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Finding Serenity.
Winds howled. Thunder rolled across the blackening sky. A streak of lightning momentarily illuminated the jagged mountains on the surrounding horizon, but they were soon lost again to the darkness. The pouring of rain. The enclosure of the clouds. A small village. A boy. And all of the king’s army stood at the choke of the village. Hurricane-like gales swept across the grassland and across the surface of the restless stream. The tempest roared its might upon humanity, pushing the young boy to his feet as he stood alone amongst men twice his size.
Melzheim, seventeen, and born of half demon and half human. The gusts of wind blew at his auburn-crusted hair in vehemence. His feet soaked itself into the muddy surface, not even the grass could defend his weight pressing down against the ground. A woman ran in front of him as the rain swept her face blurring her vision. The strong winds pushed her one step back but still stood valiantly blocking the army from assault.
The woman glanced back then to the front once again. A heavily armored man rode his horse upward in front of the woman. He peered down at her with his dark helm, the gale blew at him but he withstood it as if it was nothing. He did not speak one word but signaled for the innocent lady to step aside. This, she did not. She continued to block the horse-riding man, both of her arms out as if crucified without even a glimmer of weakness in her eyes.
Rooftops flared a scarlet brightness. Smoke billowed out of every window in grey spiral-crafted clouds, choking the phosphorescent aura that hung over the houses.
The man signaled again but this time to his army. The rest followed in sway and fired crimson darted arrows at the leftover houses. One by one, the houses flared up in bright incandescence. The man rode his horse slowly to his side then pulled out a great sword. The sword was almost as tall as the woman. He pointed the battered sword at her, still not speaking. He bobbled the head of the blade at her to step aside. She did not. The black armored man moved the hilt of the sword back and the body followed him and he slashed the blade at the woman. The boy, Melzheim, pushed the woman to her side. She laid on the long wet grass, her breath shallow, and then the colossal battle breaking out of the men behind their general towards the boy.
The woman glanced at Melzheim, and then back at the monsters. But in truth, they were nothing more than pale sketches in the darkness, shadows of malignant spirits, embodied of blackness and at the same time nothingness.
All of them let loose a breath which filled the cold dense night. The fall of rain lightened but the echoes of thunder continued to roll across the darkness. The sword missed the target. Melzheim stood in front of the man who took off his helmet to show his face. He looked like he was around mid-thirties with thinning and graying brown hair. He opened his mouth but no words spoke. His breath permeated the air like the rest of his men.
The fire burned effortlessly even with the fall of rain upon the village, but the wind continued to fuel.
“Boy, come with me.” The man finally spoke as he brushed the rain off his beard.
The boy gulped then licked his lips. Even though the rain had soaked him all over, the now sullen winds dried his lips. He breathed slightly but through his nose. The man signaled his inferiors to drag all of the villagers from their houses. The obedient ones who came out of the house no-defiantly were left unharmed, but the rest who defied the evil man were dragged out.
“Arms.” The man spoke, and one of his men severed the arm of a girl. She was still clinging to her doll.
The young boy looked in dismay; his heart felt a crushing defeat. The villagers had taken him in as if he was their own and all he had to offer was this? A bloodbath? Screams of pain and anguish echoed in his ears, and he heard the voice of his brothers screaming as the soldiers dragged them by their feet.
He took a step forward, the pouring turmoil of the tempest let loose another thunderclap, this time shackling the soldiers in solid stasis. The leader shook his head in broad confusion. He turned to his men and dropped his jaw. Every one of them stood there motionless. He jerked to a slashing motion at the boy and he too was frozen, yet he could still see and talk and hear. All of his senses were still intact aside from his movement while the others, including the villagers, froze in time.
“What have you done demon?! Release me!” it was his mind talking, it was his thoughts to the boy. He had not spoken a word.
The boy kept quiet and psychically told the man to surrender his forces. He told the man in front of him to ride back to Hastonia, ride back to his blackened king and never come back to his village. The brown bearded man closed his eyes hard in his mind, forcing his body to move but he could not. He felt as if thousands of roots were entangling his body, his muscles secured in earth forever.
“RELEASE ME!” he screamed in his mind again, but as he reopened his eyes again, he was in an empty plain. The tall green grasses enwrapped his footings. He was in the middle of nowhere, his clad armor was not on him, and he only wore simple clothes. The chain-mail he had worn was not on him, he pulled up his ragged shirt to see if he had any scarring from the chains but none showed.
This was odd to him, he always had scarring or irritation from the chains, but now his flesh was empty of that. He surveyed the surroundings: it was a beautiful meadow. There stood several trees in their youth; the grasses were green and lush. He looked at the sky, the clouds sailing from the horizon like drifting boats. He breathed in the air and breathed out. It was a sunny day.
A small rabbit hopped near his right foot and looked down. As confused as he was, he picked up the small rodent, and walked toward a small hill. The grassy plain still existed; he was now on top of a slight hill. He glanced around, from east to west, and north to south: mountains. It was as if he was transported to a place that was emptied from war.
A beautiful place. He continued to pet the rabbit as he walked from one side of the plain to the other. Then he stopped. The green meadow was a plateau.
“How the hell did I get here? That demon boy is going to pay,” he reached to where his sword would have been but found the pockets of his pants. He sat himself down on the grass and looked down from the plateau. His legs dangled there and he playfully lay on the grass. He breathed in and yawned at the sky. The enormous clouds began to thin out. His eyes blurred.
The screams of agony and bloodlust engulfed his ears. He opened his eyes, tired, he yawned. An elderly man ran at him with a pitchfork while he moved to the side. One of his men sacrificed himself for his captain, the fork impaled his chest and the elderly man brushed him to the side. The evil man reached for his sword, this time it was there, and pulled it out.
He caught the pitchfork in midair with his sword. With one hand, he thrust back the old man to the ground with the fork by his side.
“Fool!” he shouted, and plunged the sword deep in the decrepit man’s chest. Ichor spilled forth staining a shirt well worn by twenty years of plowing fields and down into the soil the man had worked so hard to farm. His eyes rolled back as if in shock, and his body twitched in disarray.
“--Where!” the armor-clad man shouted, surveying the surroundings. All of his men were slaughtering the innocents, but the demon boy. The boy was nowhere to be found. “Bastard—“
“Sir!” one of his commanding officers stood tall next to him. “The villagers are all dead. There are no traces of the boy though. What should we do general?”
The general looked around once more. Nothing but corpses. Blood filled the rich soil, and the tempest suddenly calmed itself.
Melzheim ran as fast as he could without slowing down his pace. In pitch darkness, he could still see the empty roads. His thoughts were still mingling with the general's. His crazed consciousness coincided with the general’s left his thoughts in the older man’s head. He stopped running to catch his breath; he once again heard the man’s thoughts. The memories of the general’s childhood, the death of his wife and son, and even what the general was thinking about now, Melzheim heard. He did not see, or feel, but he heard. The memories spoke out to him.
The young boy blinked and flashes of the general’s memories came back to him. His head throbbed. This was the first time he ever psychically linked his mind to another. He paced a few steps forward with his left hand holding his head and his right searching for an anchor.
He finally placed his hand on the trunk of the tree, slowly; his palm began to grow fluorescently red. He opened his eyes which were glowing in a yellow haze. The boy removed his hand from the tree and sat on the dirt floor. He breathed out heavily. Sending the attacking man’s mind to a distant place has made his body weak. He could not endure this pain any longer. He felt as if his head was about to explode.
He walked the dirt road.
“General?”
The man stood there, gazing at the wind-fueled flames. He was hypnotized by the swirling clouds as well. Icharius stood motionless.
“General?” the soldier repeated himself; still, the general did not move. Other men were scavenging for gold pieces and whatnot, but the general stood there as if frozen in time.
“GENERAL!” the soldier finally shouted, slapping Icharius’s face.
He snapped out.
“What?”
“You haven’t been … yourself, sir.”
“Listen to me, Calthius, gather the men, and pillage the entire village. Get rid of the corpses, eradicate this land. Burn the fields; I do not want the boy coming back here. We will give chase in the morning.”
“Yes, general.” Calthius said while kneeling.
Over fields of bright yellow buttercups, the sun beat down heavily like a spill of molten metal across long grass. In the sky, wisps of clouds barely moved at all, but lower, in the orchard and by the river, the pretty pink and white blossoms gently stirred in the tender motion of the morning.
An eagle circled twice and then suddenly dropped down.
Slightly, the ground was trembling. A spring-born rabbit pricked up its ears, afterwards leaping into the hedgerow. The eagle missed its target. The auburn-haired boy looked into the distance. It was a very bright day. He inhaled slightly just to exhale from his mouth. Melzheim walked the grassy plain off into the distance.
Rhythmical. Pounding now, like a heavy heartbeat pumping up from beneath the earth. Throbbing louder and louder. Like a mirage, two horses galloped out from the horizon line, smoked with a pallid haze. The one in front, sparkling white, the speed forcing its long glittering mane out behind it and lifted the forelock away from its dark, excited eyes.
Melzheim stared ahead, they were fiery white shadows but he knew who they were. The Holy Warriors of the Cathedral. He looked toward his left, and then turned his head to his right. There was nothing but endless streams of emerald cascading grass. Everywhere he turned, the grass seemed to have enveloped him in. The white armor-clad man signaled the other to net the boy.
How did they know I was here? Melzheim thought to himself.
The two horses surrounded the boy, circling around him. One of the men was slightly bulkier than the other. He peered down at the boy with the tip of his sword facing Melzheim. The blade was so close that Melzheim can see the vibrant ambience of the sun’s cascading rays.
““I am Pulmerae, this is my comrade, Laux. The Cathedral wants to see you.” The bulkier one said.
“You people murdered my mother! You think I will believe a word that comes out of your mouth?” he looked at the other, “any of your mouths?”
“You can’t outrun us, just come with us, boy. The Cathedral will protect you.”
“Laux is right, we are the Holy Warriors. We won’t go back on our word.” The slimmer one continued. “Melzheim. Please.”
The boy looked past the two warriors. The horizon was just there, the blue sky shining down peacefully. He wanted to run but he was smart enough to know that he cannot outrun two mighty steeds. Melzheim continued to look past the engaging fellows.
A cliff. he thought to himself. No, not thought, but sensed.
There was a cliff a few miles from where he was. If he could only get there, only then will he be able to evade the two hunters.
Run. He shut his eyes hard. The cliff. Melzheim mesmerized the cliff, he dreamt of his footings around the emerald soaked grass. Go.
Eyes wide open; he surveyed what was around him. A vast plain such as the place he sent the general. Behind him was the end of the great vastness. Grass and rock join together beneath his feet and in front of him was the blooming tall grass. He turned: the great ocean.
He stepped closer to the edge of the cliff and crouched down. He sniffed the air around him. It was the breeze of the sea winds. The devastating currents were clashing against the ebony slick rocks with such harshness alike the tempest of last night.
“MELZHEIM!” it was Pulmerae’s voice. His steed and his comrade’s rode in strife, as if going into war.
Melzheim turned to look at the flimsy white shadows coming at him, and then back at the torrential sea. The sharp jagged rocks made Melzheim think twice before jumping into eternal bliss. Or was it? He sharpened his senses again. The two men from the Cathedral were getting closer.
His heart throbbed. His head ached; he closed his eyes once more. The world that surrounded him seem to slow in pace. He withdrew his eyes further, and then opened them. He blinked. The boy remained where he stood. He did not teleport anywhere at all.
He took a deep breath and stared at the shaky sea. Laux and Pulmerae stopped their steeds. The bulkier stepped down and walked close to the boy.
“You’ve got nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Look around you, nothing. Teleport? You cannot, your magic is still weak, boy.” Mocked Pulmerae.
Melzheim took another deep breath, and then stepped back once. He was closer to the edge. He stepped off balance, falling gently on his back then hastily plummeting into the abyss like a young bird learning to fly. The wind smacked the boy against his face and body. The veering wind made him close his eyes. He dreamt of her.
