I sweep through the scorched
field with nary a glance at the carnage wrought by yet another war. The
copper iron scent of blood was rife in the air, evidence of the extent
of the damages.
I have had my fill of this,
having been here since its beginning, so many years ago.
Here and there a limb twitched
or a voice groaned out and I stop once in awhile to give relief to a chosen
few. These pain-filled souls called to me and normally I would be more
merciful. But not today. Today they are not the reason why I walk this
road.
As I continue on, deep into
the heart of where the main battle had taken place, I hear it, the distant
humming of power building.
"By immortal blood freely
spilled, I release you from the chains that bind you. Out of time and out
of space, return to the mortal plane that spawned you!"
I feel a rip from my very
being as I see a robed figure cut his arm to let the blood spill to the
ground, the ruby drops soaking into the glowing runes he had etched into
the dirt, invoking an old spell from the realms of the forbidden.
The runes glow madly, pulsing
to a beat unknown in the living world and a lurid red mist comes out from
the ground to envelop the area surrounding the robed figure.
The lifeless bodies that
littered the ground in his vicinity start to move. First a twitch then
they try to stand, some stumbling as hacked off limbs fail to support them.
But still they try, in an obscene awkward pseudo-dance that spoke of unthinking
obedience. In my head screams resound in torturous tones, a silent protest
as the corpses move to unwillingly obey the person that bound them from
attaining final rest.
In the middle of this grotesque
tableau, he stands calmly, watching his undead army struggle. Master of
the dark forbidden arts, one who disturbs the natural order of living...Necromancer.
This particular necromancer started this senseless war so many years ago.
HE is the reason why I walk this night.
I approach him in silence
but even before I open my mouth to speak, he senses my presence and preempts
me without even turning around to face me.
"Ah, Trowa, you have come
to watch our little tableau. Good. It wouldn't have been complete without
you. You're a little late though, I was beginning to think that you wouldn't
arrive. That would have been a pity."
There is little emotion in
his voice, much like one of those talking golems the wood dryads amuse
themselves with. It hadn't been like that once. There was a time when his
voice had been as vibrantly alive and bright as Helios himself. A time
when he would have thrown his arms around me and greeted me with a smile.
//Trowa! Trowa! You came
to visit me. Come on in.You've been gone for so long.//
He is different now. I cannot
even gauge how he is feeling.
"Why do you do this?" I ask.
Finally, after years of trying
to prevent him from doing this in silent torment, I finally have the courage
to ask him this.
"Isn't it painfully obvious?
I am a necromancer, Trowa, and this, if you haven't noticed, is what necromancers
do." His voice contains a hint of sarcasm in it, a strange tone on his
liquid voice. He used to be so innocent.
"You were once the golden
child."
Silence. He does not deign
to answer but I still wait, full of hope.
A wayward breeze flutters
through the scorched land, easing its burning surface for a cooling second.
I close my eyes and let it past through me as well. Like the land, I feel
scorched...pained.
When I open my eyes, I see
that the breeze has blown off his cowl and he did not make any effort to
put it back on. I drink in the features before me.
Skeins of golden strands
reminiscent of sunshine glow in the dismal sky as they flutter in the breeze
and his features, even in their cold emotionless state, still look as innocent
and pure as he did so many years ago.
Bright Child, last son of
the mother goddess, immortal beloved of all living things...
I see the past...
"You were once so different..."
So very different.
I can recall how he wouldn't
even let me harm an ant in his presence, recall long hours spent crying
over the loss of a bird carelessly killed by a wayward arrow. He had been
so gentle...
"You were once beloved of
all things."
"Once!" He snarled out. "Once
beloved of all things, of all people, once beloved of one whom I loved
above all others. ONCE! No longer!"
He sweeps his hands violently
downwards in a gesture of finality, his eyes blazing for a second before
the fire banks and cold dead stones replace the sparkling orbs once again.
"Now I only live to make
you rue the day you chose to walk this path."
With that he strides out
into the fields, crooking a finger at his grotesque "army" to follow him.
No one makes a move to stop him because there is no one left but he and
I and the lifeless bodies that he had brought to life again.
I stand in shocked silence
looking at him with sorrowful eyes.
He had never once looked
at me.
Have I been so wrong? Perhaps
I should not have chosen as I did that day, years ago. If I didn't, would
all this carnage, this senseless war, the fear, the despair...would all
these stop?
I had only been trying to
protect the one I loved. Was that so wrong?
::It is. It always is, when
you go against the Fates.::
But at that time, it had
felt so right...
TBC (hopefully, if you guys
like it ^-^)
