Stephen Zimmer - Crown of Vengeance

The image conjured up a thousand upon thousand demons within Janus’ delicate mind. The horror and sorrow etched upon the little girl’s face, as her tears wetted the fur on the still body in which she had probably once found comfort and a sense of freedom, were far too much for Janus to be able to handle.

Instantly, he connected intimately with the great pain that was embroiling the little girl. The thunder of the agony he felt for her, and felt from the wounds newly ripped open within himself, caused a river of tears to break through and flow outward.

He slowly walked over to the little girl, squatted down, and hugged her tightly, sobbing himself.

Her dog, a large, stout, grey-furred breed, was clenched tightly in her arms. Its head was caked in blood and misshapen, where one of the cruel rocks from the sky had struck it during the dreadful night.

Janus memory invoked a contrasting image, one that made the current scene all the more acrid. He could imagine the little girl, just a day earlier, running through the village, squealing with joy as the dog bounded along playfully at her heels. He could still see the two wrestling and frolicking around, the dog licking her face, barking excitedly, and wagging its tail vigorously, as she threw her arms around it and hugged her furry friend close. The daunting veil of mortality now irrevocably separated the two companions, who had been happily playing together without a care in the world just the previous day.

However the roads arrived at it, this was the ugly culmination at the end of all lives. Through violence, age, or disease, and whether sinner or saint, all paths led to the awful conclusion that extinguished the wonder of a unique, irreplaceable life. That, in its naked reality, was the true face of death.

Death held the countenance of an unbowed conqueror. As always, the only death that Janus desired with all of his soul was the death of death itself.

The little girl continued to cry into the fur of the dog, but after some time curiosity must have moved her to look up to see just who was hugging her. Janus spoke no words, just trying to comfort and console her by his close presence. He understood her pain implicitly, but knew that there was nothing that he could really say.

He wished that he could somehow take the pain away from her, even if it meant that he added it to his own sustained, and continuously worsening, perdition. He hugged her to him even tighter, wishing that he could somehow squeeze the sorrow out of her, and let it seep into his own world-weary body.

Janus silently held the little girl close and snug, for what seemed like an eternity. He did not mind it in the least, knowing that it gave the poor child a slim anchorage to something that transcended the hideousness of the world.

Eventually, he felt a gentle hand lay down upon his shoulder.

Slowly looking up, he beheld a young village woman, whose face was stained with tears. New ones were welling up and moistening her reddened eyes, before beginning their downward trek. She was a very attractive young woman, but a great abyss of sorrow had left her looking haggard and drawn.

“Thank you… for being here, with my daughter… man from afar,” she said with great effort, in a voice hollow and exhausted. She tried to force a smile, clearly moved at the compassion that the foreigner had shown to her daughter, a child that he did not know.

Janus nodded quietly to her, knowing what she would ask, as he slowly released his embrace of the girl, and methodically got up to his feet. No words needed to be said that the girl’s mother needed to take his place as the comforter. The anchorage that he had instilled in the child, diminutive as it was, would be strengthened tenfold by the presence of her own mother. Many children in the village were now bereft of such a grace, a thought not lost on Janus as he watched the mother’s emotion pour forth at the reunion.

The mother instantly dropped to her knees and hugged the little girl tightly, letting the tears flow swiftly again down her angular cheeks. Wordlessly, Janus shuffled away from the scene, feeling numb in his heart, though his chest seemed to throb with the emotional pain that he held within. His legs were weak, barely able to support his weight.

Two times, he tripped on debris and fell to the ground. Each time that he fell, he dragged himself back up and continued onward, heading towards the village’s entryway. Janus wanted simply to head away from the village and its immense sorrows. He knew that he needed to get away from everything before he lost control of his tenuous hold on sanity, or could at least deceive himself that he could get away from the pain for a few moments. In truth, one could never escape such an experience, as it left a very unique kind of wound. The bleeding could possibly be stemmed, but the scar would never fade, as Janus knew well enough.

He fell one more time on the downward slope of the hill outside of the village, tumbling down haphazardly several feet before coming to a merciful stop. He ignored the scuffs and burning scrapes that he had incurred in the fall, as he dully got up to his feet and continued downward.

Finally, he reached the bottom, and started forward into the woods. His legs now felt as if they were made of the heaviest stone, though he forcibly picked up his pace and subsequently broke into an unsteady jog. A few times he wavered, and had to slow down to a stop, to find his balance with the help of a tree.

Eventually, he was deep into the forest, and far away from the village. Ultimately, when his willpower could no longer force his legs to carry him any farther, he collapsed onto the ground. Pulling himself towards the base of a towering oak tree, he curled up into a fetal position and wept bitterly.

At long last, the fatigue of an emotionally drained soul and a physically depleted body overcame his consciousness, and brought him into the merciful arms of a deep sleep.

Everything was so abundantly clear, no depths hidden from the eyes watching the winged form descending from the skies.

The messenger’s heart was palpitating rapidly when he landed his Harrak deep within the bailey of the second level of The Unifier’s soaring citadel in Avalos. His thoughts were so very exposed, revealed in an instant of transcendent perception by the One watching him.

The Avanoran sky rider had been expecting to be greeted by one of the Unifier’s Sorcerers, the ones who attended Him most closely. They often sat within the gable-ended Great Hall that loomed far to his left, diligently conducting the Unifier’s affairs.

The Sorcerers of Avalos were quite unnerving in their own regard, though nothing like the Master that they served. Unlike the Unifier, the guardsman could still endure their presence while keeping his wits and composure. He had envisioned that once they had met his arrival, that they would conduct him deeper into the great fortress, or perhaps lead him on up to one of the higher levels of the citadel that the Unifier normally occupied.

The walk would have given him the precious gift of a little time, as he had hoped for a few undisturbed moments to steel his anxieties. The hopes had been brutally dashed when he saw that the Unifier Himself was awaiting him in person within the bailey. To the guardsman’s great dismay, he also saw that they were alone, anyone else evidently having been dismissed, as the grounds never went unoccupied by the forms of servants, artisans, or guards.

The eerie silence reigning in the bailey was intimidating enough, unnatural as the winds whistled among the series of buildings all around. A dizzying, icy chill of fear seized upon him with the realization of the Unifier’s imminent presence, imbuing his movements with awkwardness. Hurriedly, he got down out of the saddle, his knees nearly buckling as his feet set down on the ground.