Fate’s Peak

by Scott Volentine

  “I will keep chopping away,” William panted. He stabbed at its head, but the poltergeist launched itself into the air and somersaulted over him. Its foot cracked into his skull, and the world started spinning around him as he stumbled forward. He whirled to face the poltergeist as it straightened its head. He roared a battle cry and charged. It reached for him, but his sword danced higher and slashed through the rest of its neck.

  The poltergeist’s head landed with a plop in the grass, rolling face down. A shadow surged out of its neck and spread into a cloud over the field. William let the sword slide from his grip as he watched the shadow dissipate into the sunlight. The body toppled into the grass and light shimmered beneath its flesh as the corpse started sinking into the ground, glowing brighter until he had to shield his eyes. When he looked again, the corpse had vanished and the grass had turned green. William cried out for joy.

  NINE

  A fresh, clean smell, like a forest after a summer shower, floated up through the air as William tried to catch his breath. The adrenalin drained from his body, all his aches and pains doubling in intensity, and his legs started wobbling beneath him. He sank to the ground and tried to scrub the blood from his face with his unscathed hand, but he found it had dried into a mask. Scraping his fingernails against his skin, he started peeling the dried blood off in strips. Brown flakes drifted down into his lap and soon his face returned to its original shade.

  William switched his focus to the cut on his palm, still throbbing with pain as blood trickled down to his wrist and dripped into the grass. He would have to bandage it, but thought he should clean the wound first. He leaned back and doffed his hat to gaze into the sky, noting the Sun’s downward trajectory, a scattering of clouds. Raising his unwounded hand to his brow, he wiped away the sweat and ruffled his hair. When he saw how the grime had been wiped from his palm, he tilted his head back and cried, “Water! I need water!”

  ***

  William’s voice soared into the sky, but the cloud covering muted his words. The clouds had been watching as William had battled the poltergeist as impartial spectators, feeling they were above such pettiness. Their self-righteousness had been developed as a defense mechanism to justify how they never intervened with the affairs of the ground. An amalgam of Light and Darkness, the clouds had found the balance so they could to work side-by-side without conflict. All the strife down below seemed like infantile tantrums to them; whenever asked to choose a side, they maintained the line: “Why should we fight when the best answer will always be compromise?” Though William had cried out for his Father’s help, his plea became entangled in the bureaucracy of the clouds.

  The cloud congress—a multi-dimensional chamber where the clouds manifested as glowing auras, rather than their simplistic three-dimensional forms—had called a recess after William had vanquished the poltergeist, retreating to their inner sanctum. When his words cut through their protective underlayer, compelling them to consider his demands, the auric multitude muttered to each other in irritation, how that newcomer seemed to be forcing change on their routine. The clouds took their time to compose themselves before returning to the chamber to attend to William’s request.

  After deliberation, the clouds separated into two camps: those who approved of the request, thinking they would benefit from the exercise, perhaps gain a new ally; and the others who rejected it, listing off all the statistics—how their precipitation had been calculated for stability and any change would upset the balance, how William might be an enemy trying to overthrow their dominion.

  William’s supporters began drawing up plans for the delivery of rain to him, wracking their minds for alternate solutions that might persuade the naysayers. The opposition sent a spy over to the planning committee to sabotage their work by offering terrible advice, like “Why don’t you let the cirrostratus handle the operation by themselves?”

  When the committee realized the spy’s nefarious motives, they forcefully removed it from their discussions. The opposition feigned outrage, claiming that everyone should have an equal say in the matter. While activity within the chamber was reaching a fever pitch, a nimbus cloud with a crystalline aura showed up outside at the head of a mob, all carrying signs to protest the corruption inherent in the system.

  The cloud elders—a towering cumulus with a purple aura, a far-stretching cirrus with an orange aura, and a sheet-like stratus with a grey aura—had been sitting on a raised dais in front of the assembly, watching the theatrics unfold on the floor. Messengers flittered back and forth, delivering reports to the elders, and they called for the cumulonimbus ombudsman to keep watch at the door to prevent the protestors from storming into the chamber. With that out of mind, the elders turned their attention back to the argument unfolding within the chamber. A representative of the opposition party came forward to ask for the spy to be reinstated within the planning committee. The elders conferred for a moment and declared that the spy had disgraced congress with its actions and should be expelled from the chamber. The opposition sunk into a sullen silence as the spy protested against the bailiffs who were pushing it towards the rear exit of the chamber, closing the door in its face.

  “Now!” the elder cirrus said. “Let us engage in a dialogue so we can find a compromise.”

  An altostratus with a deep-red aura rose up to gain the attention of congress. “There has been a lot of talk about bigotry, how our biases influence our positions on this issue. We take pride in our opposition to intolerance, since diversity is of the utmost importance to our work. But why should we provide this leniency to a foreigner to our realm? We, by Divine proclamation, are prohibited from taking sides in the struggles below. Laissez Faire has proven itself the most effective way…”

  The opposition party cut off the speaker by breaking into thunderous cheers. The altostratus waited for the applause to fade away, but before it could continue a shimmering-blue cirrocumulus from the planning committee rose to speak. “You are correct. Neutrality is fundamental to our design. We are nothing more than the messengers of this world, delivering whatever is called for—be it Light or Darkness. We should not waste our time trying to judge the merit of the one who issued this request, for we serve all who inhabit the world below. When we are confronted with an issue, we address it to the best of our ability. This particular request seems well within our power to address; the energy expenditure would be negligible, so I can think of no reasons to refuse this man’s request.”

  The cirrocumulus faded into the background as several different clouds started shouting at each other across the chamber. Each had something different to say, but all their words of agreement or disapproval were garbled together. The elder cumulus up on the dais started banging its gavel until silence settled over the chamber. “Yes, I see this topic has sparked quite a debate,” the elder cumulus said. “Each of us has our own understanding of the purpose of our existence. We accept every opinion in this chamber, but please speak one at a time.” The elder raised its gavel in the air for all to see. “Whoever holds this gavel has the floor, but please speak concisely.”

  The cumulus cloud handed the gavel to an aide and sat back in its chair to watch the proceedings unfold. A navy-blue-tinted nimbostratus rushed to the aide and took the gavel, then it turned to survey the different factions of the congress. “Right, well, first of all… my concern is that the being who requested rain is the Child of Light. Isn’t it obvious? I’m not casting judgment here, but rain is, after all, a product of the Darkness. I feel there may be—how do you say—undesired consequences if we grant his request. I mean, who could guess what would happen as a result?”

  Around the chamber all the clouds started whispering to their neighbors. While they were distracted, a deep-green-hued mammatus cloud strode forth to claim the gavel. It surveyed its audience and, with a gruff voice, said, “You may not know who I am, but I know all of you. My duty is to guard the upper reaches of the atmosphere, and I have
seen many astounding things in my time. We speak of neutrality like it’s an order from God, but it’s really just a lie we tell ourselves to justify why we allowed the world below to decay. To promote neutrality is to promote inaction, to promote indecision, to promote delusion. So, I say neutrality should not be an option. We should work for the good of the world, not just to maintain our lame status quo. I pride myself on being an objective observer, and all I see is a man nursing his wounds. Please: if you think we are righteous then let us help this poor man, whoever he may be.”

  Silence settled over the chamber as the mammatus cloud handed the gavel back to the aide. The opposition party averted their gaze and members of the planning committee invited the mammatus cloud to sit with them. No one else rose to take the gavel, so the aide glanced at the elders on the dais. “Shall we vote, then?” the elder stratus asked.

  The chamber consented, and when all the votes were tallied the motion passed with overwhelming support. A nimbus with a bright-gray aura volunteered to deliver the rain, promptly exiting the chamber and rushing past the picket line. The nimbus rode the currents lower until its target was in sight. Taking aim, it released its precipitation upon the injured man sitting in the field.

  ***

  William had grown accustomed to an immediate response to his prayers, so the delay filled him with disappointment. Blood continued leaking from the gash in his palm as he watched the Sun creeping lower in the sky. What’s taking Him so long? As he started to lose hope, the air around him shifted and wind started gusting across the field. He looked out over the wasteland and saw a cloud bank drift in from the horizon, covering the land.

  As the clouds concealed the Sun, William felt the first raindrops splatter against his skin. The drizzle increased to a downpour, soaking the dry, green grass with life-bringing fervor, cleansing him of the last traces of the battle as it streamed through his hair. He whooped with delight and let his mouth hang open, sticking his tongue out to catch the raindrops.

  William lay back in the grass, feeling it tickle his exposed skin, and saw how the wind propelled the sheets of rain sideways through the air. He closed his eyes, feeling the rain wash over his eyelids; it felt like his skin was absorbing the water through osmosis. The rain poured into his mouth, pooling at the back of his throat before he swallowed. After the first swallow, he wished he could suck in the rain until the water filled his entire body. He pushed himself up—legs sprawled before him, cape clinging to his shoulders—and cupped his hands together to collect the rain. Water rose to fill this makeshift cup, taking on a pink shade as it brushed against the cut in his left hand, and he swallowed the handful before it could leak out between his fingers.

  William figured he should go ahead and bandage his hand. He reached for his cape and flipped it over his shoulder then picked up his sword. He pulled one edge of his cape taut against the sharp edge of the blade, which cut through the wet fabric with ease. When he judged the strip to be long enough to wrap around his hand twice, he twisted the sword with a flick of his wrist and severed the bandage from the cape. Putting the sword down, he took the strip of cloth and wrapped it around his left hand. Clenching and unclenching his fist, he felt satisfied at the job.

  This problem out of mind, William returned to collecting rain in his cupped hands. Each swallow cooled his throat and, as the water sloshed around in his belly, he felt himself invigorated at the cellular level. After his twelfth gulp, he heard a howl come drifting across the field. A second howl followed the first. “Here, boy!” he called. “I am over here! Everything is fine!”

  The wolf barked in response, and William heard a rustle in the grass as it loped into view, silhouetted against the downpour. Seeing William, it scampered to his side and licked his face. He hugged the wolf to him, his fingers interlacing with its fur. When he let go, the wolf sat back on its haunches: two companions sitting side-by-side in a rainswept field.

  The wolf’s mouth hung open, its tongue lolling out to one side, collecting raindrops. William continued collecting water in his hands, and he offered some to the wolf, who lapped it down eagerly. After both had drunk their fill, the rain continued pouring over them; neither minded it. Occasionally the wolf would bark, as if to say “I’m alive!” and William would respond with a shout of his own.

  This wild abandon filled William with giddiness; he realized what it meant to be happy. Like a rainstorm, happiness is fleeting; as the clouds raced across the sky and the rain started to let up, the feeling began to slip away from him. The clear sky exposed on the horizon reminded him of what lay ahead; he already had tasted what the plain had to offer and dreaded what other ghastly apparitions awaited him.

  The storm trundled across the wasteland and the Sun reemerged from its hiding, much lower than before. William measured its distance from the horizon as four finger-widths. He wondered if he should move on, but his stomach grumbled to be fed. Though he had not traveled as far as he had wanted, he was loath to leave the field, so he jumped at the opportunity to waste some time. He glanced at the wolf. “What do you feel like eating?” The wolf looked at him then bent its head down to tear out some grass. William laughed. “I was thinking something else.”

  William closed his eyes and envisioned a feast from his pseudomemories—sliced turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans and cranberry sauce. Father, my body begs to be fed, he prayed. Can you provide for me? When he opened his eyes, he saw the grass littered with food. The wolf pounced before he could move, grabbing a whole potato in its mouth. William took a seat beside the wolf as it gnawed on the tuber, and he selected a slice of turkey from the grass. After the wolf devoured the potato, it moved on to the meat, and William dug his hand into the grass to scoop out some cranberries. Their tartness bit at his tongue, so he grabbed a potato next and bit into it through the skin. It had a mushy texture with a neutral flavor that balanced his palate. While his taste buds held his attention, the wolf had gobbled down all the turkey and returned to grooming itself. The green beans were forgotten, camouflaged as they were by the grass.

  ***

  William’s mood waned as the Sun started to dip beneath the horizon, sending orange and red streaks dancing across the sky. Looking around the field, he wondered whether there was enough grass to keep a fire going all night; as he saw the rays of the setting Sun sparkling through drops of water that clung to the grass, logic prevailed. He abandoned hope for a fire to keep the night terrors away, but instead of feeling dread, his body decided it was time for him to experience a new sensation—a pressure deep in his gut calling for release. He excused himself from where the wolf had nestled and wandered off a short distance to relieve himself.

  William returned to where the wolf lay and sat in the grass beside it. Stroking its back with his unbandaged hand, he whispered, “Good boy.” It is hard to be afraid of the night when the wolf is so calm. “Good boy!” The wolf looked up at him and wagged its tail. He smiled at his furry companion then reclined back into the grass, watching the sunset fade from the sky.

  Dusk settled over the land and gave way to a darkness tinted red by the cosmic abattoir swirling across the night sky. William reached to cover his body with the cape, pausing to listen for the buzz of an approaching swarm of flies. Minutes ticked by, but the only sound was the rustle of a breeze across the field. He let the cape fall back into the grass, wondering why the flies had not returned. The answer struck him as an epiphany: the field heralded the return of Life and repelled those creatures that fed on death.

  Knowing that his actions were effecting real change, even if he felt small and lost at times, a sense of well-being flooded William. Tomorrow will be better, he thought as he lay his head back onto the cushion of grass and closed his eyes. No thoughts disturbed him as he fell into a dreamless sleep.

  TEN

  A paintbrush of sunlight colored the inside of William’s eyelids a hazy shade of red, summoning him from the depths of sleep. He kept his eyes
closed as he steeled himself for the new day. Whatever falls in my path will fall before me. He parted his eyelids and was greeted by the chalk-blue stretches above—not a cloud in sight. He turned his head to one side and saw the wolf sitting on its haunches, watching over him in the dawn’s light like a guardian. William smiled at it. “Good morning.”

  The wolf bent its head down and licked William’s nose, shocking him fully awake. He sat up before it could drench his face with slobber. “You gotta stop that, boy.” He reached to ruffle the fur on the wolf’s head, which it tolerated a moment before twisting away to lick his hand. “Enough… oh, I bet you are hungry. I suppose we should eat something before we head out.”

  He thought for a moment about what people used to eat for breakfast. The scene set itself in his mind: a kitchen lit by warm light from a window that slanted down on a table set with a bowl of fruit and a plate with a stack of pancakes and slices of bacon. He dwelled on the scene for a moment, wishing he could teleport himself into it. How could a civilization which created such tranquility destroy itself?

  William pushed the false nostalgia away and opened his eyes to see the wolf had already leapt at the bacon that had materialized in a pile, nestled in the grass. He let the wolf have the bacon—flakes raining out of its mouth as it chewed—and reached for a red apple. Biting into it, sweetness dribbled down his throat and as he crunched through it he felt the sugar rushing through his bloodstream. When the apple had been reduced to its core, he saw the wolf was making a move for the pancakes. He reached out to hold it back and picked the whole stack up, protecting them in his lap. The wolf grabbed a banana instead, trying to chew through the peel. William laughed as it shook its head back and forth then launched the banana through the air. He started eating the pancakes while it loped across the field to retrieve the banana, holding it between two paws so the wolf could better gnaw the peel away.