The Great Beyond- the Vile Fate

by K M McGuire

  “Blossum…” Rhosyn muttered, her eyes glassing over. “You can’t…it’s a man’s—”

  “Don’t make claims like that!” Estra flared through her gritted teeth. “I’ve put down several times the amount of ‘men’ than the rest of these fools! This is not about men. It’s about us all! No ideology concerns itself with sex! All of them are concerned about proving themselves right. It’s about time other women see it that way, too.” Estra smiled at Blossum sadly. “But,” she said, her face becoming sunken with a hard darkness, “are you sure you want to pay what it costs to go to war?”

  Blossum tilted her head. “It sounds I will pay more if I act later.”

  The vision shifted, blurring white, fading Estra’s face in a melting wash of colors, turning the air around her eyes to cloudy sheets of pure white. The colors now reversed, shifting back into new patterns, where Estra again appeared, somewhere far away from Blossum’s home.

  Blossum looked up at the gray ridges of the mountain impaling the misty clouds. The peaks could have gone to the full height of the vault of the sky, and wonder brought the thought that perhaps it held the sky from caving in on them. The creases of white that colored the heights vanished with ease into the sky, as if the Beyond had pulled them up as a footstool to His throne. Her horse whinnied at her, shaking her attention back to the trail through the village. All the structures seemed to be made of a similar gray stone, spliced with traces of golden brass as adornments, harmonizing rounded shapes with stark polyhedral walls. The buildings grew in grandeur the further up the mountain they looked, where a cold waterfall poured bleeding veins of blue into the altar-like pond in front of them. The rivulets that cried out of the pond chased along the backside of the village, cutting with icy gurgles along the ridge and down towards the valley where Blossum’s home sat. Her breath burst up in frosty clouds as she watched the cascade of water spilling from some place she imagined was in the clouds above, falling down around two towering stone men.

  “Come on, lass,” Estra said quietly, patting her on the back. She found what had stolen Blossum’s attention and pointed to the two beings carved into the mountain. “The Guardians,” Estra said, and bowed her head, “Eurruk and Malavar: the prophets of the faith, Blossum.”

  Blossum said nothing, only accepting the beauty of the toil that went into the mammoth statues. She stared at the one most like a warrior, the other, draped in robes and wild, ancient looking hair. But the warrior, Malavar, had something breathtaking about how he was designed. His face was hidden, as if the artists had not seen it and only saw it in rays of light, crafting a torus around where his head should be, at the center of which splinters of thin stone radiated out. Yet, they still gave him eyes, wide and void of pupils. They seemed to see through and across time, as if he watched the war far south of them. His sword, segmented and twisted like a curled vine, slithered down to his hand. He watched, armored by the stones of the mountain, always vigilant for what was to come.

  Estra nudged her, spurring her horse. “We can’t keep the priest waiting. I promised to protect you. I won’t fail in that!”

  They rode up the cobbled road, air dreary and cold, passing the villagers wandering the streets. They were headed towards the keep set in the mountain, the gate now visible through the jumble of buildings that slithered up the foot of the mountain, flanked by the stone titans. The bridge they crossed was carved from the mountain’s foundation, part of which was cut from the waterfall pounding against it for centuries, and the rest was done by the artisans that were long dead.

  They entered the cavernous keep, held by toothy pillars, where they saw a throne of stone, towering as the centerpiece to the room, with no one there upon it. Blossum only had eyes for the stone chair, bold, its shouldered backrest looming well above their heads for a king that would be far too small to sit on it. Gold and blue sapphires ran the length of the backrest, and the armrests shimmered from the roaring fire burning in the moat surrounding it. Behind the throne, another waterfall spilled along the back wall, where a glowing pool of blue rippled gentle sounds around them. She felt the heat of the moat as they approached, and something of a whisper she couldn’t catch swept across her blonde hair as if asking her who was worthy of the throne.

  “This is the Throne of the Beyond, Lass,” Estra said, dismounting from her horse. “This is where Eurruk was given his dream, the great mission of our race to cleanse the world of the Keepers. This is where he and Malavar began their first campaign to the Unknown.”

  “It’s incredible,” she said shallowly, wanting to comment on the Keepers. This wasn’t the place. She held her tongue, remembering her family. A figure had come around from behind the throne, having perhaps been down by the glowing pool and started over the marble bridge that traversed the valiant fires.

  “Ahh,” said the man, dressed in a muted, scratchy cloak. He smiled and bent down to hug Estra. “I had been wondering when you would return! How are you, my dear?”

  “Fine, Eirdon,” Estra responded. “I assume, then, you received my fowl?”

  “Yes,” Eirdon said, looking over Blossum. He was mildly attractive, a face she most likely would forget within minutes of seeing him, yet his eyes were more sincere than most of the people she knew from back home. “I believe this will be your best protection.” He dug inside his cloak’s sleeve and pulled out a small vial, pulsing with a cerulean blue glow. “I wish there was more who wanted the Blessing.”

  “Yes,” Estra agreed, “but it is only for the willing.”

  “And is she?”

  They both looked at Blossum, waiting on her response. She stared at the vial, watching the blue water, bubbling spheres of what she assumed Estra would have called sacred wisdom, though to her, it was only water birthed from the fresh mountain snow. Blossum could read every second of Estra’s silence. Her face bloomed with eagerness, as if she believed Blossum shared the same sentiment about the war as she did. Blossum didn’t want to disappoint her. She couldn’t break her heart.

  It’s for the protection of our race, she found herself arguing.

  If it meant she needed to be willing to accept the vial, whether she believed in failing spirits of the Beyond or not, then she felt even a lie was fair as long as it led her to that end.

  “Yes,” she said finally.

  The vision echoed Eirdon’s cheer as his claps faded with the distorting images. The only thing seeming to hold for a moment was the look on Estra’s face, as if the memory held her expression in the highest esteem it could offer. She sighed with relief, and with her breath, the colors faded white, then bled into new swatches of colors.

  What am I doing? Blossum thought, looking down the line of armored men.

  She felt herself trembling. As many times as she tried to stiffen herself with attention, she couldn’t help feeling the ominous drone seeping out of the forest. It was the first time she felt her thoughts praying to the Beyond. She touched the vial latched to the neckless Estra had made for her. The warmth of it soothed her nerves to only a dull quiver, thankful at least that Estra was near her.

  “It’ll be okay, lass,” Estra said, patting Blossum on the back. Blossum smiled weakly at her.

  “I’m just trying to remind myself why I came,” she said, hoping conversation would perk her up. It only made her stomach feel queasier.

  “Those heathens will know the name of the Beyond!” Estra chortled, sliding her axe in her hand. She gently rubbed the edge of it with a satisfied hunger in her eye. Blossum gulped her fears back down, begging them no to surface. Even as she tried to think them away, they began to chatter in her knees.

  “Blossum,” came Estra’s voice again. Blossum turned to her, her face now gentle, almost remorseful. “Please don’t think me a brute.”

  “Estra, I—”

  She held her hand up. “Blossum,” she started again, breathing heavily, “I know this is not something for someone like you. You aren’t built for war. I am glad you have taken up the cause for pure re
asons.”

  Blossum averted her eyes, sure that Estra meant something different.

  “You are still innocent, lass. I’ve been through this before—it is never a fun process—to do the right thing. You will question it even if you know the truth. You question it because of the pain. In war, it’s there, snarling in your face. The price of your belief against the unbelief of another—even the other way around! We find reasons to justify ourselves to make our decisions hurt less. Keep your innocence as long as possible, dear Blossum. The young hearts are what pierce the Beyond.”

  “I will, Estra,” Blossum muttered, trying to reassure herself more than her aunt.

  “Here, let me braid your hair,” Estra said, beckoning Blossum to kneel down. “Beyond knows I haven’t acted like a proper lady in some time! I miss playing with hair as fine as this! Pray it not be my last!” She weaved her fingers through Blossum’s hair and flipped the sections over one another. “Nothing as poor timing as your hair, sweaty and flopping around in your face, when you’re trying to parry arrows!” Estra finished and smiled again at her.

  A horn blew through the line, silencing the chatters still nervously chirping through the air. Estra gave Blossum another deflated smile. “This is it, Blossum, the trumpet of all of this madness to finally end. Great Beyond save you if you lose your innocence in the mist of war. In there…that’s where the darkness has made its true nest, and neither side is far from the mouth of the consuming beast. Pray you don’t find yourself still there when its mouth decides to close. What then can save you?”

  “Relax, lass! A level head is the strongest weapon you will wield,” Estra whispered.

  Blossum hung close to Estra, nervously peering through the canopy above, echoing calls and croaks from green shadows, pumping anxiety into her spirit. Every motion she made she felt would cause the whole of the Tastin army to come bearing down on them, listening to the wincing creaks of twigs that snapped under her feet. She had not seen a forest quite like this one, looming with ancient trees that were thick with teardrop leaves, and every sound was new, dripping with reverberations that increased her paranoia. She heard some birds squawking deep in the vegetation, as if warning them to turn back.

  She wiped the sweat off her brow, breathing her woes out quietly. Estra was right. She couldn’t remember what the general had rambled before they started their march into the forest, though she was sure it had much to do with their allegiance to the Great Beyond and the honor that came with dying for your country. All the thoughts that spawned in her head were of what rewards came with the sorrows of losing. Her family slaughtered, a spear piercing her stomach. She couldn’t imagine what kind of honor there was when a man lay disemboweled, screaming for the silence of death. It didn’t matter. It was all a circle of words they used to play off insecurities, so they would fight even harder.

  Either way, if her superiors thought she fought for country, then better them to fool than herself. A country can always be rebuilt but not her family. She stuck with Estra, knowing at least there was safety and guidance at her shoulder, well, mid-section, anyway. They spread through the forest in small groups, inching through into the unknown depths.

  The morning sun had pulled the heavy mist from the soil, now sweeping around them, the colors and textures turned to shadows, pitched to a dusty pewter. Blossum felt her hands tighten around the hilt of her sword, glowering at the poor craftsmanship. Not much she could do at this point. At least the edge was sharp. Estra and Blossum stood at the base of the hill, waiting for the other warriors to catch up. The hill was crumbling stone, bursting out of the soil like a bad skin disease, spattered with moisture along the exposed roots that flailed out of the cracks. The ancient trees were the only thing holding it together, lopsided and strewn in nearly all directions, stitching the dirt together like an old rag doll loose at the seams.

  Estra shook her head. “All that’s left are the fledging, bent on seeking honor. If only they knew what hells await, maybe they wouldn’t be so keen.” She looked at Blossum, not realizing she had been listening. “I’m sorry, lass, didn’t mean to scare you!” she said in a hushed voice. “But look at them! I’ve seen deer with eyes not nearly as wide as theirs! It’s like they were just plucked from their mother’s breast to come here. At least you have real purpose! You stand more of a chance than they.”

  Three soldiers approached and removed their helmets. The first was a rather handsome boy, with a strong jaw, and blue eyes that were as pure as a coral reef. There was a dream in his eye and a smirk on his face, just like arrogance. He ducked into the knoll next to Blossum and smiled at the other two. There was one girl, thick, and if Blossum was to be honest, more masculine than the blue-eyed boy next to her. The other boy was scrawny enough that she could nearly hear his joints creak. They took a moment to pass around a canteen of water, and Estra parted with her wine skin, muttering something about how it would numb the anxious buzz in their heads. Blossum looked down at her feet, kicking at the grainy stones from the dried-up riverbed they sat in.

  “Don’t worry,” came the silky voice of the young, attractive boy. “I’ve trained with the best! I’ll make sure we get through this together.”

  “Oh! That’s consoling!” came Estra’s sardonic chortle. “Trust me, boy, there are better ways of getting in a woman’s pants than taking advantage of her fears!” She slapped the boy on his head, and he hissed indignantly. His face glowed, Estra having knocked some of his cockiness out. “If your master swordsman had taught you anything, you ought to know better than to think with your sword! Use your head, boy! You won’t survive thinking as such! The lot they’ve put me with…” Estra muttered to herself, cursing the boy as she shook her head. She looked down the riverbed in either direction. Her eyes turned determined. “Alright, I will scout ahead,” she said somberly.

  She gave them all a look, squeezing Blossum’s arm. Blossum beheld her aunt, memorizing her face. She wore a similar expression when Blossum accepted the vial from the priest, twinkling like the sky on those summer days spent playing in the fields.

  “I’ll be fine, lass. Besides,” she gave Blossum a strange smile, “we all have our time to die where we may join the Great Table. I think if I am to go, the Beyond could use this pretty face.” She laughed and looked over the group. They tried to share the sentiment as best they could.

  “Ju-just be careful,” Blossum finally said.

  Estra hefted her axe. “That’s what I wish for you. There’s much more you have to offer than this old bag of bones.” And with that, she raced up the hill, legs scrambling across the shelves of rock like a mountain goat, gaining her bearing behind the trees on the hill. The haze became her cloak, morphing her to just a dancing swatch of color at the crest of the hill, and then she disappeared.

  Blossum turned to her companions who were still huddled in the knoll, the boys shaking nervously, and the handsome boy vented his fears by becoming irritated with the water dripping out of the roots by his head.

  “She’s over the hill,” Blossum informed them, and knew it was time to sneak up the hill themselves. She waved them forward, unwilling to go herself. Thankfully, they obliged her beckoning. They quickly ascended the hill, noting that the rest of the army had come up out of the riverbed as quietly as they could, thankful the thick fog muffled their presence. Blossum finally peeked her head over the top, lying flat against the damp earth, blending herself with the brush.

  She felt her breath come much easier now that she’d spotted Estra hiding behind a shrub about halfway down the hill. Her face was grim, looking along the ridge. She spotted one of Blossum’s companions, waving her hands back and forth, shaking her head vigorously. It seemed she was telling them it was unsafe. All Blossum could see was white fog and smeared ashen silhouettes of trees along the descent of the slope.

  The handsome boy slid next to her on her left. “Is it safe?” he asked, his voice trembling a little.

  A great flare of rufescent light shocked her eyes, burn
ing the outline of the boy’s imagine into her retinas. Her heart failed her, and the earth roiled the stone and dirt from underneath them, shaking her body through to her eardrums as she and the boy slid towards the sphere of hungry light. As their bodies drew closer to the miniature sun, it began to shrink as well, collapsing inward, and the streams of light caught the boy, pulling him towards the center, his mouth screaming with foaming fear. Before she had time to register the sounds that mingled together—from the boy’s arduous yelping to what sounded like crumbling stone and squelching mud—she watched the boy’s face bend with pain, as his legs drew into the mass of light. She watched in horror, screaming along with him, reaching out her hand towards his, but further he slipped away, his feet collapsing inside, the armor being crushed like a ball of tin, and the spirit-shattering sound it made was just as bad as watching his feet meld with his boots.

  It drew him closer to the pin-prick epicenter, shattering his bones even more, the blood hemorrhaging out of his legs as the bones splintered and tore, shredding the meat into tattered banners of pink. His eyes could not roll back into unconsciousness, his hips twisting with a spasm that turned into broken shards, and somehow, he found the strength to lift his fingers out towards her, twitching with each pulse of adrenaline, his eyes almost seeming to bleed with tears. Suddenly, the implosion reversed, exploding with a shockwave that cast Blossum down the hill, bouncing off the shale, and breaking it off as she hit the stone. She felt her armor bruising her bones, and her head hit the flat surface of a shale outcropping, which fragmented at the touch of her skull, snapping her vision to a hard white, then black, rolling into a bush.

  How long she lay there, she was unsure. Her ears began to function before everything else, the muffled cacophony of steel and fire pounded out the tempo like an orchestra Death conducted himself, whisking the breath out of screams to capture their souls. Her head began to throb with the sounds, she tried to ignore the gurgling howls of blood draining out of people she could not see on the other side of the hill. She pushed herself up, breathing the scents of melting ozone and the rising smell of iron soaking into the dirt. Soldiers rushed up the hill past her, paying her no mind. The scent of blood placed their minds along one single brainwave, flashing by her in waves of bluish steel, roaring incoherent noise as if that could bring fear to their enemies’ knees.