Ferral's Deathmarch Army

by Tod Langley

18

  Mikhal and the Demon

  Mikhal could not help but think of her as he lay on the upper bunk. Why is she here, he asked himself. Why does it always seem as though she is following me? Isn’t it enough that she haunts my dreams?

  Mikhal had been able to put the demon out of his mind for a while because of his concern for Hin’cabo. Now she was back. He saw the demon in his mind, standing in front of the fortress’s gates silently mocking him. There were bodies everywhere; the remains of her challengers so easily defeated and torn apart, piled up, like a grotesque gift for the defenders to see. None of them could match her strength. She was vile and evil, yet Mikhal was still drawn to her.

  Mikhal fought his attraction to the demon-woman, but the struggle took all of his focus. Thoughts of her always soured his mood, causing even greater problems between him and Kristian. Mikhal tried to convince himself that it was only a twisted fantasy, something from a darker part of him that he could not help but embrace. Mikhal knew he could never have any real connection to the demon, but it was hard for him to focus on her as the monster for very long. The image of the woman Mikhal had seen so clearly in the Duellrian palace always came back to him, helping to erase his memories of her as a monster. She was a welcome savior that helped take away the nightmares and made everything seem alright. Beautiful, hypnotizing, her long golden hair falling down in front of her goddess-like face—Mikhal began, again, to fall asleep looking into her deep blue eyes, a habit that grew more dangerous and intoxicating with each passing night.

  There they both are, Mikhal and his demon lover, enjoying a strong embrace. He sits on a couch while she leans on him. Mikhal’s arms wrap around her protectively. She smiles as he runs his fingers through her soft hair. Mikhal can even smell the fragrance of some beautiful flower still clinging softly to his finger tips as he pulls them through a strand of her hair. The love he feels for her is so strong that his stomach aches. It is a deep pain tinged with sadness, as if Mikhal does not expect the love to last. Sensing his discomfort, she turns around to look at him. There are no words. The demon-woman looks into his eyes with concern and sees the doubts.

  Mikhal sees the taint of her sins reflected within her eyes. Her actions within the temple are so disgusting to him that he loosens his hold on her. She grabs hold of Mikhal’s arms and tries to keep him there, snuggling in under his chin, but he is too disturbed to stay. He forces himself off the couch and away from her. Mikhal walks over to the balcony to look down on the city below. Below him, perfect, white columned buildings and tall statues reflect the sophistication of their society. Beautiful people walk through the streets oblivious to the sickness taking hold, but Mikhal sees the chips in the columns, the tarnish growing on the statues. Sharp, green colors, mold, Mikhal thinks, stand in stark contrast to the deep, golden hue on their empire’s heroes and gods. Their once thriving community, that has carried the standard of freedom and equality, is decaying.

  How much longer do we have, Mikhal asks.

  In a rush, Mikhal turns and grabs his lover by both arms forcing her to look at him. His stare is enough to convey his emotions and desire. She is to have nothing more to do with these terrible worship practices. The demon-woman nods in understanding.

  Mikhal is relieved. He hugs her tightly, fearing he might lose her. She hugs him just as strongly.

  The dream changes from one of peace to something much more evil. Mikhal walks through the temple again, through the mass of kneeling people that pray to the new deity. The place is dark and musty and filled with the acrid smoke of incense. Through the haze he sees the blood stained altar at the far end of the temple. A slave lays bound atop the altar. He struggles against the chains but cannot break free. The anguish and fear on his face makes Mikhal’s heart pound. Mikhal’s lover stands over the slave.

  There is sorrow painted on her features, she does not want to be there in front of these people, and yet, she will not leave. Her breathing becomes labored as she struggles to lift the ceremonial bone dagger high above her head. She gasps, trying to decide what to do, and then plunges the dagger deep into the slave’s heart. As the slave’s struggles slowly end, Mikhal sees the flood of emotions that run across his lover’s face. First there is fear, joined by loathing, and then slowly, they are replaced by a blissful sense of release.

  An old, smiling temple priest hands his love a goblet, which she uses to collect the blood of her sacrifice. The demon-woman holds the cup high, and then she pours the blood down the front of the altar. The fervent worshipers sway, chanting and praising her, as well as their god. She holds her head high, enjoying the crowds’ attention. Then she sees Mikhal standing there. The dagger falls from her hands as she gasps in surprise. She starts to move down from her place toward him, but then she stops. She knows it is too late. She has made a decision that Mikhal cannot live with. The majority of citizens might accept what is happening within the city, but Mikhal never will. He knows many others feel the same way.

  Mikhal sees a single tear roll down her face as he turns to leave. She has never looked so beautiful, and he knows that he will never see her again. He walks back to his home and gathers up his belongings. Most of his possessions are already packed. He has planned this for some time. Mikhal hoped that he would be able to convince his love to change and that they would leave together, but with or without her, he is leaving today.

  Over the past several weeks, Mikhal has seen the signs of impending doom. Their world is changing, decaying. He knows their society is about to be destroyed. He and many others are convinced that there is little time left, and that they have to leave the island now. So, they planned an exodus. Seamen speak of a new land, a vast, unexplored continent to the north. That is where they plan to go and start over.

  Most of those going are from the middle class, those that have worked hard for their society only to watch it destroy itself. They pack what they can take while encouraging others to join them. Some do, but most remain, scoffing at the idea of leaving. The ships they are to take number almost a thousand. Aboard are many other people like Mikhal, he is a soldier he thinks, but there are others of various skill and trade as well. There are even escaped slaves and nobles. They have all agreed that it is time. There has been enough warning for any sensible person to understand that their island home is in great danger.

  Many ships have already left. The number of those remaining dwindles, and Mikhal has only stayed to try and convince his lover to come with him—he has failed. Now he hurries through the streets toward the docks.

  When Mikhal arrives, he looks back at the city sprawled out among the hills overlooking the peaceful bay. It is beautiful, like his love, but rotting like the demon. He can feel the tension all around him. This perfect nation, founded on freedom and equality, is going to destroy itself.

  Mikhal closes his eyes in silent grief and then boards the last ship. As they row for the open waters beyond the protected bay, he does not take his eyes off the city. He somehow hopes that his lover will run down the street and onto the pier begging for forgiveness and passage. She does not come.

  Later that evening, the seas grow rough. Mikhal feels underwater tremors as he stands on the deck looking at the silhouette of his homeland. Suddenly, a fiery glow engulfs the island. The light is faint and hard to see, but it looks like a crack has opened on the island, and a raw energy from another world reaches out to touch their own. Then a loud thunderclap rolls out across the water like the sound of a thousand avalanches. It is so loud, even at this great distance, that it deafens Mikhal for several long minutes.

  A visible wave of pressure follows the sound. The wave drives the water and wind before it and overcomes the ships. Mikhal is thrown to the deck. The main mast cracks and falls into the sea, the rigging snaps and whips at the other passengers, throwing them off the ship. As the chaos begins around him, Mikhal’s gaze is drawn back to the island.

  His home, what is left of it, is engulfed in flames. Even with all of the
people screaming and moaning around him on the ship, Mikhal swears he can hear the pleading cries of those still trapped on the island. He knows his love is one of them. Mikhal closes his eyes, trying to block out the vision and the sounds from his mind, but he cannot help but imagine his love screaming out for him, begging for his help.

  Mikhal woke, as always, breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. He threw the blankets off of him and stood. He stepped over the still forms of his companions to look out the window. It was near midnight, and the air had a chill to it. Mikhal rested his hands on the open windowsill and looked down upon the siege.

  She was the cause of so much pain and suffering. Images of Mikhal’s fallen comrades, his family, even the pain of having to leave her behind on the island filled his mind. Buzzing, whispering voices kept him from being able to think. Frustrated, Mikhal slammed his fist down. He shoved himself away from the window and turned for the door. Kristian stood there before him wrapped in his blanket, concern and anxiety reflected in his eyes.

  He wants to know what is happening to me, Mikhal knew. But he could not tell him, not yet.

  “Don’t worry,” Mikhal whispered. “I’m only going for a walk … I need some fresh air.”

  Kristian stood silent for a moment more and then stepped aside. He tried to reassure Mikhal with a smile, feeling awkward.

  “Of course,” Kristian said. Mikhal lowered his head and ducked out of the chamber.