Bruce Blake - Spirit of the King

But it wasn’t me. I see that now.

And I see the truth now, too. Khirro didn’t do those things, the woman in black manipulated me. He didn’t do anything but love me and care for me-the only man who ever truly did. He deserves my appreciation and love, not hatred and disdain, and he’ll have it forever more. It pains me I can’t show him.

I will find a way.

The city disappears, replaced by grass greener than grass should be. I roll onto my back, delighting in the feel of the dewy blades caressing my naked flesh. A cloudless sky carved of sapphire stretches forever over my head and peace fills me. If I can’t be with Khirro, this is where I want to be.

The Gods did not invent the sundial, it is a construct of man, to gauge when his life’s end approaches, so it holds no value here. Lives here have already ended. Perhaps, to a mortal, I’ve been here a few seconds when the colors begin to fade, or maybe it’s eons. No matter, I’ve seen this before, it led me from my paradise to hell on earth and I won’t let it happen again. I concentrate. The field wavers then solidifies. The sky fades, flirting with white, then returns to cerulean when I turn my attention to it.

A spot of black appears before me, small at first. It expands; before it takes shape, I know what it is. Who it is.

Anxiety intrudes on my peacefulness, nesting in the pit of my stomach. The black smudge grows to the size of a person, resolves itself into the woman in black, her cowl pulled back from what I once thought her beautiful face. The look in her eyes sends a shudder through my body.

“Shariel,” she says, a smile oozing across her lips.

“I’m not Shariel. I’m Elyea.”

“Do not be silly, child. There is no shame in your failure. Even I did not know the power within him.” She takes a step toward me and I fight the urge to crawl away, knowing it will do me no good. “I am here to offer you another chance, Shariel.”

“No. He’s done nothing to me. I’m Elyea, and I love Khirro.”

Rage chases the smile from the woman’s face for an instant, then she recovers and I notice the white teeth in her smile end in points. She takes another step closer.

“Nonsense.”

She slides her cloak off her shoulders; it falls in a black heap on my emerald grass, an ugly stain on my perfect place. She stands naked before me, dark nipples against pale flesh, no hair between her legs disguising the flower of her womanhood. I gaze upon the splendor of her body and remember how it made me feel before, but it’s a memory now. This time, instead of the tingling in my loins, disgust writhes in my belly.

“I am Elyea. I don’t do the bidding of a witch.”

She makes no attempt to replace the hideous slash of a smile when it evaporates. Her eyes narrow, her lips pull back from her pointed teeth as though she’ll pounce on me, eat me. She doesn’t. Instead she raises her arm, open hand held in front of her, and slowly closes it to a fist.

My throat constricts.

As my breath stops, I wonder how she can kill me if I’m already dead.

“I cannot kill you again,” she says answering my thoughts, “but worse places exist, places you do not want to be. You will find out about them first hand if you do not aid me.”

I shake my head and try to tell her I won’t help her, but nothing more than a gurgle emerges from my lips. The pressure on my throat increases and the pain spreads into my shoulders and chest, paralyzing me. My world of emerald grass and endless sky wavers. A fuzzy ball of cotton appears over the naked woman’s shoulder, a sure sign my consciousness is fleeing. The white spot grows, swirling larger until it looms behind her.

It becomes a man.

My eyes widen and she must sense its presence. She whirls toward it, breaking her concentration, and I gasp breath into my lungs. My beautiful world steadies itself.

“Leave the woman, Sheyndust.”

“Darestat.”

Her voice drips hatred. The name she utters returns fresh memories to me of a glowing chamber and a giant formed of mist.

“You have over-stepped your bounds, young one. There will be consequences.”

“Your time is passed, old man.” She retrieves her cloak and pulls it around her shoulders like it will protect her from the man with the long white beard. “Stay dead and let the world move on.”

“It will take more than one of your soldiers to kill me.” He chuckles as though having a conversation with an old friend. “Go back to your world of the living and leave the dead to the true Necromancer.”

“You cannot tell me-”

“Go.”

The force of his word flutters her cloak and bends the grass in a widening half moon outward from him. The woman glares; her form becomes indistinct and translucent.

“We will meet again, old man.”

“Yes, we will.”

His tone suggests a smile beneath his whiskers. The woman disappears and I sit up; he turns his attention toward me. Kindness and concern shine in his eyes and the peace I felt before returns.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

He raises a hand. “No reason, child. I am sorry this happened to you. I should have been more vigilant.”

“I know you.”

“Yes.” He nods and a gentle breeze sets the grass waving. It feels good on my face.

“I saw you die.”

He offers his hand and helps me to my feet. “And I saw you die, yet here we are, talking of our deaths.”

“Why has this happened?”

His hand still holds mine. His skin is rough and callused but his grip is tender. He looks down at his sandal-clad feet like my words have brought him shame.

“In order for important events to transpire as they must, a myriad of other things must happen. Unfortunately, our deaths were two of those things.”

“But what about what she did to me?”

It’s difficult to keep my voice even. I remember everything-my real life as Elyea and Shariel’s life of lies. I recall the things which truly happened as well as the untruths told by the woman in black. The thought of her brings the taste of bile to my tongue.

“Sheyndust seeks to change the outcome in her favor, but it must not be. I had thought things would unfold as necessary without my assistance, but I see that will not happen.”

“What will you do?”

His washed out blue eyes gaze into mine, penetrating deep into me. I feel him searching my soul for the truth of me and I know what he will find.

“You love him?”

I nod.

He gestures at the green fields and blue sky. “Would you give this up for him?”

I follow the sweep of his arm, reveling in each blade of grass, breathing the sky into my lungs. It will be difficult but I know it’s right.

“I would.”

His arm wraps around my shoulders and we stride away, our pace slow.

“But how can I help? How will Khirro raise Braymon without you?”

A low chuckle. “You cannot know the minds and plans of the Gods, my child. Nor can I, for things are not always what we expect.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You are not meant to, not yet. For Khirro to complete his task, he must know peace and truth. You are the one to bring this to him.”

I nod again, though my mind spins.

“Will I be with him?”

“Of a manner.”

He squeezes me close in a fatherly gesture I’ve never experienced. My father chose other, less loving and kind ways to show his feelings.

“There is much for you to do, child. Worry not, I will guide you and you will know your task when it is laid before you.”

The sun shines on my back and, for the first time since I’ve been in these fields, I cast a shadow. It stretches out from my feet, walking steadily beside the one cast by my companion. With each step we take, our specters grow, blacking out an expanding swath of lush grass. The shade we cast hides the ground from my eyes so each step is into the unknown, the unseen.