A life owed

I limp toward the largest of the five houses at the corner of the street. Evening mists have started falling atop the plateau, but the village still has some life in it. I can sense them all around me. The stench of local drunks, kicked off from the tavern per their usual arrangement, stumbling to the nearest pig pen with the hopes of spending the night in the warmth of their bodies, only to be stomped on in the morning when the shepherd rushes them out into the cold, misty morning. The scuffing and brawling from the dim tavern itself, the very heart of the village, its people indulging in their usual quarrels and disputes, the only form of entertainment that rural live provides in abundance. Before me, the local wench approaches, eager to get to the tavern, three little rascals chasing her sides, no doubt her bastards, likely but a sample of the excess hosts of fatherless children, so common in these parts of the world. Suddenly, she stops. She’s looking at me, mouth gaping wide open, and terror in her eyes. I realize that my wings are still out, my scaled armor and enormous proportions causing me to appear as a monster in the night, haps even a demon to the uncultured creature paralyzed in fear before me. The woman slowly starts regaining control over her body and I realize she is about to scream from the top of her lungs. Time slows down as I watch the terror in her guts turn to an agonizing shriek that is about to light up the night. I reach out a claw hand and grasp it in its infancy, only a sigh escaping the poor old wench.
Nobody can know that I am here, not now. I take a moment to contemplate on the fate of the creature standing before me. Nobody can know. I can reach up and squeeze a tight fist into her mind, erasing the memory of this event. Nobody would believe the rascals anyway. But I am not a monster and leaving behind and empty shell of a human seems like a monstrous thing to do. Befitting of a real demon, but not me. In an unexpected show of mercy at this critical time, I walk up to the woman, the kids scuttle away in the dark, fleeing to the safety of the surrounding forests and the packs of wolves that reign over them. With a soft mental touch I calm the creature before me, whispering a chant of peace and serenity. Her mind retracts inward, escaping into the blessed realm of dreams, recollecting all the best moments of her life, drowning in the pleasure of all the happy moments. I make sure it’s disconnected from reality and wait, each passing second feeling like an eternity of pain, my body burning with the agony of missing limbs and loss of blood. Finally, a faint smile creeps up on the woman’s face. I crush her neck and with all my remaining strength I throw the body in the poorly lit holding pen on the side of the dusty road. I have to keep walking, nobody can know.
I gather Force from my surroundings, drawing on the now distant cheer from the tavern, the pleasures and pains from the sleeping villagers in houses alongside the road, causing the massive bone and steel armor to move, dragging one legging before the other. To my phantom limbs it feels like walking, and eventually I reach the far end of the village. Before me stands a two story house, smaller than some of the others, yet it appears massive as I crumble and slam my weight against it. The wood gives in and cracks before the weight of my armour, breaking the silence of the rural night. That’s it, I think to myself, that was the last of my strength. Now all I can do is passively watch as somewhere above, a couple of people shuffle out of the comfort of their beds. A small screech from the rusty hinges of a lantern signal the warm light spilling from the second floor. Moments later, a man and woman rush downstairs. The man throws a quick look at the pile of blood and bones that is me, scuffs in something between irritation and anger and rushes to the door, trying to put it back together as best he can. In the meantime, the woman barely holds back her screams and tries her best not to faint at the sight of me. After she recognizes the humanlike nature of the thing in the armor, she rushes over, trying to help me out of it.
“That’s probably not the best idea, Martha”. She turns around with a ponderous look on her face. “Right now, this is what’s holding his body together… and as much as I’d like to kill him, that’s no way to treat a guest.” The woman shuffles about for a good minute, then asks “What should we do? What can we do?” The man approaches and looms over me, eyes red with anger and the corners of his mouth barely lifted in a grin. It’s time, Malahar. Now and only now, tonight, I think to myself as loudly as possible. The grin turns into a frown and the man walks away, pretending to his spouse to be deep in thought.
“We must burn him”, he says as fires start dancing in his eyes, reflections of the cold hearth that has suddenly come to life.
***
He hands the torch to Martha and nods, then slowly starts undoing my armor. With each piece removed, more blood and pus start pouring onto the floor. “Move that torch, pumpkin, we don’t have all night!” says the man. “Phyllis, are you sure about this? The pain alone can kill a man, not to mention burning most of his body.”
“This is no man.” says the one known as Phyllis and rips the armor’s chest plate apart with his bare hands. A stream of blood rushes up as he grabs the woman by the hand and together they stick the blazing torch inside my chest. It feels as is the fire of a thousand forges fills my entire being and I’m sent into oblivion.
***
“He will live, at least for another day” says the man. The woman turns around, shocked and disgusted, and stops cleaning the small pool of body liquids around me. “For a day! Phyllis, who is this man and why did he come to die in our house? And how can anyone survive this? And why are you…” Go now. You must do it now, I cannot defy Death much longer “… these things, and, and…” “Hush now, pumpkin. Everything will be alright. Just wait for me, I’ll be back within the hour, then we can sort this out and forget it ever happened, alright? Malahar was speaking in a soft, calming and reassuring voice, but I could see the way he twisted the air around him, how we pulled invisible strings to Martha’s mind. Her disturbingly serene “Yes, Phyllis, as you say my love, everything will be fine” was most definitely not the subject she was about to have a panic attack over, less than a minute ago. The woman rushed downstairs into the cellar, no doubt to gather products for the delicious meal she was about to make for her husband.
“Death, you say? No doubt I can keep him busy for a while longer” says the man, trying to discent the presence of Death from the rest of the air in the room. The grin was back on his face, this time a lot more playful and a lot more sinister. No. Listen to me, don’t do it. Malahar, don’t you dare… “Don’t… No, no, you listen to me now! I was done! I was bloody done with your bloody world, your bloody rules and your bloody war. I came here to live out the rest of my days in peace. Yet here you are, ruining my life. Again! You know what you deserve?”
Please, do tell. I try to contain my anger, I try to project my thoughts solely to him, but I slip. I feel the impact against other minds nearby, the weaker among them falling dead under the strength of my voice. Death lifts an eyebrow at my general direction and silently leaves the house, tending to his duties.
“You deserve me to walk out of here, never to return… wonderful, looks like you can delay Death all by yourself.” That was an accident and you well know it. Now you listen to me, boy. This was our deal and you will honor it, then you can live out the rest of your days in peace. This is the end of the conversation.
“It bloody well better be!” he says as he storms off, dagger in hand, to the center of the village.
***
Near dusk, Malahar returns. The house smells of roast beef, fresh bread and heated wine. Around me, the world slowly starts to get darker and I realize it has nothing to do with the moon creeping over the horizon up above. Oblivion is coming for me and I’m running out of time. Hurry.
“Oh pumpkin, what be the occasion?” he says as he approaches the table. Martha gives him a warm smile. “Do I need an excuse to make my husband happy?” She smiles, she is playful, and I can see the ripples Malahar’s chant makes as it echoes through the house. Hell, if I had more than a barely beating heart and the grim remains of a body, I would try to get up and dance with him as well. They dance to the memory of some slow song and gently, Malahar takes her by the hand. The fire in his eyes is back, so too is a playful smile. Their lips slowly come closer and suddenly the romance turns to pure passion. Without letting go of her hand, Malahar rushes to the second floor and I hear the door of their bedroom slam with great power. Finally.
Their love is strong and so is the energy they give off, stronger than a thousand nightmares or dreams of unthinkable riches. For as long as I can, I feed on that energy, growing ever so slightly stronger. I push back the darkness. I feel the pressure – time is slowly but surely running out. I reach out with my senses and I see Death in the distance, done with the massacre Malahar left behind, heading back to the house.
It gently closes the door behind it, a smile on its face. “Perhaps this time you will not elude me, Eirik?” The flowing white robe of the angel starts to turn red as it kneels over me, wings spread in imposing manner. “What is it this time, the ring?” It reaches for my hand and grabs the silver band, enchanted to contain me in this vessel. “Let the dance… begin” it says, ripping bone and joint and flesh apart.
Thump. The silver band and what was my finger hit the floor with a muffled sound of metal and flesh on worn wood.
Everything happens in an instant. With the enchantment no longer on me, my senses are free to reach out into the world. Before the angel can touch me again, I project my soul outward of my body and push it away. My mind is rapidly expanding. Suddenly, the echo from the wail of three hundred people recently silenced forever reaches me, but is now a drop in the ocean of information and feelings that I can sense. I try to focus on Malahar’s and Martha’s mixed energy, but it gets lost in the mix. The universe is quickly filling my entire being, or rather – my being is filling the entire universe. Death rises yet again, determined to claim what is rightfully theirs, but I move the world from under its feet, the air from under its wings. I still reside in that husk of a body and until I do, it shall not reach it. I feel the Arc and her crew, going about their day, friends and strangers oblivious to my presence.
Somewhere nearby, or in the distance, it’s hard to tell, Kelly is weeping over a breakup yet again – I reach out, caressing her mind for a fleeting moment, before I fly past Arsi. It is time. Go to the Vale. I barely have time to give her the message as I am swept away in a storm of cosmic proportions.
After all, Death is powerful. Maybe not as powerful as me, but right now I am dying, with one foot in its domain. I feel the entire universe, I can wipe mountains with my hand and destroy worlds in my fury… but the universe is slowly losing color as Death starts to overpower my failing body. It grows in size – or I grow smaller, and looms over me yet again. I gaze into its black eyes, staring at the void, gazing into oblivion. “It was a good dance.” it says. “Perhaps now?”
A thousand worlds away, I can feel an explosion of emotions as Malahar and Martha finish in perfect unison. Nothing is more powerful than the conception of a child – the opposite of Death. For a brief moment, colour returns in the universe and that’s all I need. Not this time, I say as I slip away from my body, from under the reaching arm of Death, and my soul enters the newly formed life. My mind, unable to be contained by this vessel for quite some time, dissolves into the world, looking for a holocron¹, to be stored until the time is right.

---

***

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Father always took me fishing with him. He says he enjoys the peace and quiet, but honestly, I think he just liked to be away from the folks at home for a while. Most often it was hot, mosquitos everywhere, and we barely caught any fish. Father says it’s not about catching fish but about the fishing, but that sounds a little silly to me. Anyway, it’s nice to be here just the two of us, alone together. I get to ask him all sorts of questions and he would always answer me honestly. When my brothers and sisters were around, he didn’t like to speak about his past, but he always told me everything, even his darkest secret.
People say he was the only survivor of the great massacre in Hollastadt, but he told me he knows who did it and that they let him live on purpose! Mother denies it, but I can see from his scars that he was a warrior in his younger days. I wonder if people don’t notice or pretend not to notice…. Oh and there we go, he caught a fish! What a shame, really, for he will now set it free, return it to the water. I keep telling him that’s no way to make dinner, but that’s just who he is. He wouldn’t harm anyone. I wonder what changed him so much…
“Hey Iltair, boy, are you paying attention?” He was snapping his fingers before my face. “Once you remove the hook, you have to be careful not to…”
“Dad, what’s this?” My attention had drifted back to the river bank, where a shiny crystal had just washed over the polished stones. “Can I check it out, please? Please? Dad?” When I turn around, I see a grim look on his face. “Dad, what’s wrong? Is it the crystal?”
He looks at me with sadness in his eyes. “I guess that was bound to happen sooner or later. Go ahead, bring me the crystal, I’ll show you.” I take off, but just before I reach for it, I hear him say “Just remember, Iltair. I love you.”
I reach for the oddly perfect shape and grab it in my tiny fist. Suddenly, a wave of memories crashes over me and I stumble and fall into nothingness. The universe expands before my eyes, I see… everything. Countless lives and countless scenes spin around me until suddenly I see Death kneeling above me, reaching out…
“Iltair, are you alright? Talk to me, please! Say something!” The man above me tries to hit me again but my reflexes kick in and I grab his hand. “Mala… dad… Malahar”. I stand up, my fifteen year old body not very imposing against the brunt build of the other man. “Thank you” I say. Malahar just nods in agreement, his eyes empty. He did his duty and lost his firstborn son for it. “Now take me home. I have to say goodbye to… mother.”
We pick up the fishing lines and the bait and we head on the long way home. In the distance, at the upstream bank of the river between a couple rocky hills, an angel flies away, its white wings shining bright against the sky. Seeing an angel is believed to be an omen of good fortune, though I suppose those are stories made up by people who haven’t met Death. On the way back Malahar, for the first time since I have known him, cracks a joke. “There is some sweet irony in this, I suppose. Now you are my son.”

Show spoiler

This is still a work in progress - the title won't be final until the series is completed and some character names may also change, not to mention the constant edits when I find a better way to word something.
The short story is part of a cycle of twelve stories that all feature different key characters at different key moments in time. They are mean to be really short, ideally two pages long, as an exercise in short-form writing, as well as to get better with first person points of view, because right now that's my biggest weakness. There are obvious issues with some things written way too plainly, but those will get cleaned up over time as I find the appropriate ration between reader's average understanding of what's going on and the complexity of the writing.
Also formatting is probably going to suck, working on better conversion between media.

1. They obviously won't be called holocrons in the final version, but for now I haven't thought of a cool way to call my data storage crystals and this gets the point across cleanly.