Serial
33: Revisitation
December
22nd, 32 S.D. 20:39 Palostrol, Upper Vestel
I did not recall the path leading up to Mount Anhel being so treacherous. Perhaps it was simply due to the fact that I scarcely ever went down as far as Oskarya. Nevertheless, on this night, I struggled to climb the heights of my home. Every step was the utmost chore. Upon stricken and weary legs, I slowly marched against the slopes. As I wandered up into darkness, I tried to remember why I was coming this way to begin with. What purpose had sent me away? How was my return so late? Like a wall in the back of my memory, my mind seemingly blocked the answers. Regardless, I knew I had to go back.
Ascending along the mountain track, stepping past all manner of tree and earth, I continued on my path. Though I was not immediately aware of it, I eventually realized I could see passingly well despite the great blackness of the night. Everything was clear to my eyes, even at the current hour. Still, the way before me was riddled with dips, rocks, and vegetation. I must have ended up on some other, lesser-traveled course; perhaps I had gotten lost. My journey to Palostrol had never been this bad before. Staggering with every other foot, my progress remained difficult, arduous. Suddenly, my leg caught itself against a thick root; a moment later, I felt myself fall forward, careening towards the ground. Yet, before I ever touched down, a pair of hands grabbed me tightly by the shoulders.
“Woah there!” said a voice from behind. “You almost nailed yourself,” he said with a laugh. He pulled me back, setting me upright. Denze walked in front of me from the right. His left eye was covered as usual, but even as he stood off to the side, I recognized his face, his joking smile.
“And you are a master of serialization?” he cracked. I wished to remonstrate him, but my own mouth could but grin as well. We chuckled at one another and shook our heads. “Come on,” he said, throwing an arm up at the hills. “Watch your step now.”
Thus we went; inexplicably our trail seemed easier to cross after that. Ahead of us, a bright glow emanated through the dense woods. We drew closer to it, weaving around the forest as we approached. A cluster of heavy bushes sat in front of Denze and me; past that I sensed the source of the light. Denze pushed through first, compressing his body through the plants. He disappeared into this, and shortly thereafter I followed suite. Scraping by the branches, I managed to forcefully squeeze myself around.
At once, my sight was enveloped in a blinding light yet only for a mere moment. As I squinted harshly, my gaze turned to the side, but soon the intensity before me died, and everything started to normalize. I looked up and saw that I had landed in Oskarya or at least what I thought was that humble village. Things as they were looked decidedly different since my last visit. The doors of every house sat open and unhinged. I noted abandon and disrepair in every corner, as if time had eaten away at all it could touch. Rust and dust, peeling paint, warped wood, shattered stone: Oskarya was crumbling by the instant.
It was, however, not without its people. Turning to my right, looking towards the towering image of Mount Anhel, I saw several groups; each huddled around the likes of a fire. I wondered why they sat outside in the middle of the road rather than inside one of their buildings. Nonetheless, I did not think it proper to ask, therefore I remained silent. My goal was still Palostrol, and that was quite a distance from Oskarya at any rate. Quickly, I walked down the village’s sole street, a stretch of dirt that pointed towards another hike up the mountain.
Slipping by the villagers, I noticed that none of them uttered even the faintest word. They refrained from looking at me as well. The only sounds that could be heard were the evening wilderness, the steady, kindling blaze of fire, and my modest footsteps. Briefly, my eyes cast themselves upon some of the folks as I went by. Their clothes had been reduced to rags. They exposed more than they covered. Failing patches, frayed threading, broken stitches: it were as if their garments had wasted to barely nothing. Out of embarrassment for them, I did not glance long, but nevertheless did I witness all the grime and filth that had accumulated over their bodies.
For whatever reason, the villagers had chosen to don wooden masks. Some were simple; others depicted animals. A few that particularly distressed me appeared outright demonic in nature. One that struck as especially disturbing was worn by a scrawny boy. He looked to be in his teens, but his emaciated frame made him all too small for his own age. The mask he wore had a long, slender beak, like a great bird. However, the carving was lumpy, sickly. Something ever oozed from the end, hitting the embers one distinctive droplet at a time. For a moment, I thought he returned my gaze, however, it was simply my imagination at work. The lad, like the rest, but stared deeply into the swirling flares, seemingly engrossed in the burning movements.
Without warning though, a mighty crash echoed somewhere outside the village. As I looked to the sky, the beady outlines of so many birds took flight. I whirled about only to see a tree in the distance collapse. Afterwards, another fell down too; the hearty crunch of its limbs I heard even dozens upon meters away. Yet one more tree shuddered before toppling, and then another, a closer one. Was something coming in my direction? Without hesitation, my feet had already set themselves in motion. In my heart, an unknown spark of fear was lit, and by its own instinctive accord, my body leaped to scurry away. Where was Denze? My panic then made me sharply aware that he was strangely absent since we’d come to Oskarya. I did what felt right, what felt safe: I ran towards Palostrol.
Up in front of me, I saw a figure standing at the village’s edge. Denze? They looked at me, waving before they took off up the mountain. Another tree began to split, this time one that was very near to me. With all the haste I could muster, I charged forward, bounding along with swift, pumping movements. I did not care to find out what was out there; I only wanted to go home. I fled from Oskarya, racing up the rugged incline. The terror within me must have been extensive, for I seemed to cover a trip that would have taken 2 hours in 10 minutes. Perhaps I had simply blotted out the whole ordeal.
In any case, I soon reached the familiar stone steps that lead to Palostrol. Panting, heaving, I pushed myself upwards. For a second, I worried how I would get in. The gates would be closed, and no one would be around to open them. My apprehensions were shortly put aside, but not for entirely pleasant reasons. As I mounted the final step, the school came into view. The gate was non-existent; in its place a great gap ripped through, as if something large had torn a wide hole. I slowed down as I tepidly shuffled onto the school grounds. My eyes darted left and right as I poked my way further in. A fine haze descended upon Palostrol, like the time I had ventured to the Great Mountain Temple. However, there was something unclean about it, as if it were the mists of a crypt.
“Denze!” I called out. “Mesel!” But no response came, save for the ringing of my own words. The school was always quiet at night, but on this evening, I could sense no one near me. Each corner I turned to carried an acute absence; the places before me stood silent and soulless. As I began to frown, I knew something was very wrong; suddenly my home did not feel secure. I stumbled around, floating by empty buildings and unoccupied apartments. What exactly was I doing? While I cluelessly roamed, all at once I noted a figure standing near the library. Spinning around, I saw the visage of an older man. Not quite seeing him clearly, I narrowed my eyes and walked towards him.
“Eltin?” I whispered to myself. “Master Eltin!” I cried. Yet as the fog parted, I soon knew it was not my beloved teacher, but someone else altogether, an elderly male. I had never seen him until then. He was short, haggard, and wore a drooping beard. He examined me with muted, knowing eyes, but his lips were fixed in a flat, almost saddened expression. He nodded and then spoke something in a language I had never heard. The man pivoted and walked inside. Curious, I came after him.
Together, we entered the library. He continually talked to me in that unintelligible tongue of his, but for some reason or another, I felt as if I were able to comprehend his general meaning. He wanted to show me something I had forgotten, though what he could have known about me I could not imagine. We came to a table by a window; only a singly-placed candle fought the surrounding dimness. On the wooden surface sat a large, brown book, closed shut. Though it looked to be of fine quality, I intuitively guessed it was actually very aged. The man offered me a seat, but I hovered over the table; my eyes locked upon the book. He only said one thing more to me, a pronounced utterance which I took to be the books title. The cover had a golden circle on it; above that were characters most foreign to me. Every time I blinked, they appeared to change. Even so, the words somehow came to me as my hand touched it.
“Book of the World.”
Instantly, I retracted my hand as if stung, but not from pain. I knew this book? I vaguely realized its connection to me, but a cold chill ran over my back. I did not want to open it. I knew that within its pages lied something frightening. I could not say what it was or how exactly I understood that, but regardless I felt myself tremble.
“No!” I said with a gasp, jumping back. “No,” I repeated, shaking my head. “No, no, no!”
At once, it were as if I had gone deaf. I could hear no sound except one: a heartbeat. Loudly it thumped once. Was it my own? It seemed too slow. It thumped again, this time twice. Was it the old man’s? I looked at him; I saw him speak, but I only recognized the rhythmic pulse blasting in my ears steadily. Where then...? My sight returned to that wretched book; the heartbeat quickened ever so slightly. With each round, with each pump, the book seemed to zoom in, coming closer to me. The air distorted like a ripple with every beat. My breathes grew short and shallow as my arms wrapped tightly around my sides. The cover twitched as if to turn and reveal the book’s contents.
Paralyzed, I could but stand there, irked by horror. I tried to scream, but my voice had no volume. I was crying to be sure, but like the old man, I could not truly make a sound. The heartbeat further intensified; the book itself rattled and trembled. Then, instantly, it cracked open. I saw nothing but darkness thereafter.
Losha’s eyes split open swiftly. With a howl, her upper-body wretched itself upright.
“Ah! Ah!” she yelled. Her head listed towards the ceiling. Her gaze spun out of focus as her lower jaw jittered involuntarily, erratically. Panting, sweating, she felt waves of dread spread over her. Where was she? Hadn’t she just...?
“Sa, you two, get over here!” said a biting voice. “Losha finally came to.”
The world around her whirled and blurred as her mind raced through the fading delirium. However, she soon noted the presence of familiar seras frequencies. Her head dropped down to see Faima stooping by her side. Though she still felt heavy, as if she could fall over at any moment, Losha fought to keep herself up. She blinked at everything around her as if in a daze. Aside from the sharp fear she had experienced, the rest of her mind was aloof and groggy. Losha turned to Faima, wanting to ask her something, but she could only moan. She was in a bed of some sort. Most of her clothes had been stripped from her in place of a soft gown. They were inside somewhere, perhaps the third division’s fort? From around a corner, Tami and Yega walked out.
“What was all that noise before?” Tami asked. “I know Faima is not the friendliest face to see, but is she really all that scary?”
“Go to hell Tami,” Faima scowled.
“She will send you there, you know,” Yega muttered.
“Where... what?” Losha rasped before she coughed dryly.
“Sa, take it easy,” Faima said. “You are back with us at the fort, in one piece no less, thankfully.”
“They said you had some sort of problem in your side,” Yega said. “I knew we should have stayed with you.”
“No... I was just in Palostrol... I had...” Losha spoke weakly. She closed her eyes, rubbing the side of her face with her hand.
“Nightmare, sa?” Tami asked.
“Yes, I suppose.”
“Hmm, guess it was not Faima’s face after all,” he smiled as Faima herself sprang up and menacingly stomped forward. “Sa, no need to glare,” Tami replied, holding up his hands. He walked around Faima and grabbed a cup beside a pitcher. He filled it with water and offered it to Losha.
“You would do well to ignore him,” Yega said to Faima; she still seethed however. “Humor is just the way he diffuses situations, and we have all been stressing out lately.”
“Se? You see right through me!” Tami declared in mock surprise, throwing a hand to his chest. “For that, I shall have my jokes at your expense next time, Yega. There, is that fair Faima?”
“I still reserve my right to cut you...”
“Shrieks, she is serious too,” Yega mumbled lowly. Faima folded her arms while Tami simply shook his head and shrugged.
“Guess it was foolish of me to go to war and at the same time hope to avoid workplace violence.”
“Work-what violence?” Yega asked.
“It... it is a Gandian term,” Losha interjected after having gulped the entirety of her glass.
“Sa, sa, it is too much to explain,” Faima said, waving her hand about dismissively. “I have had enough of his clever remarks as it is.”
“Fine,” Tami said. “This is not about me anyway, but about Losha.” The trio suddenly looked at her as they ceased to talk.
“How did I get here exactly?” she asked. “What happened?”
“We should be asked you the same,” Yega spoke. “The last we heard from you, you said that you were going to blow up their store of gunpowder. Our next encounter, and here we find you unconscious for over half a day with your stomach all banged up.”
“Half a day?” Losha repeated aloud. “What time is it?”
“Nearly 11 at night,” Tami responded. “The doctors said you would be alright, given time. When you were admitted to the medical ward, your injuries were judged to be not life-threatening. Fortunately, you had not lost a great deal of blood. Above all else, they noted you were more exhausted than anything.”
The last moments of her confrontation with Koter echoed in her mind in vivid afterimages, ghosting across the past. Yes, that had been how she’d really gotten here. She remembered falling on her horse somewhere and then pitch blackness. There was that bizarre dream but nothing else in between. She must have passed out, and then they’d brought her back to recover herself. Spontaneously, she recalled the wound Koter had inflicted on her. By now, there was no trace of pain, and only the faintest tingling remained as she touched her side. Without thinking, she brushed the bedsheets aside and lifted up the gown to examine herself.
“Se? Losha?” Tami blurted as both he and Yega politely averted their gaze.
She looked carefully below at her body. The holes had sealed cleanly already without even having required stitches. The front spot, the exit point of Koter’s arrow, was now merely but a faint blotch upon her flesh, like a fading scar. Losha herself recounted how very serious it had looked and felt only hours ago. There was no way something like that should have healed within a day’s time.
“Did they do anything to me? The doctors?” she asked them as she lowered the end of the gown. Her comrades negatively shook their heads.”
“There was no need. They said all you needed was rest,” Yega said.
“Just rest? But... I had been struck through with a crossbow.” The trio raised their eyes in unison as they glanced around at one another.
“Well,” Tami began. “I guess you patch up fast. But we would have never thought you were in such a bad way.”
“No one really knows what happened with you out there, Losha,” Faima reminded her. Indeed, she’d yet to share her story.
“Right,” Tami replied. “Boz keeps coming in frequently. I know he is concerned about your status, but he seems pretty antsy for your report too.”
“You will have to wait to talk to your commanding officer,” said a voice unseen. Though its owner was unfamiliar to the rest of WOLFWIND, Losha instantly connected the identity. Tami, Faima, and Yega all turned around as a man appeared from the corner. “I believe I warrant a debriefing more so than anyone,” Harle said.
Previously that day, a few short hours after dawn had broken, near the banks of the Sholat River, a darkened mass floated towards the water’s edge. The coursing currents eased the farther south the river flowed as it spread and widened. Bobbing and rolling, the body of a man gently reached the shores. In the distance, the cry of dogs sounded. Rushing over the landscape, a pack of hounds, six in all, charged forward. On the hunt, they chased the trail, halting every so often to sniff the air. The lead carried a red cap in its mouth, a reference scent for their target. As they ran along their way, ever gaining ground, the body by the river suddenly awakened.
With a cough and a twist of his head, Koter brought himself to his elbows. He wiped away the bits of water dripping into his face. For a moment, he looked around himself then collapsed onto the ground; his breaths were heavy. He simply laid himself there, his face turned against the frozen earth. All the while, the dogs approached until ultimately their search brought them to Koter. The gang hurried over to him, stopping short just a meter away. Each sat down in front of him except for the lead. That one stood before Koter, setting down the cap. It whimpered slightly when Koter did not initially move.
However, with a grunt, Koter began to stir. He grumbled slightly, his words slurred and imprecise. Slowly, he brought himself to his hands and knees. For a moment, he merely blinked as his body bled bits of water here and there. All at once, the lead dog tossed its head back and bayed loudly. The others followed shortly afterwards. Their cry was both poignant and long. As this chorus began their second call, Koter shook himself dry in the very fashion of an animal. Starting with his head, working down his spine, and running out from his feet, a trembling wave danced over his frame. As he flopped from side-to-side rapidly, shedding his wetness into the air, the officer felt revived. This act was not yet complete though.
Rearing up, sitting on both knees now, Koter looked at his pack. Their tails wagged in anticipation as he craned his head back to the sky. Together, their lot let forth a single reverberating howl that spread for kilometers. Closing his eyes, Koter threw out his arms. Suddenly, his clothes began to steam. Hot curling streams evaporated from him. A bulb of heat seemingly enshrined Koter, melting the snow around him and lifting the remaining moisture from his person.
Their performance drew to a close; he lowered his arms, brought his head back down, and opened his eyes. Koter brought himself fully upright; his hounds did so as well. He stooped down to pick up his hat. With one finger, he twirled it along the inside rim before fitting it over his head. For a brief instant, he turned back, looking across the Sholat River and into Sventa. He smiled and huffed to himself. Then, accompanied by his dogs, Koter walked off.
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