The Great Beyond- the Vile Fate

by K M McGuire

  A cackle of laughter erupted behind them, created by a rather blissful group of Tasmians, joking and dancing as they walked. Vec rolled his eyes, irritated that his tranquility he had just found had been interrupted. He clenched his jaw in frustration. Voden saw one beginning to rummage through his bag, unfurling a wooden flute, which made the group squeal in delight. The boy started piping, while the others began singing rather bizarre lyrics, fluttering in spurts of sudden frolics. Vec’s composure began to crack, casting the group a disgruntled look. Yael bit her lip, trying to stifle her laughs.

  “Lighten up,” she huffed. “They’re only having fun, not that I expect you to understand! Oh, come on, just try and have a little pleasure in your life!”

  Vec maintained the raw look he shot at Yael. “I am fine. They should just be…less annoying,” he grumbled. He flicked his bag off his shoulder, shuffling through the contents, and began stuffing his tobacco pipe. He quickly lit it, then puffed a satisfied mask of smoke that whisked away his tension.

  The branches hung bare, rustling naked in the wind, tickling against each other in clinking, hypnotic sways. Voden trudged up the rolling hill, lagging a bit behind, noticing Vec had stopped near the bottom, digging again through his bag. Voden doubled back as Vec grunted excitedly, pulling a small bag from his pack, shaking it eagerly. The group of dancing Tasmians danced to the music, paying no mind to Vec who stood very clearly in their path. The faerie-haired Tasmian, who piped, smacked his shoulder into Vec.

  “Oh! I apologize, friend!” the Tasmian blurted out.

  The music stopped, and he and his companions shared awkward glances while Vec stared at the bag of nuts scattered in the muddy path. Splotches of dirt clung to the nuts, assuring Voden there was no salvaging them. He watched the blankness stitched on Vec’s face. The center of Vec’s eyes began to darken. His head turned, never moving his eyes from the fallen nuts, before he gave the interlopers his icy attention. The boy’s words seemed to fail him at the sight of Vec’s glare. His eyes widened with fear, his pastel eyes darting towards his silenced friends, hoping for support.

  Voden snapped into action, snatching Vec’s arm, “Hey, Vec, I have something I need to ask you.” He ushered Vec away and gave the boy an apologetic shrug. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a few nuts.”

  “I-I’m sorry,” said the boy, his voice pitching an octave higher than usual. His shaking fist managed to enter his own bag, and he pulled out a bag of nuts, penitently offering them to Vec. Voden took them gratefully.

  “Appreciate it,” Voden responded, nudging Vec in the ribs.

  “Uh…yeah…it’s fine…should have been paying attention…I guess,” he muttered through his teeth, his expression stagnant. Voden shrugged as they walked away from the group. “So, what did you need to talk to me about?”

  “Really?” Voden hissed, eyes rolling in disbelief. “I was only trying to get you away, so you didn’t do anything rash!”

  “So…there’s nothing to talk about then?” prodded Vec, raising his eyebrow.

  “N-no, why?” Voden uttered apprehensively.

  “So, you’re going to avoid talking about your little crush on Yael?” Vec said, tone smug.

  “What?” Voden squealed, his face flushing to an almost bruised red. He had thought he was being careful. “What makes you think that?”

  Vec’s expression curled into a malevolent grin. “It would have been naïve of me if I had not noticed.” He nearly choked on his chortling, “You know, I’m the last person you should be concerned about. I can only imagine Razar finding out. He would probably break your spine. Yeah, he seems like the type.”

  Voden gulped as they crested the hill, where Andar and Yael stood at the bottom of the slope, raising their arms, wondering where they had been.

  Vec leaned in close. “Haha! Come on, it’s only a joke! I doubt he would harm a hair on your cute head! I really don’t blame you. I mean, look at her.” He leaned closer to Voden’s ear, his voice now laced with a queer, venomous allure, like he was hanging a fresh meal provocatively in front of a desperately hunger man’s head. “I’ve seen quite a few women—many kinds of sentients—mixed in every arrangement you can think of. If I was younger…” He fixed his eyes on Voden, not finishing the thought, leaving Voden to imagine what sort of thoughts drifted through Vec’s head. “I mean, no offense to you, but as friends…” He paused again, the group behind them beginning to catch up. Vec stared keenly at them a moment. “It should be scary to like her.”

  “How do you mean?” Voden felt his face heat up. “Because of Razar?”

  “Oh, not at all,” Vec said dismissively. He spared a moment, and pushed Voden further, urging him to walk down the hill, considering the composition of his words. “She’s special; the kind of girl you wouldn’t want to have distracted from your eyes. She’s the kind of girl that could, and most likely would, utterly destroy every emotion you possess. She could break every piece of your heart! But it should scare you if she gave hers to you. If you were to break her heart, you would be the kind of monster deserving the deepest void. She seems to be the kind to give it all and would burn her own happiness for the ones she loves. She would give it all, and if you couldn’t do the same, at the very least for your own benefit, you should walk away.” Vec scanned Voden’s face, staring at his fear, then smiled. He patted Voden’s shoulder and continued down the hill. “I suppose, too,” he called to Voden, who found his legs would not allow for him to move, ready to buckle under his uneasiness, “Razar did give up his military position to protect the girl. I don’t know…how precious is a man’s only child, especially when it’s a little girl?”

  He chuckled as he continued to walk down the hill, leaving Voden with no choice other than to shuffle behind him, horrified by what his imagination told him Razar would do if he ever found out about Voden’s affection for his daughter.

  Voden felt the long march grinding against his kneecaps, and the wearier he became, the more he wondered how much further it was to the grove. He let his head fall back slightly, staring through the emerald pillars of lively trees. He almost stopped in his tracks, confused by the sudden change in the atmosphere, which somehow suppressed the cold with sprouts of green and warmth filling the air. He could not reason the sublime comfort that now pulsed and echoed through the veritable forest, and all he found he could do was soak in the effervescence of the mysterious alteration.

  “Hey,” Yael called when she realized her friends had stopped abruptly, “come on, we’re getting close.” She bounced with excitement as she grabbed Voden’s arm. She could not contain her emotions from seeping out of her skin.

  The air of the aberrant corridor seemed to be filled with a vitality that awoke something spritely in Yael. They continued along the thinning road, and an ardor manifested through the people, frothing up like mist as the road lost the sound of the bubbling river. It led down to a vibrant valley, blooming with exotic-looking flowers that danced in playful banters along a spirited breeze. The effect expelled turbulent aromas that melted in their nose. Further into the flourishing valley they went, while Yael vivaciously pointed out her favorite things, spouting off about the flowers and shrieking about the sensational birds that lofted through the canopies.

  “What are those, more pylons?” Voden asked, pointing to the incisor-shaped stones now lining the road.

  The first one was about the height of his waist, but as they moved further on, they grew up to Voden’s chest, weather-beaten and covered in swirls of design. The lines were thick, weaving about two-thirds of the way up on the stone before connecting into a fist-sized circle, cutting perfectly through the toothy stones. Set inside the circle sat various crystals of transparent blues, reds, and yellows, glittering with the smallest haze of light. It was as if spirits danced within them, buzzing to the edges of the stone to call out to the passersby.

  Furry patches of moss blotched the surface, adding weight to their age. Voden felt an urge to step closer to one, and he br
ushed his fingers across the lines, mesmerized by the gentle light shooting veiny threads out of the edges of the gem. Odd, lethargic beads followed the hairs of electric light to meet his fingers, kissing warmth along his fingerprints.

  “They are the Grove Markers,” Yael whispered, smiling at his curiosity. “When the Zemilia established the Celebration, Blossum had the sages erect the markers to maintain the secrecy of the grove and provide energy for the shrines inside.”

  “Blossum created this?” Andar asked from behind them. He hardly seemed there with his question, where his eyes fixated more on the vegetation, enthralled by the beauty.

  “Sort of,” Yael said. “She established much of the traditions we have today. She just went crazy.” Yael trailed off. “I can’t imagine, being scorned so fiercely, that she is a danger to anyone other than her devout.”

  Andar examined the stone thoughtfully. “These have quite a bit of energy,” he said, rubbing his polygons. He had an odd grimace on his face, as though the plates were causing a rash. He smiled at Yael, and then he shuddered, glancing at the passing travelers.

  “You sense it?” Yael asked.

  “Yeah,” Andar said rather flatly. “I hear the whispers…”

  “I don’t feel it,” Voden muttered annoyed. He felt stupid, as though he was broken as a person, without the capacity to sense what seemed easy enough for Yael and Andar.

  “It’s okay,” Yael said gently. “It doesn’t manifest physically, at least at first. Knowing what to find is the key. You need to touch it with your spirit. When you get a sense of the feeling, you can let it embrace you. You have to learn to touch the Strings.” She grabbed his hand and pressed it gently to the stone. Andar had turned his attention to Vec, and they began their own conversation. Voden tried to focus, but Vec’s curt features seemed to whisper something slyly to Andar. “Voden,” Yael said, regaining his attention, “you need to concentrate.”

  Voden sighed, exhaling everything stuck in his lungs, most of which was paranoia. He spent a moment trying to focus on what she meant with “touch with his spirit” or “touch the Strings”, feeling embarrassed that it made little sense to him. He became very aware of how little he knew of himself. He decided to turn his mind blank, closing his eyes. He watched and waited, fighting his mind for silence, until an occasional wisp of color bloomed, flashing away before he could capture it. His mind pulsed excitedly, caught in a strange weaving that ran through him, then thoughts would flood back in, erasing what he thought he was near to capturing.

  He restarted, hoping to replicate the results with more focus this time. A sudden flash of purple pulsed through his mind, breathing a subtle pang of discomfort. A flash of gold blazed a face of something he could distinguish. Then a flicker of a red cube snatched away the face before it all disappeared from the sudden shock of a burning gaze.

  “Did you see anything?” Yael asked, breathing through the darkness.

  “Only wisps of colors,” he lied, unwilling to concentrate further.

  “That’s good. Find them. Some are confusing, but the right ones will find you. You need to learn to filter them into their threads. It becomes easier,” Yael assured him with a smile and took his hand.

  A warm tingle washed the thoughts of the crystal away, scorching back the clouds in his head and replacing them with colors so similar to…her eyes. He was stunned for a bit, unable to take his eyes away, incapable of speaking.

  “What? Don’t worry yourself, Voden, you’ll figure it out after tonight,” she said.

  Something in her voice begged Voden to ask more, but he couldn’t. Voden looked at Andar and Vec only a few feet away. They had already started moving on, deep in conversation. Yael raised her eyebrows, and together, they caught up with the two who cut their conversation as they approached.

  “Struggling to feel ‘the power of the stones?’” Vec asked as they approached, shooting Voden a smirk.

  “It’s not that easy for everyone,” Yael said rather unabashed, as though ignoring the joke Vec was clearly making. His face twisted a bit further, struggling to hide his teeth.

  Andar shook his head, letting his attention drift throughout the changing landscape. “How is it like this?” he asked, ducking under a lush group of fanning leaves drooping down from the trees surrounding them.

  “The Zemilia,” Yael stated as though it shouldn’t have been a question. “Zagala has isolated it to here, a small piece of the Beyond to bind us to her: Her act of love. One day, it will reach out across the world, and Zagala will romance her creation once again.”

  “We would burn the world before it ever had a chance of becoming this,” Vec muttered.

  Yael chose to ignore the comment if she heard. The path became swallowed by the encroaching vegetation, and the air thickened with humidity and warmth. If they had not been following the meandering travelers who cut through the foliage, Voden feared they would have been lost several times over, trying to make their way to the grove. Even the guide stones, larger now than earlier, were so wrapped in drapes of vine, they looked to be bushes, with a soft light beckoning within the tangles, if Voden had taken the time to find it. The sounds were thick with birds and the ancient groans of the mystical trees. A soft, rustling thud undulated like the heart in Voden’s chest. It almost seemed to fall from somewhere obscure in the vibrant ecosystem, as though they had started to journey into Zagala’s own chest. They marched in reverent whispers with the rest of the sojourners, becoming close to a single spirit of thought. The beat of the drum grew louder, shooting its firm vigilant quake through the sponge of Voden’s bones, groping through to the organs they sought to protect. It forced his heart to follow.

  The path shifted again, opening to a section that pruned the unruliness of the vegetation, organizing it into a structure that felt as though they had walked through a portal to a new dimension, into a temple built of earth and Zagala’s bounty. The markers were proud against the bed of ferns, and their gems sparked with the lucidity of a sentinel’s watch. Their vigil held the vault while the ground curved gently inward to a mystery floating through the valley, hidden beyond the hedonic fog. The “room” felt as though it was filled with dreaminess, where even emotions could become tangible, and sensations, like touch, became near to emotions. It was like twilight here, though the need for light only accented the beauty of what they saw, rather than bringing any clarity.

  The trees were no longer missed in thought of the forest. They were the pillars that held the sky of the dark green ceiling, as though they were the trusses of heaven, wrapped in filigree that could only be classified as vines. The expanse of foliage was speckled with living stars, drifting like drowsy sprites, like flecks of snowy light. They twinkled in and out of the dimension, whimsically becoming particles wherever they felt inclined, dancing to a spectral resonance breathed for them to hear.

  The shrubs grew healthy and were scattered around the hazy ground, where several clusters of round buds began to pop, breaking open like eggs, exploding into molten flares of flowers, stark inside the emerald terrarium. Reds and violets bled into tearful blues, lining sharp novas that burned yellow and orange as the color fell into the center. The space, if it was not filled already, frothed with deep croaks gurgling its omnipresence, as if nearly waking from its slumber, content with its lot in life. As Voden looked further above, pale-eyed birds hung in the branches, regal and elegant, watching the voyagers pass below into the new vista.

  “It’s…” Andar breathed, losing his voice in the grandeur.

  His face was like a child’s, still rooted in the memory of wishful thinking, as a tiny blue orb drifted across his face. It was light, no bigger than the head of a pin, billowing with an azurely glow, bleeding out from somewhere deep inside, a planet wrapped in an aura of chastity. Andar considered its loftiness and blew at it. It caught the sudden turbulence, riding the eddies of breath, twisting and flipping as it tumbled on the folding airwaves. It found its peace again, lazily falling back to its dreamy d
ance.

  “This is the Grove of the Zemilia,” Yael whispered, as one of the orbs found its way to her open palm. It never touched fully against her skin, and yet it spread its glow to her smiling face. She lifted it for them to see. “The flowers here pollenate on the full moon. This is just the beginning of it all!”

  Though there were sentients littered through the grove, they seemed to almost vanish to its beauty, becoming shadows to Voden’s vision, just shapes following the trail further into the grove. They moved slowly like a quiet creek, ensorcelled by the flecks of pollen, following the benevolent vigil of guide stones lining the path. It was then Voden felt his skin hot beneath his cloak, the first irritation that affected him since he had entered the grove. He felt foolish to have taken till now to notice it, though a glance told him his companions were just as oblivious. He took it off, his mind turning the action into some form of symbolism in which it stripped off his emotional restraints, now ready to soak in the freedom that the grove beckoned to give him.

  Vec and Andar followed his lead, as the road led them to a stone arch cut into the hills with the path wedged between. It appeared almost out of place, looming defiantly in the grove, as though the portal kept the vegetation at bay. Even though the vines crept, attempting to dig into the monolith, it was halted by the strength of the arch. The group to hesitated before it. It was crafted out of granite. It had a monochromatic, pearly surface, solid, as though time had no capacity to shift its structure. Its carvings were similar to the Grove Markers, bearing the markings of what appeared to be an ancient language scribed to whosoever could translate its mystery. But his eyes moved further past it as they neared the gateway.

  They were met by a statue of a beautiful woman, her hand outstretched, embracing a fruit dangling from a vine. The vine sprouted from a massive flower-shaped crimson stone. The petals cascaded down to the ground and were supported by jade leaves. The jade fanned out into a wall behind it, curling back into embossed depictions of the woman standing between an army of Tastins and an army of humans, with the eternal tree umbrellaing them all. The wall rippled towards the edges and finally swirled into arches that looked as vines on either side, forming the final entryway to the grove. They held a variety of colored gems throughout the weave of stony bramble. The arches of vines held a stone disk at its peak, where a perfectly round gem sat inside, pulsing with the same blue light as the pollen.