The Burden
Cast your gaze back and over green fields cloaked in wisps of mist. Watch as a figure, cloaked in green with his arms wrapped tight around his torso run along those fields. He tosses his head back and forth, searching for his unseen pursuers. He stumbles, his steps weary from long use, his head and shoulders slumped from the miles he has already travelled.
Stand now in an inn, the traveller gazing upon his cup of wine, his cloak set aside to dry. Next to him lies a satchel, containing all his worldly belongings, all but the most important which he keeps closest to his heart. He cups his hands around the cup, breathing the fumes in and leaching what heat he can from it, occasionally shivering.
The door opens, the innkeeper starts forward to greet his only other customer. He stops, for his visitor even to one accustomed to the roughest of individuals strikes fear in his heart. Pale skinned, cloaked in black, the newcomer offers the innkeeper a pearly white smile. And then he speaks, and his voice is a low hiss that grates upon one's nerves. "Leave".
Shaking, the innkeeper does so, abandoning the strangers to each others company. Wearily, the cloaked figure raises his head from his cup, to stare at the newcomer. "So. You've found me at last."
"Did you doubt that mortal? What you hold is mine by right. Give it to me." So commands the newcomer as he strides closer. "Give it to me, and I shall make your end quick."
For a moment, fear passes through the wanderer, his should so weary of the unwanted burden thrust upon him. He stares back at the newcomer's eyes, feeling the urge to just let go, to rest. Yet the fire was not dimmed completely, the will that had borne this weary body pass exhaustion not extinguished yet. Dimmed perhaps, faded certainly but not broken. Never broken so long as breath was borne.
"No. Not whilst there be breath left in my body. As I swore." Softly, so softly he answered, the words heaver than the weight of the world. And with a visible effort he tore his gaze from the newcomers. Tore it to stare at a locket held in his hand, clutched so tightly that the sigil upon it was embedded in his hand.
"Fool. I shall make you pay for your stubbornness. Your death would have been slow but now, now, it shall take an eternity and you shall beg for it to end a hundred times over. For this last insolence I shall make you wish that you were never born." Close, so close was the newcomer that he would need only reach out to grip the man's throat. Yet, he touched not the other. "Now, give mine to me."
"No. Stand back Aldrack. That does not belong to you." So spoke the figure at the door. Cloaked in fine blue silk and gripping an elaborate, gold worked staff in one hand, the figure in the doorway strode forward. And as the newly named Aldrack turned he gestured, imperiously with his staff. To the side flew Aldrack, to crash into the wall, to overturn ordered mugs set upon the shelf.
Up sprung the man, his hands clenching even as he snarled. And in that moment, perhaps he forgot himself, perhaps he but desired to remind them all what he was, for in that snarl sprang fangs. Two fangs, set opposing one another on the top row of his teeth. And still, the newcomer did naught but glance at the vampire, for his attention and words were now upon the wanderer.
"Heed not this creature of nights words. That which you hold is mine by right of descent, for my great grandfather bought it in a trade fair in Luxemburg many years hence. I thank you for keeping it safe, and trust that you shall be suitable rewarded."
Caught in the magic's of the man, in the spell woven of words, his mind lulled to obedience by wine, fatigue and an arcane spell, the wanderer stepped forward. Step by step, slowly he closed the distance between them. The vampire, held back, gazing upon the two considered his actions, blood red eyes darting between the two figures caught in their deadly dance.
"Yes. That is it. Give it to me."
So close, so close to offering that which he carried. Yet words, so often spoken, so often whispered in the night by glade child, by lord of night and by haunted wraith would awake him once more. Alert at last, he stepped back, his hands dropping to his side.
"No…." Cried the mage, his hands raising in a spell to cast the man away, to break him as frustration broke through his body.
"No…" cried the vampire as he threw himself into battle with the mage, fangs bared, his hands clutching for the figure's throat. Magic, called forth yet unshaped crackled around both figures in blue flames, burning and casting ephemeral light. And in the confusion, through the kitchen and out the back door ran one silent man.
Ran he did, like his life depended upon it, his weariness brushed aside by fear, his heart pumping, his legs tossing clods of earth into the air. Casting backward glances over his shoulder, he ran to the forest and w hat safety that might lie there.
Yet weary he was, and soon enough what little energy he had was brushed aside by the cold grip of fatigue. Stumbling in the darkness of forest floor, he cast himself beneath the roots of an ancient oak, promising himself this rest was but for a moment.
He woke, to the sight of a creature snuffling against him. Eyes half-opening, he screamed for what before him was a monster. A creature, half-man, half-wolf sat over him, small squinty eyes boring into his prone form. He backed off against the tree, his eyes widened, widening more as the creature spoke.
"You hold what they wish. You do not deserve it. You waste what is given, you destroy what you do not waste. Give it to me, that I may safeguard it. From them. From you. Give it to me."
Was there no rest screamed the man's mind, so tired his body was. Yet, he dared not move, the talons of the creature before him long and sharp, magnified by their proximity to himself. Yet as all hope seemed to pass, the clattering of hooves and the hum of unleashed lightning would be heard, closing in on them. The creature, distracted would cast his gaze aside, and there, in that moment, he would run once more.
Run as he had never run before, deeper into the woods, taking no distinct path. Run, as if the hells itself had opened behind him, unleashing their hosts. Ran till he could run no more, when body gave way though spirit still yearned. Stumbling from exhaustion, tired and drawn he found himself near a placid lake, moon floating in its still waters. Stumbling to a halt, falling into the water he lay there, as strength slowly returned.
At last, he would roll over, staring into the sky, to the stars and moon above, to the heavens. And he would whisper, softly. "Please. Take it back. I can bear no more. I have given all that I have to give. I asked not for this, I would have it not. Let me rest now, let me return this."
And if the skies and the heavens above heard him, they did not answer. Gazing upon his helpless form, upon the world below them, they sang their silent songs to one another. And as he lay there, his soul trembled with the pains and the aches of all that he had lost, all that he had given up and all that he would never be able to touch. And as he lay there and dreamed, something changed within him. In that moment, not hope, not weariness, not sorrow burned in him but anger, anger at what the fates decreed, at himself and those that hounded him.
It was then that the others came, all those that desired what he held, what he had been freely given. They strode outwards, each whispering in their own way the words that haunted his life. "Give it to me. It is mine." Each whispering, demanding, commanding, begging.
And he lay there, tired beyond physical exhaustion, tired beyond anything he had felt before, his eyes slowly closed. Darkness would fall, as the light in his eyes would slowly creep aside. In that moment, as death reclaimed her own, he would smile at the memories of things that he had seen, so often running that he had never noticed fully. The morning sunlight on the hills, the dew upon grass, the first snowflake, flowers in bloom.
As his soul passed at last beyond reach of those that surrounded him, they screamed in anger. And though his body lay unprotected, they touched it not, instead each fading into the shadows that they came from. He had given all that he had to give, and all that could be asked for him at last.
posted by Tired @ 7:34 PM
0 comments
