The haunted

How do you banish the ghosts of the pasts? How do you live when everything you love is gone? How do you cling on to the faith that life has meaning when absurdity threatens to overwhelm it all?

I cannot answer. The strength seems to be gone from my limbs. I cannot even raise my arm to wipe the tears from my cheek. They fall freely, anointing the altar upon which I kneel.

They say that revenge is sweet. And so it is. But revenge does nothing for the pain within. Revenge makes the pain worse. With vengeance done the anger can no longer overwhelm the pain. With vengeance done the anger is gone, and only the pain remains. Without the distraction afforded by anger, one can only grieve.

It has been six months now. Six months since HE and his horde ravaged my land. Six months since HE burned and pillaged my village, leaving behind only a pillar of smoke so high, so thick, and so black that it resembled a raincloud. Six months since HE destroyed everything and everyone I had ever loved.

I spit at the recollection of his name. Rexar. The mere memory of him leaves a foul taste in my mouth. But I can no longer summon the anger, no matter how hard I try. MY anger, the only thing I had left in the world. But there is blood on my hands, and I know the anger is gone forever. In its place was remorse. And pain. Always pain.

There is blood everywhere. There is blood on the altar, mingling with my tears. There is blood on the floor, on the walls, on the pews, making a mockery of the place once called holy. I look at the blood, my handiwork, and feel only an empty remorse.

For six months, consumed by vengeance, I hunted Rexar. For six months I pursued him like an animal, picking his men off one by one. Finally, after six months, I cornered him here, in this place of worship, with the last vestiges of his followers. And to the cries of "Thou shall not spill blood in the house of Roxis!" by the priests, I had my revenge. I HAD MY REVENGE! I slaughtered them all, and my vengeance was complete.

And then I collapsed on the altar, overwhelmed by what I had done. With anger gone, only grief remains, and the tears flowed freely.

I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry, was my incoherent mumble.

But now my mind is clear. And the grief hangs on me more heavily than ever.

She would have been ten, he five. I can see their faces before me, smiling down with childish innocence. Elizabeth and Damien, my beautiful children. And Marie! Oh, sweet Marie! Never again will I feel her touch or the kiss of her lips. Never again will I know her warm embrace. Never again will I smell the flowers in her hair, or see the laughter in her eyes.

Never again.

Oh, the memories! How beautiful, how precious, and how painful they are! The more beautiful the memory, the more my heart grieves that it is gone forever.

I can no longer stand the pain. Life no longer seems worth living. I can feel the cold hard steel of the knife beneath my hand. It beckons to me. The beating pulse at my throat suddenly seems repulsive.

"Narath."

The memory edges itself into my thoughts. I try to push it away, but the more I try the more I remember.

"Promise me you'll live. Promise me you'll love again."

Oh, Marie, Marie! Forgive me!

"Marie... Shh..."

"Promise me. Promise."

"I promise. Marie? Marie!!"

The memory overwhelms me, and I cannot stop the tears from flowing.

I fling the knife into the ground before me.

Her dying wish was that I live. And so I will live. I will exist. I will survive. I will wander the world without meaning and without purpose, free yet condemned. Because I promised.

I have never felt so alone.



*Note: The events of this story are intended to link the stories of "The haunting" and "The first day" together. More will follow.

The haunting

I'll never forget the day I first met him. The day he crept silently into my life, cold, immovable, but with inexorable force. The day summer turned into winter, beautiful but cold. The day my eyes were opened to the beautiful but marred picture that the world is.

I met him at midnight. The witching hour, they call it, and aptly is it named. He was lying on his back on the roof of the barn, looking at the stars. The sky was clear, and the moon was full. Earlier he had dropped by the house and asked for permission from my parents to spend the night on their land. A "quiet stranger", my parents had called him, charmed by his silent eloquence.

I watched him from a distance, at first. He made no gesture of acknowledgment, but I knew that he was aware of my presence. He only continued to stare into the sky, his face like stone, as if he was searching for something. So I approached him out of curiosity.

"What are you looking for?" I asked.

He turned and looked at me. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were full of darkness and despair.

"I look for that which cannot be seen." Then he turned his sad eyes back to the sky.

I waited, but he said no more, so I questioned him further.

"What is that which cannot be seen?"

But this time he did not reply. Only his eyes showed that he had heard my question, for teardrops formed at their corners, and one slowly rolled down his stubbly, unshaven cheek.

"I'm sorry," I said softly, surprised and embarrassed. I turned and quietly withdrew, not wanting to add to the emotional suffering that he was obviously going through.

I almost didn't hear his whispered reply.

"Heaven. I'm looking for heaven." The soft whisper floated like a breath of wind in the silent night, wretched and bereft of joy.

The stars twinkled above.

The first day

I looked and I saw fear. It was a nameless fear, something I couldn't understand. But the fear in her eyes was real. It made me scared.

"Mummy, what's wrong?"

A straightforward, direct question. As I expected a straightforward, direct answer. Fear always has a reason.

"Shh. It's going to be okay, honey."

A direct answer indeed. Now I truly was scared. When your mother tells you that its going to be alright, you can be sure that something terrible is imminent.

My lip trembled.

"Is Daddy coming home soon?"

Things were always better when daddy was around. Even though daddy never says that everything was going to be okay.

But Mummy didn't answer. She just continued to stuff things into a large sack. I don't know why she did that. She even stuffed Damien's Tutu into the sack. Damien wasn't going to like that. I opened my mouth to tell her that but she cut me off before I could say anything.

"Go play outside, sweetie."

Hmpf. That could only mean that she didn't want me bothering her. Which could only mean that something "adultsy" was going on. And nobody ever tells a big girl anything "adultsy".

I stomped off towards the front door.

It was hot outside. Very hot. Mummy said that it was the hottest summer in a decade. That means that it has only ever been this hot during the summer that I was born. Strange. That means I'm a summer girl, I guess. A very hot summer girl.

I wandered off in search of Gana. Gana might let me water the plants for him. He does, sometimes. But only when he's happy. I don't like it when Gana is sad.

But something suddenly caught my eye. Something strange. A little black cloud had formed on the horizon. And as I watched, it grew bigger. And bigger. And bigger. It looked like a raincloud. What Daddy called a "cu-mu-lo-nim-bus". But it was funny for a raincloud. It just kept getting bigger.

Then the gate behind me creaked, and I turned.

And then I was really scared.

Goodbye

"Mummy!" the little boy shouted, and surged forward, breaking free from the grasp of the man who was holding him. Running clumsily, he headed towards a young woman dressed in gray, whose hands were tied behind her back. She was walking slowly, escorted by two burly guards.

The woman started as she noticed the little boy running towards her.

"That's my son," she said quietly to the guards. "Please, untie me."

The guards hesitated, uncertain, then one of them nodded, and quickly released her bonds.

Kneeling, she turned and embraced the little boy as he ran into her arms. Soft tears ran down her cheek as she held him tight.

"Where are you going, mummy?" the little boy asked, his voice muffled by the woman's body.

"I'm going away, Hal," the young woman answered chokingly. The tears flowed down faster than ever.

"OK. When will you be back, mummy?"

"I'm not coming back, Hal," the woman said softly.

Indignant, the child pulled away. "But you've got to come back! You have to see my room! Uncle Jay made it sooo good! And he's teaching me to ride Jumper!"

"I'm sorry, Hal. I can't come back." She tried to smile reassuringly but failed.

The little boy considered this for a moment.

"Then can I go with you?" he asked earnestly.

She thought her heart would break.

"No, Hal, I'm sorry." One of the guards put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Hal. I have to go."

"But I want to go with you!!!" The little boy did not understand.

The young woman hugged him tightly for the last time. "Remember this, Hal. Mummy will always love you."

A young man materialized in front of them. "Elizabeth? I'll take him."

The young woman stood up and nodded, but her tears did not stop. "Thank you, Jay. And God bless you."

The man nodded, his face unreadable. Then he carried the wailing chld away.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, raised her head high, and walked with pride and dignity towards the gallows that awaited her.

The crowd was silent.

Honour

Steel rang against steel. As the battle became fiercer with each blow, the crowd went wilder and wilder.

The two opponents warily circled each other. Sweat dripped down their faces, and blood flowed freely from various minor wounds.

The crowed cheered and roared and screamed.

Breathing heavily, Zanith stared at his opponent. Zanith was a veteran of two wars, a man in his prime, a master swordsman, but he knew the fight would not be easy.

The pair of eyes that met his was hard and stern. Yet Zanith sensed behind them fear and anguish. But the eyes did not belong with the youthful, craggy face they stared out of. A face too young for the horrors Zanith sensed the eyes had seen.

His opponent lunged.

Zanith took the blow on his shield, then ducked and thrust up, trying to get through the man's defenses. But his thrust met nothing but air, as his opponent twisted away and spun, bashing Zanith's head with his shield.

The spectators roared like berserkers as they anticipated the end of the clash between the two fighters.

Zanith reeled back, ears ringing. Shaking his head to clear it, he barely got his shield up in time to meet his opponent's riposte.

As his opponent pressed the attack, Zanith fell back unable to withstand the furious combination of blows. Disoriented and hard-pressed, Zanith tried to disengage, but his opponent sensed victory and moved in for the kill.

Suddenly, Zanith stopped, then threw his whole weight at his opponent with his shield.

Taken off guard, his opponent took the full force of the blow as Zanith crashed into him, then stumbled and fell.

With a cry of victory, Zanith leaped forward and slashed down at his opponent's neck, but missed, opening a small shoulder wound instead as the man rolled away and leapt to his feet.

"That was a good move, brother," the man said, wincing as he tested his shoulder.

Zanith nodded in acknowledgement, then leapt at his opponent, his sword a blur of motion. But his opponent was ready and met him blow for blow.

Thrusts were countered, slashes parried, feints discovered (the easy way or the hard), body slams dodged and chops and hacks blocked, but still neither could gain the upper hand. After five minutes of furious fighting, they disengaged by unspoken agreement, trying to catch their breaths.

"You're not like the rest of them," his opponent offered. Zanith understood.

"Neither are you," he replied.

The youth smiled grimly.

Zanith felt weariness seeping into his bones. Two hours of continuous fighting had taken its toll. But Zanith could see that his opponent was exhausted too. He knew that one mistake now, from either of them, and it would all be over.

The fight was coming to an end.

Moving beyond weariness, Zanith threw himself into the fight. But blow by blow, Zanith could feel that they were both growing weaker.

Wary now, they circled each other once more, each intent on the other, searching, waiting for that final mistake.

Then Zanith saw it.

A slight misstep in footwork, a slight over-balance in exhaustion, the lowering of a shield a bit too much, and Zanith pounced.

With a final burst of energy, Zanith leapt forward, sword raised and angled to take his opponent over his shield, body pressed forward, knowing that his opponent was too overbalanced to retreat or dodge...

Then a head slammed into his own as he simultaneously felt his thrust miss and his nose break with a crunch.

The 'mistake' had been a trick. Instead of trying to dodge or retreat, his opponent had moved INTO him and headbutted him. Hard.

Zanith knew he had overextended. He could not pull back, as he would die before he recovered.

So he dropped his sword and surged forward.

Letting his momentum carry him forward, he twisted as he felt his opponent's sword cut a furrow through his side, then slammed into his opponent, knocking them both to the ground. With his shield, Zanith pinned his opponent's sword to the ground, while his right arm scrabbled for the man's throat...

Then froze as he felt something cold and sharp against his own throat.

Curses, tricked again!

The man had let go of his own sword the moment he felt Zanith pin it down and had drawn his dagger.

"Never forget your extra blade, brother," the man said harshly.

Slowly, Zanith got off his opponent and they both got to their feet, the dagger still pressed ominously against Zanith's throat.

Zanith grimaced.

"Do it quickly, brother. No regrets. Go free."

Zanith saw something flash through the other man's eyes.

Then suddenly, the pressure at his throat was gone.

The dagger fell to the ground with a thud.

Surprised, Zanith looked at his opponent.

The man looked back at him straight in the eye.

"You're not like the others," he repeated softly. "And I'll not kill and unarmed man in cold blood. Even among gladiators, there should be honour."

Zanith nodded slightly in acknowledgment.

The crowd jeered and booed.

As the guards closed in and hauled them away, Zanith and his fellow gladiator exchanged glances.

Something flashed between them.

And a legend was born.