X - The Fields of Can'-Ka No Rey...Red Fields of None

From a post I just did at RPSH. This occurs somewhere within the span of DMT, concerning Eramas; hence why it is included here. Yes, you Tower-Junkies will recognize a lot. I take no claim to it; all worlds are levels in the Tower.

I remember.....red.

A haze of red. No, there were shapes. A million singing

voices

orbs of crimson. No, not even pure crimson. They were kissed with the lightest of pinks on the outside, and within they were a deep, fiercesome red.

But that wasn't all, was it?

No. Not at all. Inside each of them, every single one, I could see...

Yes?

Stars.

Such a flaring yellow. I stood in a field of blazing suns, in a galaxy of red.

Why do you wear red, swordsman?

Red has always been my color. I hide nothing from the enemy, let them see me from afar. I hide my blood from the enemy. I hide my friends' blood on me from them. I

Stop hiding. Why do you wear crimson? Do you serve the King, like the Weapon?

Nay. Red are my colors, and my colors alone.

Wrong again, my friend. You wear black as well. And White. And your eyes are yellow, too, in the end.

Fate. Order. Purity. Truth.

You were not alone there, were you?

I saw him. He with the gun. He was

He is not your twinner. But he is similar. You walk the same path

shouting to me. We fought, together, alongside

swordsman and gunslinger, hot engines of death, both of steel and sweat

against the fallen ones. 'To deny the can toi,' he said. I knew

but there is death, but not for him, and there is life, but not for you

while he reloaded, I would swing, and while they ran to me from afar, he would fire

Resumption for one, redemption for the other

yet more always came, to deny us instead. But there were others. Xephan and my....no, it was me. I never saw, could never know, but he wore a gun. The other man, the gunslinger, he understood. And we fought to

There is no taking back. Say not sorry, it's how the world works

The Door on no hinges opened. The gunslinger shouted to me, and the others fired their irons. Swords in a fist. And I with my lead-less gun.

I did what I could

He said, "Go, there are other worlds than these."

And I looked, to the other me, the one whose face was so hard, yet no harder than mine. And the two gunslingers dealt their lead while Xephan led me to the Door, and he told me, "I'll see you on the wayside."

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The rain soaked deeply into the normally firm felt of his hat, dragging it down with its weight. It pulled the brim ever closer to his face, only shielding him better from the pattering droplets, but also trapping his slightly warm breath inside. A little pocket of sweet humidity, keeping the face warmed despite the stormy chill.

Beyond the reach of control...

The misty haze of breath and heat from human skin vanished in a moment, inhaled at once in a gasp. The rainwater dangling from the edge of the felt shook, fell, splattered against a heaving chest that rose and fell persistent no more.

His eyes opened, seeing the dark, stained brown leather immediately, but words tumbled out, and the ears had not fully wakened just yet.

"-wer knows who you are," the low, rasped voice finally registered against pounding eardrums. It was his, it could be no other.

He grunted, raising a hand to his fallen hat's brim and stretching it outwards. It flopped back down, limp and battered from the falling waves on high. His arm felt slick, slightly sticky. The other hand reached over, the layers of cloth, canvas, and leather all rubbing against one another, and felt the substance coating its twin. Pinching it between soaked fingertips. It was oil, probably excess that had seeped out from the duster. That too, was utterly saturated, weighing him down like an anchor.

The storm had increased greatly, and its rains had changed angle. Last before his eyes closed he had been wet, but none the worse for wear; his cover had been sufficient. But not sufficient enough, apparently.

Cover, when last he closed his eyes? Was that not a where of screaming, a when of blood, a place of dying?

There was a burning sensation in the cheeks. Pray it not be the fever, that was the last thing needed. But the chest burned too, deep inside. Something had been stirred, great and strong, but the mind could not remember it.

'A funny thing, the mind is,' his friend once spoke, his once friend (no they had not met yet, not in this) 'The mind can sometimes tame the heart, but the memory can sometimes escape it. But the heart never forgets.'

It was a long time ago, that place, this aching. Falling, so many falling, in front of him, and also one beside...

He shut his eyes; his thoughts were wandering. The right hand shook off its layers of water and oil, reaching down to his waist for his

sheath. That never changed.

The ache started to subside, the burning too. Hard metal, be it steel or silver or iron, never forgets either; but it has but one focus, always.

The eyes that had snapped open so suddenly now scanned across the land from below the dark shadows of this little stone outcrop, this once-cover. A semi-solid wall of water fell in sheets along the old, beaten road, blocking out the lesser stars, and reflecting the greater ones in dazzling glam.

Eramas pulled his duster tighter to him, all of its myriad layers of canvas, and huddled his face within the intimacy of his popped collar. He felt...alright, but at the same time, lonelier than he could ever recall before in his life.

Author's Note

All properties of Stephen King belong to sai King, of course.

I usually proofread my works, however as always I'm sure there are typos and syntax errors. I appreciate any and all notices of that, and will work to correct those. If I haven't do know that I did acknowledge your notice and try implementing it, but found that it detracted from the effect I wanted and so omitted it.

Reviews

[ScaryTrees]

This was an interesting read and I enjoyed it

"Why do you wear red, swordsman?

Red has always been my color. I hide nothing from the enemy, let them see me from afar. I hide my blood from the enemy. I hide my friends' blood on me from them. I

Stop hiding. Why do you wear crimson? Do you serve the King, like the Weapon?

Nay. Red are my colors, and my colors alone.

Wrong again, my friend. You wear black as well. And White. And your eyes are yellow, too, in the end.

Fate. Order. Purity. Truth."


I especially liked this section.Cool

I have not read the other chapter/s? but I will
This kind of reads like a modern epic poem

Good work