Chương 9: Unyielding Shadow
[Before, 31]
(My second flashback began on my drive to work. It happened just a day after the first. I looked ahead. Car accident. Bumper to bumper traffic. Horns blaring. My thoughts drifted off.)
(Then, I was thirty-one again. So young, I thought. I had so much youth in me back then. Unlike now.)
(I remember thinking: I didn't need to be eighteen or sixteen or even twenty again. I would be happy going back to thirty-one, that'd give me enough time to fix things. To achieve what dreams I had.)
(I had just finished backpacking around my country. Jumping from small town to small town, drinking too much, smoking too much, laughing just enough. I worked as a fruit picker. Met a lot of people, too. Mostly travellers, mostly down-and-outers.)
(Everyone had a story, though, and every story was special to them.)
(No-one is the side character in their own story, and it was during this time I thought I had come to truly understand that.)
.
.
.
My wooden sword cracked hard against Crock's, shards of wood splintering into the air.
"Mmm! Gettin' strong, Kay!" Crock beamed. "But, not strong 'nuff for me!"
He swung high, the wooden blade whistling as it cut through the air. I ducked, stabbing my point into his stomach. Crock was ready for it. His high swing was a feint. With one movement he twisted his body and drew the blade down vertically, slashing into my shoulder blade. It collided, sending me to my knees. Between heavy breaths, I found myself cursing. An unexpected amount of damage.
Crock's eyes went wide.
"No!" He roared. "I broke 'im!"
Not quite.
Crock's guard was dropped.
With a wicked smile, I brought my blade up. It cracked against Crock's jaw, sending him stumbling backwards. He closed his guard as he fell, but I was prepared. I swung my sword and clipped his right shin. As he unconsciously threw his hand there to block, I was in position for the final blow. I raised the blade and-
"Aye, laddie!" Viktor boomed. "That's enough!"
The wooden blade stopped barely an inch from Crock's head.
I spun, turned and bowed. As was custom.
Then, I turned and helped Crock to his feet. The big man hopped slightly, keeping his weight on the left. Blood trickled from his jaw.
"Oh," he hummed. "That hurt!"
Viktor stepped forward, wooden sword drawn and pointed at me. "Let's go, laddie!"
With sword high, I charged before he even finished his sentence. Still, Viktor was ready. He dashed towards me, closing the distance in the blink of an eye. Immediately, I brought my sword down, hard. Too early. The wooden tip dug deep into the ground just before Viktor's feet.
The big man took the opportunity, lowering his guard and widening the sword's arc. He intended to do damage. But, that was the plan.
Using all my strength, I twisted the blade in the dirt and brought it up, flinging a handful of dirt into the air. Then, in the same motion, I swung my body in a full circle and threw all my power into a single strike. It collided with Viktor's own sword, brought up to a last minute guard.
Damn, I thought. So close! Just a little more speed!
I pushed myself back using my sword against his, and charged once again. Right. Left. Feint. High. Low. Feint.
I roared, striking the man relentlessly.
A fruitless endeavour. For every blow I delivered, Viktor parried and countered. Again and again. Parry. Counter. His strikes were sharp, though not powerful, and each one hit precisely within the gaps I left in my guard. My vitals ached. The pain resounding through my body made me dizzy.
Not again! I can't keep losing! My mind screamed. I have to be faster. Stronger!
"That's enough now, laddie," Viktor said, blocking my flurry of strikes.
My cheeks burned. My heart raced. Stinging sweat coated my eyes. No time to wipe it away. My hands, numbed by the vibrations of impact, loosened their grip on my sword. I smelled blood in the air. All my thoughts - all my senses - became focused and tunneled on a singular object: Viktor. The insurmountable wall.
I charged and charged and-
"I said that's enough!" Viktor boomed. With his free hand balled into a fist, he struck me across the jaw, putting me straight to sleep.
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.
.
Something about youth brings about a sense of invulnerability. It's a time where death is an abstract concept, and tomorrow is certain. And, despite my experience with the former, regressing into a younger frame seemed to ignite these delusions. Once again, I was invincible.
Or so I thought.
When I opened my eyes, the vibrant bloom of sunset had painted the sky in shades of violet and orange.
Wasn't it morning? I thought.
My head thumped and my face burned. I groaned, rolling in place. Using my elbows, I forced myself up to sitting. The sounds of laughter echoed behind me.
Oh. I grimaced, rubbing my jaw. I remember now.
I stumbled over to the group of men playing cards and drinking wine by a wooden crate.
"Look who's awake!" One, Mikael Mulligan, jeered. His pudgy face and balding hair shook with joy.
"Shut up," I grumbled, taking a seat with the rest of them.
Another young man, Arlo Smith, shoved his elbow into my side, grinning. "Aw, chin up, kid. Boss was a royal guard for the king 'imself," he said. He drew his mug to his lips and took a swig of wine. His auburn hair, tied loose in a knot, bobbed with the motion. "Once upon a time, that is," he added.
"Laddie," Viktor said, nodding at me. "You did well. Be proud."
I leaned back on the crate and stared up at the stars, sighing. "It just… It feels like no matter how hard I train, I'll never get as good as you."
God, I thought. Why am I so impatient? Is it this kid's body? Shit.
My thoughts drifted back to the time before. A salaryman. No, truly I was less than that. A blue-collared lackey. No hope, no money. Did I really give up this easy...
The others glanced at one another, quiet. Then, the group burst out in raucous laughter. The jovial sound ringing light in the crisp evening air. Flushed and embarrassed, turned crimson. Soon enough, I joined in. My fleeting, boyish pride dissipating into the joy of the moment.
When the laughter died down, a thought crossed my mind. To Viktor, I said: "So, if you were in the royal guard, m'lord, did you ever encounter the swarm?"
Again, the group went silent. This time, no laughter followed. They instead eyed each other, narrowed and nervous, and took long drinks from their mugs.
"After my time, my boy," Viktor said, his voice grave. "After my time."
"Ain't even real," Arlo spat. "Some bullshi-"
"Shut it, Arlo," Mikael growled.
"What? 'Ave you seen it then, Mick?" Arlo said. "Royal army sits tight-lipped in their makeshift capital, eatn' our food, taking our women. End o' the world, they whisper. Tsk. End o' our country, more like."
I glanced over a Viktor, who sat quietly sipping his wine. "What do you think, m'lord?" I asked.
The group went quiet as Viktor rubbed his shaven head in thought. A solemn expression carved the scarred man's face into that of a picture of mourning. His good eye glazed over.
"It ain't like the royal army to craft such a lie. But, no-one but mainlanders and soldiers is allowed into this so called 'Bastion'. Tight-lipped, Arlo's got the right of it there. Not even my friends still in service dare break the silence. Still… It's hard to believe, really, either way."
I nodded, understanding.
Even for me in the months of peace on the Boundary Coast, it had become hard to believe in the tales of the end. Still, I couldn't shake a deep pit in my stomach.
.
.
.
At the end of the world, the young girl's tear-stained cheeks became as dry as the dirt beneath her feet.
She had nothing left in her to cry.
Her once-shining hazel eyes were now swollen and red. Resolved for death.
She stepped out into the street, her dress a mess of soot and mud.
In the distance, a woman crying could be heard amidst the fearful screams that sounded from all around. People dashed past the girl, shoving her to the ground as they did. In the panic, a man stamped on her collarbone; the pain brought bile to her throat. Still, she forced herself to stand and continued forward.
The girl passed a house on fire. The old man that lived there sat content at the window, staring out while sipping at a bottle of liquor. He waved at the girl as she passed, but her eyes remained trained ahead.
A man stumbled out of his home, his face covered in sores and growths. He stepped out onto the street in front of the girl, emitting a low, guttural growl. Out of his mouth, a green and black liquid oozed. The girl continued forward. It stared at her, growling heavily, before shuffling away. It joined with a group of its kind to pin down the local blacksmith, who flailed uselessly with his hammer.
Kill me, she thought. Kill me, please.
Then, the girl's mother stepped out onto the street before her. Her once shimmering black hair and dark, almond shaped eyes were replaced with a contorted, twisted expression. Large sores and growths deformed her frame, and her head was snapped to the side. The girl knew she should be dead. The town guard had hung her a week before. But, the girl thought, they should have had her burned.
Tendrils pierced her mother's neck, flailing wildly in the air. With an ear-piercing shriek, she entered a full-sprint right towards the girl.
And then, in a haze of motion, made her way right past to pursue the fleeing villagers. The girl knew that her mother would catch them, soon.
But there was one thing she didn't know, didn't understand. Once more, the tears started flowing. Her pain immeasurable.
"Why," she wailed. "Why won't you kill me, too!"
All her suffering brewed to the surface, and in her anger, her despair, she screamed. With her one good arm, the girl picked up a stone from the side of the street and dashed towards a group of the creatures.
Her question was heard. The devil ready with his response.
The girl, pale as the moon, found herself on the floor staring up at a starless sky.
In her final moments, all she could think about was how surprisingly little it hurt to be eaten alive.
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