He Who Cannot Die

by Dan Pearce

  “No,” she said again. “This magic that curses you is not magic from this world.”

  In my many thousands of years living, I had never considered forces beyond our world. She accurately translated the sudden mental discombobulation I was showing and went on to clarify her words.

  “Some magic comes from the blackness between the stars,” she said in her attempt to educate me. “That magic cannot be controlled or manipulated by any person in this world, only by those who also come from that blackness.”

  I just stared at her blankly, unsure of anything I could say in response. I had so many questions yet couldn’t form the words to ask a single one of them.

  She uncrossed her legs and suddenly stood so that she was looking down at me. “The witch Tashibag, I have heard of her. I have seen her magic before. Only she can help you or bring an end to you.” I sighed deeply as immediate discouragement filled me. “You must stop using others as you look for answers, Cain. It is death and sorrow only that await those who cross paths with your curse.”

  She reached a hand down and pulled me to my feet with surprising strength.

  “I cannot stop looking,” I told her. “I know the answers are out there. I know the witch can be found.”

  “Perhaps if you stop looking,” she said as she pulled my robes away from my chest, revealing my mark, “both the witch and the answers will one day find you.”

  CHAPTER 21

  I stayed true to my word and gave a home and whatever hired assistance Malel required until she died six years later.

  I spent more than two hundred and thirty years of my life in Vim, and I never developed a truer friendship in my time there than I did with that woman. Though she was highly sought-out throughout her life and constantly surrounded by those looking for help, she felt just as alone in the world as I had since arriving in the city. Something about our mutual loneliness bonded us tightly to one another, and I spent as much time as possible with the witch while I could.

  I was by Malel’s side when she died, holding her hand in mine. “You need to leave Vim,” she said as her breaths became increasingly shallower. “Leave everything, Cain. Walk toward the sunrise. When you arrive at the ocean, keep going.”

  She tightly squeezed my hand as a fresh wave of pain surged through her body. I softly squeezed it back attempting to comfort her. “How can I possibly keep going once I reach the ocean?”

  “I do not know how you will do it. I only know that the answers you seek will only be found in a place far beyond the furthest distance you can walk.” Again, pain surged through her.

  “Rest now, witch,” I said. “Speak no more and worry not of me. Speaking pains you.”

  “I will do as I please with my remaining moments.”

  I laughed. “Stubborn woman.”

  She smiled up at me, then closed her eyes as she pushed through another jolt of pain. “Yours is a heart meant to love. Do not keep wasting it as you have in this place,” she wheezed, eyes still clamped shut.

  I snorted. “Love. It has hardly been worth it.”

  She used the last physical energy within her to reach out and place a trembling hand against my cheek. “Walk to the ocean and then keep going, Cain. Promise me.”

  I couldn’t even respond before the last of her life officially abandoned her, and the witch’s hand fell with a small thud to her side.

  “I promise,” I said, as I reached up and pulled her eyelids closed. I gave her forehead a small peck and grabbed hold of her hand once more. “Fuck love, though. I am done with love.”

  I remained in Vim only a few more weeks. Once Malel’s body was burnt atop a great ceremonial bonfire, I found very little emotional reason to stay. I was rich, most certainly, but riches could always be earned again. Persisting thoughts nagged at me as I considered both the possibility of a place existing beyond the ocean and of forces at play somewhere in the blackness between the stars. Vim was fairly secluded, and its population was in decline. I knew there would never be new answers for me there. I would likely never find Dishon again so long as I stayed. And I would most likely never find Tashibag, either. And perhaps worst of all, I knew the lonely hollowness that Malel had temporarily filled would only return with even more force now that she was gone.

  With the aid of those in my employ, I spent more than a week personally distributing nearly all that I possessed to the poorest of Vim and its outskirts. I left much of it to the healers and to those who were known to be kind-hearted. I made sure that everything made it to its intended target, as I trusted no other person to do it with integrity should I leave the city. I assigned a team of people I could at least somewhat trust to manage the storehouses and the stockpiles, which I bestowed to the entire city of Vim with instructions of how it should all be managed once I was gone. The gratitude was rampant as I imparted of my wealth, and the people began praising my name as the man who was overly generous and kind.

  I wish I could say I did all that out of generosity and kindness. Such was not the case. I simply wanted to leave. The idea of a new and fresh beginning pressed upon me until I really had no choice but leave it all behind. It is true that I helped balance the disparity between the rich and poor when I left, but I knew the great disparity only existed because my actions in Vim had caused it in the first place. The city’s people, several generations before, were well-taken care of when I arrived. There was no greatly wealthy and there were no greatly poor. That kind of divide is always caused by man and by greed. So, no. I didn’t feel generous or kind or wonderful. I just did what had to be done to appease my own conscience and set Vim back on track.

  In my six years with Malel, I learned to fully believe in her intuition and clairvoyance. And so, I headed in the direction of the sunrise, and I did not stop until I reached the ocean. When I arrived there, I found nothing except vast expanses of water and shoreline. There were no people. No villages. No signs of human existence anywhere.

  I wandered up and down the coast for many years, searching for whatever it was Malel knew I would eventually find. I did happen upon many small villages and tribes as I wandered the coast. Over the course of many years I spoke to many, and while small fishing boats and rafts existed, no person had ever heard of lands on the other side of the ocean, or of any way to cross the great waters.

  On my fifth trip up the coast, when I had nearly reached the Northernmost point I knew civilization to be, I happened upon the newly established coastal village of Pramorah. A great wooden vessel sat stationed in the shallow waters near shore. The dozen or so people who had setup camp in Pramorah had much whiter skin than I had seen any people have. The blonde hair and blue eyes, which was still very rare, seemed to be dominant among their genetics. They were cautious and even overly defensive towards me at first but became very friendly once they determined I was no threat and desired only to be of assistance to them. The people of Pramorah spoke a language completely different than any tongue I had ever heard. Our communications were difficult at first, but we managed. I picked-up their language quickly, and soon was accepted as part of them.

  It was this people I knew I was meant to find. They spoke of a land across the ocean filled with more people than I had ever known could exist. They told me tales of structures and tools and inventions that seemed all but impossible. They spoke of cities which made the biggest cities in my land feel insignificant at best. They gave firsthand accounts of strange animals and fascinating foods and bizarre customs. The newness of it all screamed at me to find a way to come and experience it all.

  The group had come ashore some months before I found them but had been aiming for another land altogether. They started their journey of many months along with four other vessels, and theirs was the last that remained. The others had been swallowed up in great storms or had fallen apart as the force of the ocean relentlessly assaulted them. Their vessel had made it to shore, but it had been too greatly damaged upon the seas for it to make another voyage.

  These people wer
e more than happy to have my help as they built a new vessel from the ground up. Not only did I offer my labor in exchange for the promise of my place onboard, I helped them hunt and fish and setup a camp that could thrive through winter. They were so ill-prepared for life on my land that most of them surely wouldn’t have survived long enough to finish the vessel at all had I not showed up.

  It took four years to build that vessel. Now able to see exactly where their first vessel was weak, we worked to find solutions which would reinforce it and hold it together against even the toughest moments at sea. Helping alongside the people of Pramorah was among the more exciting and mentally invigorating times in my life, and I often wish I could rewind time and do it all again. It was all so exciting, and motivation remained elevated to its extreme as I learned more and more of this distant land that I would hopefully discover for myself.

  The new vessel was incredible, and unlike any I have seen even to this day. Eventually we declared it suitable for the journey back, and we pushed-off shore and rowed into the great open sea.

  The people of Pramorah had told me many stories of life at sea. They told me of great sea monsters and of giant fish. They told me of waves as tall as mountains and of rain so thick it sucked away the air from around you. They told me much more to both excite me and mentally prepare me, but nothing could ever have prepared me for that journey.

  In truth, I could fill a book with the details of what happened as we voyaged to the shores of what is now Morocco. Our vessel, which I thought lightning itself could not destroy, all but fell apart. Those who survived, which included only half of those who embarked, did so on the brink of death. We had long before run out of fresh water and hadn’t seen rain in more than a week. Our oars had been ripped away during a battle with a sea that became so terrifying I would relive nightmares of it for centuries. Food had run out weeks before, and we were unable to find any source of nutrition besides the occasional floating fish carcass or seaweed. I could not die, but how any of those people survived seemed a magic all its own. I truly witnessed the power of human will dedicated fully to surviving at any cost.

  Eventually, we did make land on the continent of Africa, far from the Northern country these people knew. Where we landed was uninhabited, though abundant fresh water and plenty of new and very strange animal meat made life a lot easier for us in a hurry. Within days our energy had replenished, and within weeks our strength had returned.

  There were six of us in total. Unsure of where in the world we had landed, we wandered North together, looking for signs of civilization. Eventually we were spotted by a group of native warriors, who ambushed our party and slaughtered all but me and one other. It happened so quickly and efficiently that I hadn’t yet processed the bodies dropping around me before the pierced and tattooed black man, who was suddenly pressing a sharpened elephant tusk against my throat, let out a loud and terrifying shriek. He released me and pointed at the mark on my chest, then yelled something to the others which caused them to immediately cease their rapid slaughter.

  The man with the tusk gave an order to the others, and they immediately began pulling the fabric away from each of the bodies they had killed. One by one they called back to the man with the tusk, as if to tell him things were okay. The only other remaining man from our crew began pissing down his own leg as the man with the tusk approached him and pulled the fabric away from his shoulder. The warrior looked at the dripping urine and laughed, directing the attention of his tribesmen to it. My fellow passenger, his name was Heräld, began to plead for his life in a language I knew the warrior could not understand. The man with the tusk seemed insulted by Heräld’s cowardice and grabbed a tight handful of the man’s hair. Heräld’s pleading intensified, and the warrior caused his moaning to be replaced with the sound of awful gurgles as he slashed the end of the tusk through the soft skin of Heräld’s throat. His body dropped to the ground as he flailed and grabbed at his own gullet until enough blood had left him that it all finally stopped.

  The man with the tusk turned back to me and lowered his weapon. The others left the corpses of their victims and gathered around me. He tapped the tip of his tusk against my mark and said the first word I understood in his language. “Tashibag.”

  I looked at him in wonder. Did he just say what I think he just said? Was this a dream? How was that possible. I reached up and touched the mark, quite in shock by what had just happened and how quickly it all went down. “Tashibag,” I replied. He nodded and let out a loud whoop which his tribesmen repeated in unison. The man motioned for me to follow, and the group instantly began moving. I took one last look at the carnage before joining the warriors. “Rest well, friends,” I said.

  My closest two friends from Pramorah had died at sea, and I had no close bond to any of those whose lives had just been taken. I felt sadness and shock at the murder of my comrades for sure, but their violent deaths did not immediately traumatize me the way I would have expected. I suppose I had seen death so many thousands of times at that point, I knew there was little benefit in lamenting it when I wasn’t close with the deceased.

  The man with the tusk called himself Unbato. He was blacker than a shadow at night and was the most adorned of all his tribesmen. It seemed he was the leader among them, a fact later confirmed to me as I watched the dynamics of his group play out. We walked for nearly an hour while Unbato and his men made statements and asked me questions I could not understand. Eventually we arrived at his village which was full of huts made from dried grass and mud. A host of naked black women greeted us upon our arrival, but they neither looked into my eyes nor seemed to ask the warriors any questions about me. A group of small children soon approached and excitedly began chattering and poking me but were quickly made to stop by the women.

  The language of Unbato and his people was new to me, but very simple to learn. Within a few days I could communicate somewhat freely with them, and within a month I had fully learned their native tongue.

  How Tashibag had arrived in that part of the land before me I didn’t know, but I was excited that Unbato’s people might have answers to her whereabouts. Until the moment Unbato had said her name, I felt Malel’s instructions were meant to lead me to answers which would free me of my curse; I never expected them to lead me to the witch herself. Unfortunately for me, Unbato had only seen the witch one time when she entered his village upon the back of a white rhinoceros some years earlier. His accounting of the incident included a white-haired man and a white serpent she kept living around her neck. There was no doubt that he had seen the woman who had haunted me for so long.

  Unbato was as much a great warrior as I have seen in my days, but he was no rapist and he forbade those he led to ever force sex upon a woman, whether it was one of their own or a woman belonging to another tribe. While his men feared him enough to comply, there was one who coerced two others into finding a way around Unbato’s rules. The group of them secretly raped many of the men and boys the group captured, and then poisoned them before Unbato could learn of it. This went on for at least a year and Unbato had no idea what was causing their deaths until Tashibag strolled into town and placed a curse upon the man who spearheaded it all.

  Tashibag informed Unbato of the terrible acts his men had performed and warned him that death would come to him as well if he ever tried to kill the cursed member of his tribe. She allowed him to do as he pleased with the others, and he personally killed them both in Tashibag’s presence while those from his village were made to witness it all. The cursed man was exiled and hadn’t been seen since.

  Unbato spoke of the cursed man with such disdain. From his understanding, the man’s curse was to live forever and to have no strength to defend himself against the sexual demands of wild beasts. He was cursed to carry with him what Unbato said was a terrible odor, which the witch told him would draw many beasts with large cocks to him. Unbato said he didn’t believe that part was true, and I assured him if Tashibag wanted it to be so, it would be so.


  What I couldn’t understand, as Unbato clearly loathed the cursed man, was Unbato’s acceptance of me.

  I didn’t see why he didn’t seem to care what had caused my curse, and what kind of man I must have been to have at some point come to the attention of the same great witch. Unable to find a good reason, I asked Unbato about it, and his reply was immediate. “Witch tell Unbato,” he said. “Witch tell Unbato that good man with mark come. Witch tell Unbato be friend to good man. Witch tell Unbato mark not mean same for all. Unbato believe witch.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Before meeting Unbato and his people, I had many different ways of escaping the difficulties and complexities of life that would naturally compound over time. Mostly I escaped in healthier ways. Other times… Admittedly, not so much.

  When Unbato happened upon my group, I was in real need of a major escape. I had kept busy with the people of Pramorah after leaving Vim, and that helped, but it didn’t untangle the millennia of knotted thoughts and mental stresses that had accumulated thickly to that point. I arrived in Unbato’s land with a heart that had slowly become dense as stone and a mind that was just tired. All of life, after having lived so much of it, had become an exhausting task. Thinking exhausted me. Feeling emotion exhausted me. Love, and the thought of it, had long before exhausted me. Finding ways to legitimately care about others exhausted me. It seemed I had become incapable of being the considerate and good-natured person I had naturally been earlier in my life.