Chapter Six

The Ordeal

...a lone man wakes in a deserted world. Bleeding, his memories gone he must navigate a strange world to find his way home.

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The Ordeal - Chapter Six

Written by Edward Shaddow

Walking down the ancient path I became acutely aware that I was finally, no longer alone. Dozens of unseen eyes hidden in the cover of the dark forrest, pressed against me, my hand slowly crept behind my back reaching for comfort in steal and leather. A gentle cough from the trees warned me to seek serenity elsewhere and I quickly dropped my hand. It was a polite way of saying “You’re only breathing because we allow it...for now.” I have always been one for politeness, at least I think have. I tried to reassure myself by watching the glowing fires in the ruins, taking solace in those flickering orange lights, the only sign of life I’ve seen since I woke; well of the non-feathered variety anyway.

I noticed one of the smaller fires break off and begin to move along the path heading towards me. “A welcome party I hope” I thought silently. As I drew nearer I began to make out the shape of a lone figure beneath the flame. My greeter was clothed in a white robe not dissimilar to those warn by monks; I could only hope he was as friendly. Another polite cough sounded from the surrounding darkness, and in the continued interest I have in living, I stopped and waited for the hooded figure to come to me. The robed man made his way along the path, at a painfully slow pace. Silver swirls and patterns woven into the heavy fabric of the white robe shone brilliantly under the torches’ glowing fire. His face so completely obscured by shadow, had he glowing red eyes and the robe been black, I would have taken him for a grim reaper come to tell me “Sorry, I’ve been a bit backed up with work, you know how it is. Anyway, thanks for hanging around.”

Eventually the gap between us was small enough for conversation. It took me a moment to register what I first figured to be a trick of the light as a familiar feature sitting on my robed friend’s left shoulder. A raven. My bloody raven! The warm glow of the torch danced over us as we stood silently in the middle of the path. Hugin leaned in close and whispered deep calling noises to the hooded figure, who in turn titled his head slightly and replied in the same soft, deep sounds. Folding my arms, I stood back and waited for an introduction from my feathered emissary.

Suddenly, the hooded figure was mere inches from my face. I stumbled back and clutched at my pounding heart, “What the hell?” I called out in disbelief.

“You are he?” the robed figure spoke, his words echoing in the night air. I looked over at Hugin, he nodded his head as best a bird could. “I...uh, I’m not sure, maybe?” I replied, trying to force my heart back down into my chest.

“You are he?” the figure repeated as before, his voice deep and ragged. Hugin cawed and gave me a stern look.

“Yeah. Yes, I suppose. Um, who exactly is it I’m supposed to be though?” I said, looking quizzically at Hugin. The figure, who’s face was still obscured by dark shadow despite being inches away, spoke to Hugin in their soft language. From the tone of their conversation I could tell they were arguing, not harshly, but Hugin seemed to be doing some convincing that would put a used car salesman to shame. Ignoring me completely they eventually came to a decision. Hugin flew from the figures’ shoulder and alighted on mine as the robed man turned and walked back the way he came.

“Well, follow him then.” the raven whispered, nodding towards the shadowy figure disappearing down the path. Too confused over what had just happened, I did what the bird said and followed the light of the glowing torch.

“Ok Lucy, there are some things I need explained: who, what, where and why. Start with

‘who’ and work your way down the list.” I whispered to the raven, so as not to let the robed figure overhear. Hugin responded with a slightly annoyed caw and dug his claws sharply into my shoulder. “Jeez!” I breathed, “watch it bird, or you’ll find yourself on the wrong end of a spit roast.” Hugin responded with a mild chuckle, and slowly relaxed his grip, “Your insults are getting better, Blondie. There’s hope for you yet.”

“Yeah well, I learn from the beast.”

Hugin’s harsh laugh echoed in the darkness, “I should leave you alone more often, it does wonders to your wit.” We both laughed quietly to ourselves. A comfortable silence fell between us as we walked on. I watched the light play across our guide’s robe, his slight limp made the woven silver patterns dance hypnotically in the night. Something deep inside of me knew that each metallic strand represented a story long since told; stories of heros, gods, monsters, tricksters and his people. Once, I knew all the stories of the robe, but now they were just a mild distraction in the darkness.

“Volund,” Hugin said softly.

“Huh?” My mind still focused on the silver patterns only half registered that the bird had spoke.

“His name is Volund, well, that’s who you knew him as. He’s had a few names since then, Weyland, Mr Smith. Although, he prefers his old name now, says the others are too...painful.” Hugin’s voice trailed off, as if just thinking about his other names caused Volund to relive what ever painful memory they belonged too. Wether it was Hugin’s sudden mood change or my own lost memories surfacing I felt a little melancholy for this white robed man.

We were close enough now to the other fires that I could make out small huts and tents set up around the large stone blocks left from whatever ancient ruin we were now in. Shaking the feeling of despondency away I pushed on with my query, “So, he’s what now? Leader of whoever lives there?” I said gesturing around the small village.

“More like reluctant Prince,” replied the raven, his eyes still focused fixedly on Volund’s back. “He was given the title a long time ago; an affectation back then, a title in name only. He left as a young boy and apprenticed to a blacksmith. Became quite good, one of the best they say. Unfortunately with a skill like his, it was only a matter of time before someone got jealous. Some...things, happened and well, here he is, back where he started, filling a role he never asked for.”

“Sounds familiar.” I said in a slight sarcastic tone. A low hum emanated from the throat of the raven, “Look, he’s agreed to help you. Try not to be your usual charming self tonight, we need him.”

“For what? The guy can barely walk, and frankly, I don’t think he likes me all too much.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” he cawed, “Look, just go with me on this, you’ll see why in the morning.” It was my turn to make a low hum; I wasn’t happy about it, but for now I’ll just have to wait and see what kind of world I’ll wake up in next. Silently we walked, following the slow pace set by the old blacksmith deeper and deeper into the encampment. Deeper into the unknown.

Reaching the largest fire in the center of the camp Volund stopped and turned to face us. Dark shadow still covered his face despite being surrounded by light, the silver patterns of the robe glowed unnaturally bright, even in the flickering light of the flames. An unseen assistant slid out from the darkness to relieve Volund of his torch, slipping back into the gloom as quickly as they appeared. Choosing to stick with the cautious route, I stopped several paces away and waited for the old man to speak. I could feel Hugin shifting his weight on my shoulder, each claw digging deeper into my muscle as he flexed his legs. Awkwardness and smoke filled the air as we stood in front of the bonfire, my eyes stung and burned as I tried not to lose myself in the dark depths of Volund’s hidden face; while simultaneously trying to stare the man down. It would have been easier to concede and look away, heck, what was wrong with a simple handshake, but something within me needed this stupid show of strength. In a few seconds an eternity passed and the war was both won and lost as my eyes succumbed to the heat of the fire. A low chuckle came from the blacksmith as I looked away and blinked madly, trying to restore some moisture to my eyes. Volund removed his hood, revealing his ugly and scared head. He simpered, looking pleased with himself, “You are indeed your father’s son, Light Bringer.”

“Yeah?” I said, rubbing my eyes, “He taught me everything I know, it’s a pity I can’t remember any of it.” Volund ran a hand through his short cropped black hair, the glow from his robe showing the half melted flesh of his face, “So it seems, young Prince. So it seems. Come,” he said, “Your bed awaits.” Two alabaster skinned men awoke from the surrounding nothing and beaconed me towards them. Detecting my hesitance, Volund spoke reassuringly, “Go with them. Sleep. The path you need will still be here in the morning.” With that he slowly turned and disappeared into the nearest tent. The two escorts began to walk and I followed.

“Just like being at home isn’t it?” said the raven leaning in close to my face, the smell of raw meat and wet feathers wafting towards me. “You mean that faint smell of wet crow? Took me ages to get just the right combination of incense to replicate it. ‘Black Ocean’ I call it.” Hugin looked around self consciously, “Try being locked in a hot car with you for hours on end, there isn’t enough deodorant in Midgar to cover that smell! I was simply implying that our escorts happen to share a common trait with you; I can only hope that it isn’t your comedic skill.” I looked at the two albino men leading us; their arms and legs, exposed from the black leather clothing they wore, shone subtly with a dull luminescence while their long white hair ran down their backs in a rough pony tail, held in place by leather ties. It wasn’t until now that I noticed a similar glow emanating from my own pale skin. While the light from our escorts was muted and somewhat dirty my own was strong and clean giving a blur to the edges of my skin. “Great,” I thought to myself, “even amongst these freaks I’m still king.” A familiar yet grating noise sprung from my shoulder as Hugin laughed at a private joke. “King of the lightbulbs! Hah!” he cawed loudly, “Good thing I need a night light to sleep!”

“Keep laughing bird-boy, you’ve just earn’t yourself a night outside.” I folded my arms and shrugged my shoulder violently as the escorts directed me inside a small tent. Hugin took the hint and flew from my shoulder in a flutter of wind and feathers. I could hear him grumble as I ducked into the tent and my now guards closed the entrance. “Alone at last.” I whispered to the dark as I settled down on the tent’s single cot bed, “Again.”

That night I dreamt of the wolf. His eyes shone green in the darkness of sleep as he padded softly towards me. I bent down from my throne to welcome his return, offering him the food I do not eat. Closer my wolf comes, closer. The dream shifts and I remember that both my wolves are sitting at my feet, they always have. This wolf is not mine. Through the dissolving world I find myself in the mist of battle fighting against the giants of fire and ice. I know this is the only battle that matters, this is my final fight and I know what is to come I have seen it over and over again, each ending the same. Again, the wolf draws nearer. I hear his ragged breath. My nostrils fill with the putrid stench of death and decay and I know, as I have always known. I pull my staff from the bowels of the dead giant before me and turn. He is there, waiting as he always has. Silently I call the names of the runes inscribed around the bloody staff in my hand and the wood begins to glow red. We stand on the battlefield, the wolf and I. Both waiting for the inevitable, both knowing what is to come. And for a moment, the dream like world becomes clear and I know, I know the name of the one who kills me. As the wolf begins to charge I steady myself. The power of the runes course through me like electricity, everything slows down and I see clearly for the first time in my long life. And I know. I know his name. As the jaws of the wolf close down on my throat I whisper what I know, I whisper his name so that I might know it again. I whisper. I whisper. “Fenrir.”

The raven’s call shocks me awake.The faint stench of battle and blood hangs in the air, remnants brought back from the dreaming world. My neck is sore and my hand burns. Through tired, half open eyes I look down to see a stylized capital ‘F’ burnt into the palm of my hand. The pain begins to subside quickly as I watch the wound heal over in mere seconds, leaving only a faint pink outline against my pale skin, but soon, that too disappears. “What the hell...?” I said, still half asleep.

“It’s happening much sooner than we thought.” a voice said suddenly. I turned quickly to see the old blacksmith standing behind me, silhouetted against the bright morning sun.

“You know what this is?” I said to him, standing.

“In due time young Prince. First we eat, before your raven leaves us with nothing.” With that he turned and left the tent, the cloth curtain moving gently in the morning breeze. I put my hand to my head and sighed heavily, “It’s going to be one of those days again,” before following Volund into the waiting world.

Artist

Octavia Sperati

Song

Dead End Poem

Reason

Those who know me will know well that I love the hauntingly beautiful vocals of a female singer in a death metal band. Octavia Sperati tick all the boxes in this case. Well worth a listen.

A gentle cough from the trees warned me to seek serenity elsewhere; I quickly dropped my hand.