“Are you awake?” Like the innocent drops holding to the leaves after the night’s violent storm, a masculine voice called through the darkness. Pulling Christoph from unconsciousness, the world instantly transformed into one of pure light. “There you are.”
It was a warm realm of infinite light. There seemed to be no end to it.
“Where?” Christoph looked around for the man who’d spoken. “Who?”
“I am here, boy.” Firm as the mightiest trees in the forest and as gentle as the breeze through the grass, the man answered him. A hand, rough with age and work, extended through the blinding light. Christoph was not worried. There was no anxiety in this world—only what is as it exists. “Take my hand.”
And he did.
“I’ve watched you for some time, son of Edmond and Silvana. The eldest of the Gildensons. A new generation that remembers what once was forgotten.” The hand pulled gently to hoist the boy up from the solidified light that acted as ground. This charming voice continued. “I’d accepted my place beyond the realm of man, for time is the death of all things.”
“Where am I?” Christoph felt himself being lifted, even floating, up through the light toward the voice.
“You are between worlds, my boy.” Sharing this fact did make Christoph’s heart sink a bit. “But a very peculiar thing has happened this day. A boy of the fields and of the soil has stumbled into that which seekers have sought. Interloper of damned fortunes, this boy has absconded with eternity. Very interesting, indeed.”
The voice continued, but through the light came the face. Twisted locks of red hair fell from the man’s head. Green eyes like emerald fields sloped in toward a lavish forest stared back at Christoph. The skin was pale, yet it was obvious this man knew of hard labor and survival. Ashen skin that seemed freshly born yet aged by eons held Christoph’s hand and guided him closer.
Furs adorned the man. Several tools of his trade were looped through thongs of leather or belts tied off around his limbs. Axes, a bow, a number of knives, and different smaller items and pouches were wrapped up around his waist. A hunter and wild man by sight, but a prophetic teacher by sound; Christoph felt a warmth just being in his presence.
“You wear my emblem about your neck, yet you know nothing of me. Why have you done this?” The man’s voice probed the newly welcomed spirit. His free hand reached forward and lifted. A small wooden item rose in front of Christoph’s eyes.
As Christoph found the words in his throat, all that was light became darkness. The man was still as visible as he’d been, but eternal shine had given way to the emptiness of night. Still, the boy felt safe and welcomed.
“My father gave it to me.”
“And you would blindly accept his faith?”
Christoph thought about this. He’d never been party to such palaver subject to philosophy. The grandest of conversations were often of the wilds or of the crops—never what lies beyond the boundaries of their small human village.
“It is important to him. He is a great man. I’d accept any advice or gift he offers.”
“Has his belief made him great?”
Another short pause.
“My father will always be a great man. An honorable man. His faith is just one of many things that make him great.” Christoph wasn’t sure how to pretty up his responses. He’d been a commoner with common thoughts of ignorant glories and valor. He could only answer what was in his heart.
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“Interesting.” The man, in the vastness of empty space, smiled at the lad. “Then, will you be a great man?”
Christoph recoiled a bit. “I,” words were hard to find. “I want to be a great man.”
“Then you must make choices to become one. No simply lived life produces extraordinary men. There must be more.” Releasing his hand, the man extended both arms to present the surroundings. As he did so, darkness gave way to eternal light. “A man may toil in the fields until the end of his days, but what does he do with the crop? What yields of his labor are shared? What benefit does he provide another? Does his smile warm, does his hand carry, does his heart welcome?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Why is that?” The man inquired of Christoph whose eyes had dropped to the light below.
“I want to be a great man, but—”
Tears began to fill his eyes. He tried to hide it, but they shined like stars in the endless illumination.
“But what?”
“I couldn’t save my brother!” The memory, now beyond the horrors of the tomb, slipped back into his brain. That was his goal. That was his need, was to ensure his brother survived. The more he considered the memory, the more he knew he had seen an unbreathing body instead of an unconscious one.
One hand reached forward to rest gently on the shoulder of Christoph. His tears wouldn’t stop. In this place between worlds, truth and understanding are easier. Inhibitors of the human form are nonexistent, and so the entity allowed the boy time to grieve. His eyes remained fixated on Christoph, but time passed by as they waited for him to calm himself.
“I couldn’t! He was just lying there. I tried to block it. He shouldn’t have been there. I should have saved him! I tried! Dammit, I tried!” Christoph’s hands were at his eyes. The warmth on his shoulder gave him the strength to cry. It gave him the knowledge that, in this place of solitude, that his tears wouldn’t rob him of his manhood or that he might weaken his spirit. In this place, his grief was welcomed as well.
“You did try.” Christoph had sobbed for some time but looked up to the man that spoke as a familiar friend. “You did more than most would. I’d had my fill of mankind eons ago and turned my eyes from them. Yet, all this time had gone by and the fruits of my seeded memory still blossom.” His second hand reached out to wipe away the last tear from Christoph’s eyes. “I’ve seen goodness in you. Know that this is truth, or we would not be talking now.”
“What do you mean?” Christoph had been dumbfounded from the beginning. The explosion of permissible emotions had left him feeling a bit empty in this world of eternal darkness or light—swapping constantly between the other.
“You will find your path. That of a king cursed to restrain darkness or the servant that must forever live his shame. All the while, he that held such disdain for all you would do watches. The paths have been crossed and the dice cast, and I have intercepted you. I see within your heart,” the man drew the lad in closer. The warmth of his touch and the scent of his breath soothed Christoph through all the pain and all the agony of life, “I will not let him have you.”
Christoph opened his eyes in the world that he’d known since birth. The cold stone of an unknown dungeon felt neither too cold nor too hard for his body. What weakness he’d felt before, the muscles were now dulled to any such exhaustion. It seemed to go unnoticed in the beginning while the lad tried to steady his eyes.
“Ah!” The dragonkin clawed at the ground to push himself away. A corpse, now more bloated and with discolored flesh festering, stood limply in a prison of bones. The eyes had begun to dry inward. The skin and meat of the loosed arm dangled like scraps for vermin to come and devour. It looked like days had passed since he’d seen his body last, and time had not been kind. “No!”
The dragonkin shuffled forward with caution. One claw reached out to the cheek that had been cut and placed his palm against the face. It felt cold but natural. Part of him expected to see the body leap to life. Yet, he couldn’t help himself. He had to reach out, touch him, and confirm that his own body was dead.
As Christoph looked into the sunken eyes of his own corpse, he wanted only to cry for the life he’d lost and that which he failed to save. Only there were no tears. There was no explosion of emotion. The potion that takes life takes much that makes life, and that vial of accursed poison robbed the body of its soul. Two pieces of a whole spread across a distance. The pain, the love, the suffering, the bliss… all dulled slightly in the dragonkin’s body.
Christoph wanted to cry, but instead he gazed at his own corpse with a sick fascination. Then there was a knock.