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A bright light cut a path through the darkness, radiating with warmth and desire. It was an aspiration; it bore the scent of spring. Standing in its light, Shaw felt his sores and pains melt away like snow in the summer, the voices in his head dispersed against the coming tide. It was paradise, a place of upmost beauty, a place free of sorrow and woe.
‘Mother,’ his voice quivered, his hand outstretched. He walked towards it with hope in his heart.
‘Paradise does not belong to the wicked. Remember, son,’ his father whispered. ‘Say farewell to your mother.’
The darkness pressed inwards and strangled the light.
‘Please,’ he said, but his voice was hardly audible, his mouth filling with the taste of decay.
He could feel rotting hands clamouring to his naked skin where the light vanished, and darkness took its place.
Shaw ran as the path of light narrowed, two walls of pitch-black pressing against him.
Do you ever feel guilty, Shaw? For the violence you have done?
The walls pressed inwards, but he couldn’t move.
Violence takes a heavy toll. It depraves the soul.
He couldn’t breathe.
You always lie! Lie to others! Lie to me!
He had to move. He had to move! Breathe. He couldn’t breathe. You will burn, Shaw. The great pits await you. You’ll burn.
Images flashed before him, striking his vision like lightning. A nail was driven through a man’s hand, blood and red flesh, a hammer rung, the nail driven deeper.
‘Evil is found in the heart, the tempting shadow that all men wrestle with. To give in is to be a bearer of evil, no different from a bearer of disease,’ Shaw could hear his father speak, detached and ominous, and he found that it morphed into his own voice. He could hear the scream; it tore through his ears. ‘Death of the sinful is the lesser of two evils, a vile action of necessity that shall bring paradise! They must be cleansed. They must be burned.’ The images flashed again and again, grotesque, the figure hanging from the wall, arms sprawled like an eagle’s wings.
The light died.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
He was sinking.
He couldn’t breathe.
Pressure broke his bones.
Dead hands clamoured to his naked body.
Rotting hands crawled down his throat.
He couldn’t breathe.
*
‘Shaw, please.’
He was standing in the common hall, light glowing beneath him. A lantern lay near his feet, and the whole place reeked of straw and oil.
‘Shaw, please.’
He looked up and saw Aike crucified to the wall, his face a mockery of the human visage, broken and bloody.
‘Please,’ Aike’s swollen lips repeated. ‘Please...’
The light around Shaw displayed the thick blood that drenched his hands and wrists, and the hammer that dangled in his right hand.
‘Burn,’ Shaw mumbled, the words stuck in his head. ‘Burn.’ He dropped the hammer, and it smashed the glass of the lantern.
The small flame escaped its cage, devouring the oil, the straw, and the air. It grew rapidly, smoky tendrils rising from its flaming body. The fire spread and slithered through the hall and the keep like a giant serpent. The smoke squeezing and throttling, seizing its grip. Shaw coughed and spit, his mind racing at the realization of his mistake.
He ran through the hall, but he couldn’t see through the smoke that had formed a black wall. It encircled him, drove into his lungs. Shaw stumbled forward coughing violently. He tried to stand, but something collapsed behind him in a rain of embers. Shaw stumbled forward, failing to the ground, pain exploded through his body; he could taste salt in his mouth.
‘Shaw.’
Shaw’s gaze twitched towards the sound, but he saw nothing.
‘Shaw!’ He looked up and saw John standing before him. He seemed younger and his sword was drawn. ‘I challenge you to single combat.’
Shaw got to his feet and drew his sword. ‘To the death.’
John grinned.
The swords clashed amidst fire and smoke; their steel rang over the roaring flames. Shaw parried John’s blade, but it travelled through his steel and cut him across the chest. Shaw buckled with hissing breath. How!
‘You cut like a butcher and your footwork is sloppy, Shaw.’ Shaw looked behind him and saw Darshan stride towards him with sword drawn, wind dancing in his hair. ‘Again!’
Shaw faced him and the dance begun again, but Shaw didn’t have a chance to act before Darshan’s blade cut him across his thigh. Shaw bit down on the pain, stumbling a few steps back.
Shaw felt a searing pain in his chest and saw Judge standing before him with knife buried deep into his ribcage. —I shall wait for you, traitor.’ Judge pushed him away and laughed. Shaw fell through the flames and came to a crashing halt against the door. He started flinging himself against it with all the force he could muster. Again and again, he slammed himself against the door, the wood shivering and rattling beneath the impact, until it snapped open.
Stumbling out in the cold Shaw could hear Arthur’s voice through the howling wind. ‘You disappoint me, Shaw.’
I know.
He felt a sharp pain shoot up from his leg. He looked down and saw a knife sticking through his thigh, dripping with blood.
Shaw collapsed into the snow, feeling the cold teeth of winter gnaw and bite him, driving its chilled fangs through his skin. He saw the boy standing above him, looking at him with those same black pits.
‘I hate you,’ he said, before he dispersed in to flakes of snow.
Shaw couldn’t muster the strength to stand, but he fought, crawling towards the cellar. It will protect me against the wind. He refused to die.
Snow swirled around him, and thunder rolled in the distance. He could hardly see five feet in front of him.
‘Shaw.’ He saw a figure seated in the snow; a baby snuggled in his arms. ‘That will be your name. Shaw. You will be a better man than I ever was. You won’t make the same mistakes.’
Shaw watched his father. He could feel the warm blood that smeared him, dripping down from his face.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
All around him, he could hear crows and ravens chanting. Death! Death! Death!