Chapter 527: The Other Story
This felt different from exhaustion, from pain... pain especially. I’ve trial-ed and error-ed too many times not to expect a stab in the gut, a slice in the neck, or anything really that’ll make me wish for nothing else but the sweet release of death.
But this... truly... this was not... I wasn’t giving, expending... now’s the opposite... I was taking, receiving... like gulping down gallons of... something. Was this normal? Was she feeling what I was feeling? This was the problem with that calm constant on her face – it barely gives anything away.
“Still hanging on?” I heard Mom say, her voice resounding aloud before her lips even move to speak. “Or are you only pretending that you still can?”
She knows. Of course, she knows. Pain like this, sensations like these... how did I expect to ever be able to hide all this as well as she could?
“I can keep... going,” I felt myself say, but didn’t hear. “Let me keep going.”
“You know, somehow, I really doubt that.”
Something was happening. My arms slowly losing that feeling, the blanket of darkness coating my skin slowly unclinging. The sensation, it was fading.
.....
“What are you doing?” I groaned, feeling a blurring rage through clenched teeth. “I said I can keep going!”
“No, you just want to keep going...” Her eyes were closed shut, her breath growing shallow. “But you can’t. There’s a difference. I’m sorry, but this is as far as you go. I’m not going to let you risk yourself any more than you already have.”
“Oh, but if it’s you, then it’s alright?” I argued. “Like I’m just going to stand back and watch you do the same? If your life’s on the line, then – ”
“Oh, dear, dear... just whatever are you talking about now?” She feebly smiled. “This is what you asked for, right?”
Inside, annoyance flared, anger fuzzing my sights – deep down, I knew she was right. I begged, I pleaded, I shouted, I argued, I nearly died... for this. Now here I was retreading everything I’ve ever said and done. I knew that, of course, I knew that. But even still...
“Not like this,” I hissed, throwing those frustrations back at her face. “You said... you told me it wouldn’t be like this! You told me that it’ll be just fine! That it won’t come down to this! That’s what you said, that’s what you told me! Didn’t you? Right?”
“Well...” Again, below soft eyes, her lips parted ever slightly. “Guess I was wrong again, then.” and smiled ever faintly. “Whoops...”
Mom fell back to a silence, as did I – our shared breathing the only thing assailing the quiet – after a moment, I noticed the writhing, squirming black coating my arms stopped receding... at elbow length, staying stagnant. That overwhelming feeling was back again.
She changed her mind.
A sudden change of heart – and who knows why she did. I wasn’t going to question it, maybe she thought what I did – that we, in some ways, were both in the wrong, that we both had made mistakes – and that if a price had to be paid for it... then at very least it shouldn’t have to be a price paid alone.
Or maybe not, maybe it was for an entirely unrelated reason that I’ll never be able to fathom lurking beyond that gentle stare, that smiling face... but I wasn’t going to try and put myself in her shoes, in her head... idiocy might be my forte, but even I was not that insane.
I just simply continued where I once left off... for the rest of the process... clinging to myself... hoping whatever price there was wouldn’t be as steep as I feared.
It didn’t take long for it to start happening again. That... that filling sensation – like swallowing, like drowning. I felt bloated, skin bulging but not really. The thoughts in my head leaving me, but also filling me. I was seeing... something.
I was...
I think I was remembering.
There was a cottage, in the cottage there was a room, and in that room, there I was, wobbling on tiptoe, reaching my short stubby little hands out towards a leather book, my favorite book, sitting on a shelf lined with many other thick leather spines.
Another person was in the room with me. A man with a limp, with a cane. He took the book down for me, and I eagerly followed him around his room, his study, shuffling quickly ahead to pull his chair out for him. He sat on his desk, I sat on his lap, and together, once again, we began to read through the wondrous tales of the countless heroes of old, of present. My favorite subject.
I remembered the candlelight reflecting off the rims of his glasses, his deep enthralling voice that captivated me with every passage he recited aloud.
My father was a good chronicler, a better storyteller. He’d roam the world, seeking stories new and old to jot down on paper, to record... another thick leather spine on another teeming shelf.
He knew every leaf, every species, every legend, and in turn, so did I. His passion turned into my interest, and I in turn, over years, became his student, his apprentice... his legacy.
I remembered I had a small sister, a smaller brother. Both took after mother, a farmer, a former mercenary... a stray hire father commissioned during one of his many travels. She sought only gold in him, but he saw something more in her.
I remembered being always fond of that story. Father, as always, told it best.
When I was finally old enough, I remembered having the chance to accompany him on a month-long voyage across the ocean, to the distant nation of Astra.
I remembered Dad being ecstatic for days, rapping his cane for hours on end at starboard, and I remember being much of the same. Years of wishing whispers, desperate murmurs, finally at long last coming to fruition.
Leonardo had returned from his decades-long absence.
I was one of the many countless present to see him as he knelt before King Heral, the princess Riona. Heard his words as he valiantly proclaimed himself the savior of us all against the overpowering might of the vile Terestra. And joined the deafening ovation as he was knighted, bequeathed the title of defender, protector, and Hero of us all.
Month after month, year after year, Dad would barge into his study, his quill shaking with fervor, another empty page to fill of Leonardo’s daring exploits across the realm... which he would always recount back to me in full detail from dusk till dawn. And I’d listen. I remembered.
The blitz of Fela, the great fracture of Frieden Rike, the viper’s arousal in the caverns of Droill. I remembered it fascinating me to no end. A Hero of present legend, his story still unfolding... and through my father’s ever-expanding tomes, I slowly began to idolize him as truly being our savior in these grim times.
I had faith, I had hope, and with my life, I trusted him.
Then one day, I was breathing in the ember and smoke, my clothes drenched in the blood of my village, carrying my brother on my back, leading my sister by the arm. Demons, to Terestra’s name, pillaging, destroying everything that I’ve come to know.
And he didn’t come.
None of us died that day, only friends, only good people... my family was still whole. I still held hope.
We migrated east, and then further east, as our land gradually succumbed to Terestra’s growing influence. My mother was adaptable, resourceful... always able to find us a roof beneath our heads, enough food to stave off starvation.
My father was away during the initial attack. In two weeks, he was due to return. In two weeks, we were already far to the east. The hope was he’d eventually find his way to us. We never did find each other again, but in spite of it, night after night, mother would stare out the window, over the horizon, waiting... I remembered she always waited.
In my father’s stead, I began to recount the tales he’d tell me, the same comfort, the same wonder, I shared them with my siblings. The incredible anecdotes of Leonardo the Hero, I shared with them my inspiration, my hope, and they believed in me... just as I believed in him.
That despite all our misfortunes, the day will come when he will save us all.
I remembered thinking that.
I remembered still thinking that when the ports were being overrun by the underlings of Terestra. There in a sea of scrambling refugees, I made sure to keep my siblings safe. Away from the skirmishes, the bloodshed that would erupt in the many struggles to board one of the last ships departing away to the other nations. The guards overwhelmed, the boarding process without order, and at the gates, crumbling, splintering, the dark horde was coming.
Then, I remembered – hope. A Hermelian Captain porting from the distant horizon, bearing a song proclaiming the soon arrival of the Hero, Leonardo in our land. That he will come to save us, and repel the forces of Terestra – all that was asked of us was to hold on. Any abled body, any capable fighter, to please bear arms, and to keep the evil at bay for the time being.
I remembered Mom being one of the first to volunteer. I remembered her assuring us, I remembered her leaving us... disappearing in the disarray, the bluntest, dullest sword in her wavering grasp.
In the end, once again, Leonardo never arrived. It was the same sight, the same scene of chaos and bloodshed. The defenses fell in minutes, my sister escaped from my grip while I was holding my brother back with the other. The ships had departed, there people were still here – the song was a lie.
People died. I hid. With my brother, stifling his cries with a bloodied hand, I hid. By crates, by fallen structures, anywhere I could, the best I could – I had to save what I had left.
Over and over I assured my brother, I assured myself that help will come, that Leonardo will come, to help us, to rescue us. I told him to believe, I told him to have faith.
My father’s stories, the anecdotes in his name, the feats he accomplished – they couldn’t be lies.
When they found us, I remembered beginning to think that they were.
Our Hero was a lie.
Gritlins, the demons that ransacked the port, they’ve a tendency for fresher meat, the younger prey. I let him go, before their many arms even reached for us, I remembered letting him go.
I remembered running, I remembered him screaming, I remembered not looking back.
Except for that one instant, when I knew I was far enough away – I remembered that’s when I saw her.
Slithering through the broken gates, hovering inches above the bloodied, mutilated corpses. She turned, admiring her underlings’ works – and I caught sight of it, that expression.
That smile.
Staring back at me then.
Staring back at me now.
“Almost done,” Terestra said to me, in front of me, so close to me, her smile once more right in front of me. “Just bear with it a little longer, hm?
Right now, for some strange reason...
I hated seeing that smile.
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