each step up the hillside and past the outer palisade, taking him into the interior of the destroyed village.

  Though he had expected horrific sights to meet his eyes, the lack of surprise in finding them did not diminish the thunderous ache in his heart as his eyes swept across the inner grounds of the Onan village.

  All of the calamities in view were more than burdensome to his already fragile psyche. One of them, though, had been nearly enough to shove him over the edge and into an internal abyss.

  Though unbeknownst to Janus, it was the very same sight that had compelled Logan to sit down, broken and angry, amid the ruins of the village. It was the scene of the child sobbing into the fur of her dead dog, as she rocked back and forth on the ground, cradling the crushed body.

  The image conjured up a thousand upon thousand demons within Janus’ delicate mind. The horr
or and sorrow etched upon the little girl’s face, as her tears wetted the fur on the still body in which she had probably once found comfort and a sense of freedom, were far too much for Janus to be able to handle.

  Instantly, he connected intimately with the great pain that was embroiling the little girl. The thunder of the agony he felt for her, and felt from the wounds newly ripped open within himself, caused a river of tears to break through and flow outward.

  He slowly walked over to the little girl, squatted down, and hugged her tightly, sobbing himself.

  Her dog, a large, stout, grey-furred breed, was clenched tightly in her arms. Its head was caked in blood and misshapen, where one of the cruel rocks from the sky had struck it during the dreadful night.

  Janus memory invoked a contrasting image, one that made the current scene all the more acrid. He could imagine the little girl, just a day earlier, running through the village, squealing with joy as the dog bounded along playfully at her heels. He could still see the two wrestling and frolicking around, the dog licking her face, barking excitedly, and wagging its tail vigorously, as she threw her arms around it and hugged her furry friend close. The daunting veil of mortality now irrevocably separated the two companions, who had been happily playing together without a care in the world just the previous day.

  However the roads arrived at it, this was the ugly culmination at the end of all lives. Through violence, age, or disease, and whether sinner or saint, all paths led to the awful conclusion that extinguished the wonder of a unique, irreplaceable life. That, in its naked reality, was the true face of death.

  Death held the countenance of an unbowed conqueror. As always, the only death that Janus desired with all of his soul was the death of death itself.

  The little girl continued to cry into the fur of the dog, but after some time curiosity must have moved her to look up to see just who was hugging her. Janus spoke no words, just trying to comfort and console her by his close presence. He understood her pain implicitly, but knew that there was nothing that he could really say.