CHAPTER THREE

I AWOKE as though from death covered in dirt and sweat. It was a struggle to reorient myself in the cold morning dew coating me. I felt the familiar sting of burning wounds which brought me to full wakefulness. The pain- a reminder I was still alive- focused on the inside of my right forearm, gradually growing into an unignorable burning, and like before, another glow slowly crawled to the surface of my mind:

FOLLOW

As though accompanying the feeling, a small ember squeezed out of my skin, exiting my skin with a fluidlike quality and floated before me: a guide. More curious than frightened, I rose to my feet and covered myself with the dirty shawl. It was my only real possession now, except the graverock tied around my neck. I held it closer as I followed the wafting ember through the forest.

It seemed like I had walked for miles, and maybe I had; the shoes I wore were nearly falling apart. Even in a day’s work, I hadn’t ever walked for so long, but that was always zigzagging through the fields, and never in only one direction. The ember guided me ever-diligently through the heavily wooded part of the forest, floating a good distance away without the help of the wind. Some of the trees I’d never seen before; some white with black, flaking bark, and others a much darker outside than I’d seen. Could this be outside the village limits? Had I walked so far already? I thought I knew all the types of wood we used for lumber and tools, and which burned at what rates and hotter.

It was sometime later that a giant carved stone with moss and brightly-colored lichen growing on it became visible through the dense wood. The ember finally lowered and rested on a small stone at its base before snuffing itself out with a smoke’s whisper. Whatever it was leading me to, I must have found it.

A ring of stones, much taller than me, surrounded a flat stone circle about two yards across. I cautiously approached it, taking care to avoid disturbing the smaller rocks scattered around in case they were there for some purpose.

Stepping onto the stone dais, I shrieked as a piercing pain emerged from within my skull, and the world around me faded to a burning white light. My chest and arms felt hot with the steaming stickiness of blood, and in an instant I could not breathe, and could not move; even my own thoughts were not my own. Suddenly I saw my village untouched by flame. I was reliving the frantic thoughts of another:

The air smells of dirt and fear.

The village is gone. This was not part of the plan. The earth’s spite is upon us, feeding upon us like cattle raised only for slaughter. We feed the god our Marked and our dead, and it feeds us ourselves, mashed and spread into the ground like fertilizer. The churning soil will consume us. Soon all will be buried under mountains of dirt. They said it would work, that we would be renewed. It is all a lie. I saw my own children smashed between massive vines. Their blood is still on me, their viscera running down my face. I can’t run any more, my legs are being swallowed by dirt and sand with every step. I look back at the village. It is only dirt now. I grab the knife meant for my children and press it into my throat. It slides in and I scream in gurgles.

All we can do now­ is hope we are spared.

I taste vomit sitting in my throat, returning me to the present. Standing there alone on the dais, it felt as though the whole ground had shifted below me, that my world had moved and left me behind. I felt unsteady, filled with dizziness. Somehow my fears were validated, that my destined sacrifice would be for nothing, that I did the right thing and my self-preservation instinct led me to victory.

I stepped down off of the stone dais, and when my toes touched the forest floor, the stones and their center vanished entirely, and the air became sour. Did I imagine this? No, it was too real to be my imagination. I was there, watching the destruction of my village come to fruition from a failed Harvest.

I decided to retrace my steps, to find my way back, but there were no footprints. The earth was untouched, and no discernable markings could be found. The vanishing of the stone circle was fresh in my mind, taunting me with evasive memory. Where had I come from? The forest floor was pristine, untouched. I had no memory of paths taken.

And at once I was lost.

The midday sun was nowhere to be seen, even after what felt like days of walking; perhaps hidden behind the constant shade of unmoving clouds. I marched in one direction, careful to keep marks on the trees, but once out of sight, vanished. I began to doubt myself, thinking maybe I had just missed one, or maybe after the next tree things will become familiar. I held onto this hope for longer than I thought possible. I don’t know when it died; either a slow fade into silence or a tangible break, but even after my hope perished, I carried on.

The days blended together into one endless haze. I walked around the world, again and again, and found nothing. It felt like a year had passed, maybe two, maybe five, or maybe just a month. The great tree-figure still covered the eastern sky – and occasionally I believed it was watching – but no matter how far I walked, was reliably there, and I wondered if I’d made any progress at all. The remains of the village were lost to me; even its smell had faded to nothing. I couldn’t find anything new. Even the trees’ and rocks’ distinguishing features were soon indiscernible in their repetition. I could see nothing familiar except the trees, so many trees! My world was trees and rocks and berries and dirt.

The very concept of time was lost to me.

I had no idea where I was. I had lost any understanding of who I was. I wondered if the land I knew had existed at all, or if I existed at all, or if I was asleep and would wake any moment and it would be normal again.

During the endless journey, it was as though all had gone silent but the wind in the trees and the cicadas’ hum from just beyond my range of hearing. My leather shoes were long shredded, so I continued with bare feet. Every day was the same. I drank from green ponds and grew sickly, but never too ill to die. There were no animals, so naturally, my hunts always ended in failure. After a time, I stopped looking. I became thin and weak, eating only berries and bark since I destroyed my village. I continued walking- it was my only respite from the drone of cicadas and stagnant memory.

I was truly alone: the last man in the world, seemingly trapped in a vacuum, hours my only resource. The sky never once darkened. Though when what I would eventually call night fell, when the cicadas quieted, I heard the whispers of Anna, my father, and the Elder’s words, ringing and repeating ever louder until I cried myself to sleep and wished to join them.

Then after a while, I stopped crying. After that, I welcomed them, as they were the only human voices I’d heard in years.

We would talk about life in the village, and they would ask me if I had died, and I would tell them I did not know. I can’t recall exactly when, but on one occasion, or maybe more, I had made up my mind: I decided that if the next tree I saw would collapse on top of me, I wouldn’t try to run. If I somehow discovered a high cliff, I wouldn’t waste time to find a safer way down.

In my hazy limbo, despite repetition, retaining any semblance of normal daily life was the only solace in the sheer boredom of my wandering, so I would leave piles of sticks and logs in a campfire placement and hope to whoever was listening that a fire would erupt from the dry wood. On one such evening, or what I assumed was evening, I sat cross-legged beside a pile of sticks and logs I had collected. I stared deeply into the pile. I did this regularly, to test my fire, but was always unsuccessful. But this time, I had a gut feeling that if I stared hard enough, something new would happen. I held onto that feeling obsessively as it was the first fresh experience in decades.

On one such occasion, Anna whispered in my ear, “Don’t strain yourself, you’re so weak already…” I unstuck my tongue from the roof of my mouth, and replied aloud, “Yes, but I have to try. I have a feeling this time, you’ll see, just watch!” I stared at the wood intently, but nothing happened. My father’s voice came next, saying softly, “Son, maybe it’s time you come home.”

“I think so too.” Anna said.

“Efrit, this is what happens if you neglect your duty.” The Elder scolded. I hushed them. “Give me a minute, just wait, it’ll work this time…” I rubbed my hands together and focused.

Hours passed and there I remained- my back slouched and my eyes red. “Efrit, are you dead?” my father asked. “You must be by now; you’ve hardly moved in days.” A scowl crept upon my face and I replied, “Father, I’m trying to make a fire, give me a minute.” The piercing words of the Elder stabbed into my head: “Efrit, you should have died. None of this would have happened if you’d accepted your fate. You’re selfish.”

“Selfish?” I replied. “Not wanting to die is selfish, you think? Well you wanted ME to die so YOU wouldn’t, so, pray tell, who’s the selfish one now?” I stared angrily into the middle of the log pile. The other ghosts were quiet. He replied, “You know, you’ve always been a problem… Asking too much, killing us all, and on top of that you’ve ruined the lovely blanket Anna’s mother sewed just for you!” He was normally rude to me, but today was worse. Anna muttered softly, “…she did actually make it just for you.”

“Will everyone leave me be, I’m trying to make a damn fire here! You’re distracting me. I swear I’ll kill you all again.” I scowled, glaring into the woodpile.

“You didn’t kill me, son.” my father interjected.

“Yes, I know, I wasn’t talking about you.”

A grasshopper landed within my line of sight. It was the last straw, and my patience had grown thin. Anger bloomed and my focus immediately sharpened. “You there! Damnable bug, get out of the way!”

In an instant, sparks flew from the grasshopper with a bang, and flame erupted from the center of the woodpile. The logs, now engulfed in fire, crackled and the tepid air finally smelt of smoke. “See, Elder, what did I-” The reality of this accomplishment struck me. “Oh, fields above! I finally did it!”

I was somehow at peace staring into the heart of the campfire, which was blanketed under burning logs, and I felt safe, even surrounded by the familiar darkness of unexplored forest. The chunks of crackling wood seemed to resemble my cottage walls; an incandescent stick appeared to take the form of my bed, and felt like home. Without fear or hesitation, I crawled closer on my hands and knees and extended my calloused hand toward the hottest chamber of the fire. In place of burning pain was the gentle lap of fire flitting over my palm as though a playful dance, and likewise it reached to touch me, to cover my arm, and I was embraced in loving warmth. The weariness of travel melted from me, soothing my mind and body. My stomach ceased its rumbling, and even the soles of my feet became unburdened, and for the first time in weeks I felt healthy and strong.

“Harnessing fire, now that’s quite a skill.” The words came from a small voice from behind me- the ghosts were speaking to me again. “Father, you sound different, are you sick?” Confused, he replied, “Efrit, I didn’t say anything.” For the first time in centuries, I wasn’t truly alone.

I turned to look at the stranger who appeared behind me, and cried out in surprise. The pile of leaning logs collapsed as though thrown to the ground, releasing a flurry of rushing embers, and I leapt away, tripping over the extra wood which rolled from the fire. I fell to my side, kicking myself away further, and as an afterthought snatched up and covered myself with my shawl.

No words came, though I was met with a boyish laugh. The creature met the height of my eyes though I was on my back supported by my hands. It was easily half or at most three-quarters of my standing height, dressed in faded grey robes and a color I had no name for as an elaborate pattern stitched on the sleeves and front. Its proportions seemed nearly laughable and absolutely foreign, with ears that ended in points. High cheekbones and a rounded chin framed a small face with large verdant eyes shielded by some clear material I’d never seen before. This creature was not of my god.

Even through my panic I was sensible enough to steal a burning stick from the fire, and held it before me in self-defense. “You, get away!” Unfazed, it did not, and instead produced a book from its leather bag and a feather, released from an open page, floated down in zigzags. It leaned over to retrieve the feather, which was arguably not too far, dabbed the sharpened point in a small vase on its belt, and said, “Hmm. E-A-S-I-L-Y… S-T-A-R-T-L-E-D…” pronouncing each syllable with deliberation as the comparatively oversized feather flicked in its hand. Maybe it’s not here to hurt me? I wondered, still cautious but hopeful, having not been attacked or killed outright. With one hand careful to keep my shawl closed, I pulled myself back upright, still wary of the thing.

“You’re not what I thought I might find here,” it announced for itself to hear and took a step toward me. “Interesting brow symbol for a starving human farmhand.” I thought of the best explanation in the moment. “I’m out hunting? Anna, what should I say?” My frightened, sluggish brain finally caught up to the situation. “Wait, what even are you?”

As though I hadn’t asked anything, after a twitch of its ear, it wrote again in its massive leatherbound book: “H-U-N-T-I-N-G-question-mark? A-N-N-A-question-mark?” A moment later, a hollow thump, and a sigh, it closed the book and plugged the vase and tucked away feather, then announced, “Anyway, it's been a long road to get here. I’m hungry.” I still stood there trying to cover both my face and body with the shawl when it fished around in one of its deep pockets and pulled out some light-colored bread, and with eyes meeting mine, took a slow, crumbling bite. What hesitance I harbored disappeared, replaced by a new food-oriented focus.

I slowly lowered the shawl. It asked me, “Would you care for some bread?” and broke off the untouched end of the bread, tossed it in my direction, and in my fumbling to catch it, I released the nearly threadbare woolen shawl, which slid off and slumped in a pile at my feet. In my hurry to consume the only real food I’d seen in decades as quickly as possible, the shawl’s disappearance went unnoticed, at least by me.

I stuffed the bread into my face, and regretted consuming it so quickly, as it was perfect, more delicious in every way than Helini’s at home, and even while dried from travel, was cloudlike and soft, and much sweeter than the dark-rinded bread I knew. In a second it was gone, and in two seconds I realized I stood there half-naked, revealed to some creature I’d never seen before in my life, and in three seconds it spoke again: “Yeah, we can talk about those later. Have some more.” I realized I had traded the cover of the shawl for some food, which I thought necessary in this situation. And with a gentle toss, gave me more delicious bread. This thing, despite being otherworldly and totally strange, was also… kind? Curiosity grew, unrestrained, and I was struck with an inkling of what company felt like, and attached myself completely to this feeling. I didn’t feel quite so alone. It swung the wide-bottomed leather bag off its shoulder, plopping it onto the ground with a clanking and rustling of loose papers, then took a seat, leaning back on the bag for support.

“As for your question, ‘what even am I,’ I’ll preface by assuming you don’t get out much, and withhold offense. Secondly, judging by your surprise, you haven’t met or even heard about nonhuman races, which is strange in its own way. I’ll keep it simple and hopefully not condescending. I belong to a race your kind call gnomes. I am called Corbal. For your convenience, you may refer to me as you would a human male.”

I couldn’t believe what I heard. I spoke from disbelief, “I just… it… What?” My head felt overburdened, like I just couldn’t fit this new knowledge in.

“My people live to the far south, where it’s warmer. I haven’t lived there in a few decades though.” Decades? Despite his size, this creature wasn’t a child? He continued, “As for my profession, I’m a scholar. But when not honing my acumency to improve other animatic arts, I travel, and record all that I find. It’s a massive continent, you know, and not all of it has been documented yet, especially the other side of the split.” Acumency? Continent? It must have seen my confusion.

“I never knew there were others out beyond the fields. I didn’t know there was a ‘beyond the fields’!” His ears pricked like a treecat’s, and he answered between mouthfuls of bread, “You’re good.” He continued with a new question, “Also, who’s Anna? Aren’t you alone out here?”

Not in a while, I thought to myself. I lowered my burning stick back into the fire. I hoped I wouldn’t need it. “She’s- was- is- a good friend of mine. Right?” Anna agreed. The thing didn’t bother trying to understand, or was maybe preoccupied with something else.

Now that I had the time to see him without the air of caution, I studied him closely. His stocky body was draped in layers of a clean, thick cloth lighter than wool, but heavier than bandage-linen, tied around what I assumed was his waist. In addition to hiding his figure, it seemed to sport many pockets. I answered. “Who are you talking to?” Corbal asked me.

“Oh, well introduce yourselves! I’ll help.” I stepped aside and gestured around. “This is Anna, a friend from my village, and my father who died, and the Elder, but he’s rude, so don’t listen to him.” He looked puzzled. “From… your village? Is that right? I saw some smoke about a week-”

“Yeah! I burned it centuries ago, and killed everyone.”

“Except me.” My father reminded me.

“Yes, except you, we’ve talked about this.”

He nodded slowly and wrote something in his book. “Wait, a week?” I asked with increasing excitement. He seemed puzzled. “…we can cover that in the morning, but I think you should get some rest. Real rest.”

As he spoke, he brushed a spot with his tiny hands, pushing small rocks and leaves aside to clear a flat space, then dug around in his pack and pulled out a small, blue rug, adorned with familiar but unknown symbols.

He placed the flower in the center on the mat and stared intently at it for a long time, muttering under his breath. As he did so, I felt lighter, unburdened. My head was empty in a comfortable way, and I noticed a strange absence of chatter. “Father?” I said aloud, and received no reply. “They’re gone.” A stark loneliness washed over me, but was quickly drowned out by a state of relaxation I’ve never felt before. I looked back at the mat and the flower was gone. I asked what he did.

“This is the part of somatic animancy that focuses on restful healing. I imagine your isolation wasn’t too healthy for your head.”

Now I was totally certain I had no idea what he referred to. Seeing my ignorance, he continued in a very matter-of-fact way, “The art of animancy refers to submitting one’s personal energy, or anima, as an offering to the gods to perform spells, often prepared by rituals beforehand.” I’m pretty sure my brain had been turned into a mud brick. He spoke just like the Elder sharing wisdom, though significantly kinder.

His face lit up suddenly. “Actually, that brings up an interesting point. Come here, let me see that brand on your forehead.” Brand..? “What do you mean by brand?” Nervousness flourished within me and my head began to feel lighter. Seeing my hesitation, he got to his feet and briskly walked over to me. I flinched and grew fearful, as I had no idea what he was planning. It seemed the only way to satiate his scholarly curiosity was to comply.

I leaned toward him. He reached out with his small hand and-

The earth is burning. A roaring fire overwhelms the screams which cannot be perceived; trampled bodies lie crushed and broken, piled upon themselves in the muck, and falling ash buries those who flee. Cracked charcoal skeletons of the bare trees crumble in arid ember-filled winds. A gargantuan wailing lamentation supersedes any and all sound, and in its greatness shakes the earth asunder. Pain and rage consume all, and all are defeated, and at last my reckoning-

Corbal shook me and cold air soothed my sweating brow. I looked around wildly, shocked that the leaves and trees remained unharmed. He looked relieved and exhausted. “My word, I thought you possessed! You were thrashing around a half hour! What happened?” He was panting like he had been tossing hay. I tried to speak but my body felt heavy and seemed to take too much effort. I was lying on my back on the cold ground and realized it’d been years since I’d seen the darkness of night. “I’ll tell you in the morning. For now, it’s beautiful…” I mumbled, and I felt comfort encompass me, carrying me to dreamless slumber.