CHAPTER SEVEN: STRUCK

Calin sat up close to dawn. Something was out of place, off. Darkness was still a heavy blanket outside, but the early birds’ songs were loud and clear. Then it started.

Immediately sweat started rolling off him in buckets. A sensation not unlike being in a sauna settled over him, but it was worse than that. His skin was starting to pulse in irregular beats of intense heat. He rolled hastily from his bed, desperate to find something cold.

As he jumped at the slightly hidden ladder for his loft, he almost lost his footing, barely stopping just short of the edge in shock.

Shrugging it off, Calin slid more than climbed down the ladder. It didn’t even register as he landed with a sting on the hard floor. He stumbled forward in his anxious search, not caring in the least when Jerry groggily groaned as he woke up from the crashing around the barn.

“Calin...?” came the boy’s voice.

Jerry sat up thick with sleep, wiping at his puffy eyes. But ignoring the boy Calin scampered to his right. He threw open every barrel he could find, but none contained water, his skin was on fire.

Jerry found his voice a bit more behind him. “Calin... what on earth are you doing?”

Calin glanced at the boy, but didn’t stop his frantic search to answer.

“Are you alright mate?” Jerry asked more anxiously. “What’s wrong?”

Calin’s thoughts were hazy through the question, but he managed to croak out one phrase. “Water… I need water!” He almost paused at the sound of his own hoarse voice, but he scrambled towards the last accessible barrel in the barn.

To his dismay it was only grain.

He had to find water, his body was burning up. Somehow he didn’t know if he could last much longer.

It was almost unbearable, yet he was certain it was no fever, it had come on him much too fast. Something was wrong, so very wrong.

The numerous crates that took up the back of the barn flew from his mind. They couldn’t contain what he needed.

With a hard push against the large barn doors to get outside, he almost fell to the ground as they swung open. Luckily he got his footing at the last moment.

His blurred vision was only making his search all the more difficult as he tried to find something, anything.

The field’s wide expanse was easiest to make out, and to his left he spotted the windmill, its slow turning blades promised what he so desperately craved.

At his back there was the sure sound of Jerry stumbling to get out of his sleeping bag, it was nothing but a slight hindrance in Calin’s muddled senses. He turned his head to see Jerry, maybe the boy could help.

No, he can’t. Calin shook his head and stumbled on, he needed water and he needed it fast.

***

Outside, he glanced back to mark the windmill as his location, but to his utter dismay it was not there anymore.

Not the field making waves in the wind, not the houses waking up with their dim lights, making ready for the morning’s business. Not the town he had lived in for the last seven years. Everything was gone.

It was replaced by a deserted plain dotted with black scorched boulders. The sun enveloped him in heat high up in the sky.

What’s going on? Calin lifted his arm and was caught off guard by a scar of an old wound on his hand that he did not recognize.

Then to his horror, he could see his whole arm was burned beyond recognition, it was still simmering. He froze in terror, but the need for something cold overwhelmed every other thought.

It was look for water or die. But as he scanned his surroundings for anything, he slowly realized it was futile. There would be no chance in this water forsaken place.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The glare of the sun on the black boulders promised nothing but death, and the arid landscape reached as far as the eyes could see. There was no way out, all he could do was face his enemy.

He prayed a silent prayer that his children would live safely away from these terrible murderers.

The strange thought shocked Calin’s foggy mind immensely, but as he turned he fell to the ground, only to register the pain in his crippled charred leg. He forced the sword into the ground and tried to give some support to his faltering body. His lungs resisted the air that slid into his throat with a burning sensation, and all he could do was pant as he lifted his gaze slightly.

The only thing visible to him through his blurry eyes was the dark-bronze coloured armour gleaming on the legs of his pursuer.

The armour had seen many battles, but it was the sword that came into view that held his gaze, it was black as night, with a wicked jagged edge on the one side, blood dripped from a few of the sword’s bloodthirsty teeth.

“There is nowhere to run this time,” a voice said with venom. “Do you hear me?! Not this time. Fifteen years I have searched...”

Calin tried in vain to get his head to lift higher to mark the man’s face. But he couldn’t. The figure got closer and closer and Calin’s only thought then was to deny something. What should I deny? He didn’t know, but there was no other choice, not anymore.

All of a sudden the words formed on his lips, a battle cry that echoed into the rocky terrain,

“YOU WILL NOT USE ME!!!!”

Everything happened in a blur then, he swung his sword up, making the armoured man stagger backwards, giving enough time to reach into his bag to draw out a silver artefact. It had remained unused for years almost beyond number, but it was time.

A last resort.

Its only purpose was to deny himself from being taken, it was a final desperate act to stop them. Stop their insane plans.

It didn’t make sense for Calin, he couldn’t even guess who they were or what plan, but every fibre of his being believed it was necessary. Heat radiated from the thing in waves, unstable in all ways. The real fear of burning alive fought to come to the surface, but he shook it off. It needed to be done. There was no alternative anymore. He hoped his children would forgive him.

Then without knowing at all what his body was doing, Calin laid his burnt hand upon the ancient artefact. He dragged his shaking fingers in the intricate pattern he had feared his entire life.

A great white explosion of light flashed into existence and engulfed him.

In the distance a cry of outrage sounded “No, it ... What are you doing?! NOOO!”

And Calin fell into water.

***

I’m so sorry...

Sounds echoed as he was sinking into the bliss of the deep cold water, Calin didn’t even begin to feel the need to try and break the surface for air. In the wet embrace there was peace, it had been time.

In the dark waters around him an arm suddenly plunged in. It was a pale arm, and without warning it reached around his chest and heaved him up.

There was a reluctance to be forced to leave the soothing water on his skin, so Calin put up a fight. Yet as he broke the water and took a deep gasping breath he finally got control of himself.

Jerry’s telltale pale arm was around his chest pulling him up the edge of the windmill’s dam. He heaved himself over with Jerry’s help. Without real care of himself, Calin fell to the small flat roof of the tool shed against the dam’s wall.

After a minute he got up onto his knees and sat there panting. He lifted his eyes and Jerry was there taking great gulps of air, head still downcast, eyes wild.

A second later Jerry shouted at him through breaths.

“ARE YOU INSANE?! What... uh... came... over you?”

But before Calin could answer, the boy gasped in horror pointing at him.

“Calin! Your body is steaming!”

With apprehension, Calin looked at his own arm, almost expecting the charred flesh to greet his eyes, but the welcome sight of his own intact arm surprised him. But there were steaming clouds coming off it like something extremely hot doused by water.

Bewildered, he almost fell off of the small roof, before he gasped. “I don’t know what... happened. It felt as if I was on... fire, ugh, ugh literally. It’s gone now, I think.” He climbed down towards the steady ground.

Jerry was right behind him as the boy said, “I don’t understand… what’s going on?” He was still gulping in breaths.

Calin almost said ‘Heck if I know,’ but refrained as he ventured towards the barn, he needed to pack his things.

Jerry called after him, “Maybe I should get Misses T. This is some weird stuff.”

A fierce impatience with Jerry flared up out of nowhere and for no apparent reason he could discern, he just said through his gritted teeth, “No.”

Anxiety consumed him, he was anxious to go ... But go where? ... He stopped with the thought. He couldn’t think of an answer, helplessness flowed through him for some reason.

There was a need to help someone, but he didn’t even know who needed his help. The questions were almost mind-numbing.

The itch on his back wasn’t helping him solve his conundrum either.

Calin scratched at the awkward place, trying to rid himself of it, it not only persisted but it got worse. This night was driving his senses insane, he couldn’t think clearly with the itch, Jerry nagging. That itch!

The barn was not far off. But it was far from his mind. The urge to scream into the night was almost overpowering. It was so unfair; he should’ve been there to help that man. Calin didn’t even know who that man was, but the voice had on some basic way reminded him of the chaotic dream of his father, the dream that his wildest fantasies had created.

The thought only made the feeling worse.

The twice be cursed itch on his back made him want to tear his skin away to make it stop, he desperately needed to think.

Then out of nowhere a great boom sounded and an immense weight hit his body with an incredible force, ground hit his face as lightning struck. The cloudless skies flashed through its bright and deadly passage.