John stood in the oppressive endless void of pitch black. There was nothing, just him. Had those things that came out of Breader caught him when he collapsed? It didn’t matter, he supposed, it was better for him to end now then go through the torment of hunting that girl for the rest of his life. A girl he didn’t care about, for a man that hated John for nothing more than being alive and not obeying his every word. The void was freedom from the plagues of his life; a father who was never satisfied, a community who wanted to kill him, and a life of searching for answers in a world which had none for him. Was he ever even alive? Had everything he suffered ultimately meant nothing?

The distant sound of buzzing and clicking echoed across the void, a dull blue glow pulsed before him. He took a step towards his fate. The glow turned into dozens of specks of blue and green, each pulsed with life in a slowly discordant fading and brightening. They bobbed in the nothingness around him as the buzz fell into a rhythmic hum that harmonized with the beat of his own heart. They parted as he stepped forward and avoided him as he reached out to touch one. The blues and green snuffed out one by one until once again he found himself in darkness.

An intense heat nipped at his neck, flames licked at his arms and clothes as he turned around into the roaring inferno of red and orange towering over him. There was no pain in the flames that reached out for him, only the rising fear in his heart as he stared into the fires. There was no sound to the flames though he knew there should be, but the smell lingered. The scent of wood fire, oils, and flesh mixed nauseously in the air around him. His sleeves had caught fire, but he wasn’t afraid, he had long since lost the feeling in his arms. He had learned the destructive nature of fire from a young age but had learned of its ability to create as well. The flames engulfed him until he felt the heat across his face and his body was drenched in fire and sweat. From the ashes, rises the phoenix.

The intense light shined upon him as the sweltering heat of the sun beat off his head. His body was stiff and sore, sweat drenching him as it rolled down his neck. The high sun peeked through a large gap in the canopy of the tree that he had collapsed under. The soothing hums of birds and wind rustled his ears as he took in the area around him. There was no sign of the things that had chased him through the forest the night before. He felt a sickness in his stomach and a dryness in his throat.

An image of the light pulsing in Breader flashed in his head and the sickness took him, a thin puddle of bile and the wretched taste of acid. John instinctually reached for his water pouch to clear the taste and dryness from him but was left only with disappointment and pain. He would need to find water before he concerned himself with anything else. It proved a much more difficult task than he would have liked, in his desperate flee he had managed to lose his way in the forest, so he picked a direction and walked. The muscles in his body were sore, slow, and tense, as much from the exertion of his escape as it was from his thirst. How long had it been since he had last drank anything?

The sun was slowly fading into the red hues of the afternoon when he found a rocky outcrop on a small cliff's edge, green vegetation grew in between the rocks in oval disks that were covered in thorns. Cactus, he remembered Hunter calling them, the mountains grew such plants in many places along the hot ridges and had supposedly collected water in their stalks that he could drink. Hunter had mentioned other benefits of the plant but John in his state couldn’t recall them, only an off handed warning about using them as a last resort. He wasn’t sure what the warning meant but decided that it was in fact his last resort before death. He took his knife and carefully removed three stalks from the plant and managed to prick himself several times in the process. John scraped the thorns from each leaf, if that was what he could call them, opened the hard green outside and was rewarded with a moist flesh that was sweet and watery. The taste of the cactus was refreshing, and helped clear the dryness of his throat, a small wave of strength returned to his mind, though his muscles retained their weakness.

As he finished the last of the cactus, he spotted another large group of the plant further down the outcropping hanging off a ledge, large purple fruits grew from the tops of the leaves. A delicacy Hunter had taught him about called cactus apples. Sweet and juicy with a hint of sourness. John eased his way down the small cliff before his body went tight with fear. One of the few sounds that John knew meant certain death echoed against the rocks around him, the loud rattling of a dozen snakes. The cacophony of rattles at different pitches and tempos was coming from directly within the cactus, a deathly home for the venomous snakes that lived within. The apples called out to him; taught with lifesaving water that he had desperately needed. Minutes passed and the rattling warning of the snakes refused to cease, John backed away slowly up the rocky face defeated and thirsty but continued down into the forested valley that lay below.

The forest was vibrant with lively greens and tweeting of birds. The rocky slopes of the mountains gave way to thicker canopies of trees as he descended into the valley that blocked the harshness of the sun in the sky. Roots twisted in the leaves and short grasses which slowed his pace as he picked his way through the labyrinth. John took in the scenery and marveled at its beauty; a quiet reflection of the new life that found a hold in the chaos left in the wake of the old world’s destruction. He wondered if those people had also seen the beauty he did in those times or if any of this had existed in their height before the fall. He had read the books which cataloged some of the natural world before the fall, but it was mostly from a scientific and analytic standpoint than from a more artistic one. John thought of his mother, she would appreciate the forest he knew, and would spend the next few months painting and drawing the trees in various hues of green and orange as the season changed.

The leaves rustled as the forest in the mountains breathed, a freshness that John could feel in his bones. Hints of cold nipped in the breeze as he walked, peaceful and alive. John knew that the snow season was coming upon the valley in a few weeks, the crops of the faithful would be harvested and they would go hunting the wildlife around them as the crops died in the cold. That was an aspect of the village John never understood, why they didn’t store food for the hard season. He had always made sure to salt, cure or pickle the various foods he scavenged and hunted throughout the year, but the village refused to do the same. The old would die of cold or hunger while the young and capable would sustain themselves off the little food that could be found. He thought of the boy who was trying to save food for his father. Was wanting to keep his sickly father alive that much of a crime? He wouldn’t have had to do so if the community had better prepared themselves for the scarcity of food.

He considered a few of the Preacher's sermons he had begrudgingly attended as part of his reward for ridding the community of the demons of the old world. Lessons on humility, obedience, and the dangers of pride. John recalled a sermon during the beginning of the cold season after he had been sent to exorcise a live battery that had electrified a fence further into the ruins of the town. Preacher was poised at his pulpit and delivered the message to the village as the cold chill of the wind descended on them. He spoke of man’s desire to control and command the world around them, to subjugate the land and steal from God’s generosity. The old world had taken far more than it gave back and desecrated the lands with their greed and gluttony. The sin of pride was that world's ultimate downfall he cried, the stores of food and the comfort of life distracted the world from the beauty of God’s works, that if he had desired the people to live, he would provide for them. If there was no food to be found in the cold or the plants did not produce what was needed, then that was the will of God. If a man fell ill and died then it was the will of God for them to return to his side, their roles fulfilled as he had intended. To hide oneself behind the pride of longevity was a sin that God would not tolerate and would bring his wrath upon the village and his faithful.

John thought it was just laziness, or perhaps more accurately ignorance. He considered that if there was a god and he had given the world the ability to think and the will to act then he had already intended for them to take care of themselves. Instead, the faithful cowered behind their faith and discredited the very gifts that this God had given them. That, to John, was a far worse sin. John didn’t truly believe in this God anyways, though he didn’t know of any other alternative to this mindset. Perhaps the world just was, humanity simply existed and grew of their own need to survive and thrive. Maybe something had breathed life into them but just watched at a distance to see what they would do, an eternal experiment. He had been told growing up that the world was only a part of a grander machine of existence, that they were just one gear in the living machine that was life. His father was the one who had spoken of such things. He claimed life had a certain order as one gear turns another so that combined, they may turn another larger gear, and so forth to infinity. He had also spoken cryptically about the essence of will and destiny, though even to this day John lacked the ability to comprehend the riddles that his father spoke in.

John's head throbbed as he picked his way through the quickly thickening forest of trees. It was all so confusing to him. Nothing made sense in the world and the more questions he asked the more his head thrummed with the insistent pounding. Through this pain, he came to realize that he wasn’t sure where he was. Not just in the sense of the terrain and thickets around him but life in general. He was outside of the walls of his prison workshop, free from the ire and watchful judgement of both the faithful and his father. He didn’t answer to anyone out here, but he also had no direction. John was afloat in the world, merely going off the last order and tasks that had laid in front of him. What was it he was trying to do? He knew he was searching for Preacher’s daughter; but to what end? He was searching for answers in the old world to tell him what he should be; but to what goal? The trees spun around him, the pounding in his head stretched into his chest and stomach. His muscles were weak, his knees buckled. The lush greens of the forest were shrouded in shadow and darkness. Each rustle of the wind through the leaves was the cackle of a darkness that stalked him, waiting for the opportunity to strike him.

He hurriedly grabbed at the dry sticks and leaves on the ground around him, haphazardly pulling them into a pile on the ground and frantically struck the flint. He needed the safety of a fire, a barrier against the dark that threatened to choke him. Each strike sent a wave through his body, the throb in his head had intensified and now matched the frantic beat of his heart. His eyes darted through the abyss before him, the laughter of the dark grew louder as the sound of metal on stone rang through the night, a call to the things that lurked just outside his vision that he was alone and unprotected. The sparks flew from the rock, but nothing was caught. Over and over again, the deafening cries of death pulsed through his body, the warping shadow growing ever closer as he cried and begged the embers to burn. A blaze struck before him, licking his fingers as the dry tinder caught, an angry light fought back the encroaching darkness. Yet the thrumming remained, as did the calls of the terrible demons that dwelt within the cursed place. Then silence as the light faded and his body grew limp against the dry rocky ground. The beating of his own heart drew him rhythmically into the darkness of his dreams.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

There was calm, a brightness to the wicked dark that had swallowed him in the woods. John's heart still raced as he stood in the light, an ease in his breath as he felt the wave of peace flow over and through him. The sky was bright but lacked any definable color that he could express. Just a cloudless bright expanse of sunless, colorless sky. There was a large courtyard that he stood in, a rich garden of flowers and short grass that grew wild in the area. Roses, violets, marigolds, and sunflowers covered the ground beside him in a flowery display of elegance and beauty. The soothing sight did little to calm his confusion and paranoia. His eyes darted around the courtyard of flowers and set them on the gates of a large building that formed a U-shape around him.

The porch of this building was held up by white hexagonal pillars set at regular intervals that a slanted red clay tile roof sat upon. The sides of the large structure were white with gold and black highlights that ran the entirety of the covered porch in a geometric mosaic. The center of the U was an enormous set of gold set wood doors with a similar pattern to the mosaic around it. There in front of the gate to the building were a pair of men, slightly taller than john, wearing plain white robes with a red sash that was tied of with a red and gold lions head brooch on the right shoulder and came across their stomach and circled the left side of their hips. The man on the left was lightly tanned, brown hair cropped short against his head. The one on the right was slightly taller than the other, olive skinned and black hair that gently grazed his shoulders. They both stood by the gate, unmoving, with their eyes forward and hands crossed behind their backs.

John considered the two men, they were clearly some kind of guard, but he couldn’t see any weapons on them. He wasn’t sure where he was, but the gate seemed to call to him, a comfort and familiarity that he couldn’t place. He felt himself walking, an odd feeling that was less of a stride and more of a glide across the neatly placed stone of the walkway underneath him. There was no sound to his steps though he knew there should be. He turned as he walked to see a fountain that had been hidden behind the tall garden flowers, water spewed from the rim of a circular platform that held a tangled knot of stone that wove into itself. On the far side of the fountain was a bench where two people sat and talked, one man in a full white robe with red trimming along the sleeves and front tied at the waist with a thick robe. The other man was much stranger to john. The man was thin but well-built and wore a jacket and matching pants of blue with strange black patterns across the fabric and wore an oddly shaped hat that sat neatly on his head at a strange straight angle. They two men were close enough that John should have been able to hear it as both men gestured with grand swaying arm movements and expressions of boisterous laughter. Neither of them seemed to notice him.

John cautiously approached the gate, the two guards in robes stood vigilant on the sides as he grew closer. He instinctually placed his hand over the hidden sheath of his blade but found the pocket to be flat and empty, a panic crept through him, and a sudden sense of helplessness flashed in his mind. Yet the gate called to him, invitingly, as if it had been waiting for him. He stepped up to the base of the steps that lead to the grand entrance, nervously he looked at the guards on either side of him. The man on the left looked straight ahead and seemed to not even notice John's arrival, some guards he thought. He turned to look at the man on the right and jumped as he locked eyes with him. The golden hue entranced John as he stared at the olive-skinned man, his black hair framed his thin face and brightened the already glowing color of his eyes. Again, John grabbed at the front of his jacket for the comfort of the hidden blade that was nowhere to be found. The guard looked John over before returning his gaze back to John's face and gave a simple nod of acknowledgement before he turned his attention back to the courtyard.

John climbed the steps to the looming gate of the building; he noticed the gold mosaic wasn’t just similar to the one on the wall but was actually a continuation of it. The black and gold geometric mosaic twisted around the corners and down the front of the gate in a triquetra with a black circle inside the gold knot. The symbol in front of him was the same as the one at the top of the fountain if it had been expanded into a three-dimensional shape. Just below the grand symbol on the gate were two golden rings that hung on either door at his chest level. He reached out and pulled the rings, but they didn’t open. He looked back to the guards, their eyes still focused on the courtyard, and pushed the gate inwards with less effort than he was expecting. The large gates sung open quickly at his push and opened into a wide lobby with a white and black marble floor. The building was a library, or at least the part he was in was one. The entire length of the lobby just beyond the gate was covered in shelves, small desks were placed in the center pathway on either side to form a walkway up to a circular desk raised off the ground on a platform. He took a few steps inside, his eyes darting across the room to take in the splendor of such an impressive collection.

His eyes drew upon the various people in the library, either scanning the shelves for a certain book or sitting at the various desks with blank expressions on their face as they read. It was unnerving to John, like something was wrong with the people. Each he came across gave no acknowledgement of his existence, briskly walking past him seemingly unaware of his presence or just ignoring him while they read through their books. That act alone confused John, for all the reading these people were doing, none of them were turning a single page, and all of them had the same emotionless glazed look across their face as they did so. He walked towards the circular desk, passing a young woman in a long black skirt and a blue jacket with a white undershirt walk past him, two books under her arm, as he passed it seemed like she was about to walk into him if he hadn’t turned his shoulders away at the last second to let her pass.

“Excuse me, Ma'am,” John said as she narrowly avoided knocking him over. Yet there was no sound to his voice, again he turned to the people and realized some were talking in groups or walking around him on the marble floor but there was no sound. The whole space was devoid of any kind of noise; no turning of pages, scratches of note taking, or clacks of footsteps, just the ever-present silence of knowledge. John could feel the panic rising in his throat again, the back of his mind screamed at him that he was in danger but couldn’t find any source that it could come from. He turned back to the path and headed briskly towards the desk, someone must be able to see him, or hear him. Somewhere in this library was a book or person who could tell him what was happening or where he was.

The circular desk stood in the middle of the room like a watch tower. Every desk in the lobby was visible from the central area, more of the reading desks were behind it in a similar mirrored fashion as the ones he had passed. The desk wasn’t large and only one chair was placed inside, a brown leather armchair with a high back that seemed like it could swivel to see the area behind it. The chair was empty and there was no sign of anyone who John could question about the large library. He looked around the area and saw the series of mirrored desks extended to the left and right of the central dais desk, though the room didn’t seem like it could be big enough to house it all. Unlike the area he entered from, the three other stretches of shelves and desks continued with no sign of the looming grand gate behind him. He felt the same pull from the gate lead his eyes to the right side of the desk, the sense and his own curiosity lead him down past the smaller study desks and further into the sprawling section of the library.

Where the main entrance was full of people searching and reading the various tomes they had selected, this side was mostly empty, and John had only seen two people currently walking the lengths of the shelves that split into various rows. The rows on this side stretched further than he could see, an odd experience that made him uneasy by the sheer unnatural way the library webbed around. The sense tugged him off the main stretch of desks and down a row of shelves off to the left, each filled with various books, journals, and the occasional scroll. John had never seen so many of the precious containers of knowledge, his eyes darted across each spine and the desire to reach out and read every one of them was strong. He recalled the blank expressions on the reader's faces, the creeping fear still present in his mind. He would have to be careful; he didn’t know what any of these books contained or the dangers he faced in doing so. Instead, he let the pull take him further into the stacks of books and weaved his way around corners until his hand was led to a single book on a high shelf to his right.

He reached out to the book which was two shelves above his head just out of reach. Or so he had thought as the shelf he was reaching for was suddenly at eye level, the green and black spine of the book standing out from the plain tans and greys of its neighbors. John pulled the book down and turned it over to see the cover. Much to his disappointment, the cover was plain and empty, no writing or title could be found as he studied the book and the various others that were placed on the shelf beside it. John stared at the blank-faced book, fear welling inside of him. He had been led to this book, so there must have been something in it that could answer all his questions, or so he had hoped. With a sigh of determination, he turned back down the way he came but there was no sign of the corners he had turned to get there, only the infinite stretch of the row of books. He spun around but found the same to be true of the other side. He clutched the book tight against his chest, the feeling of encroaching darkness found him once again. From the corner of his eye, he saw a dart of motion.

The shadows around him darkened, the ever-lit interior of the library dulled, and John was left in the dim back rows of books. Another shape darted past on the other side. He shuffled down the row back where he thought he had come from, his back pressed hard against the shelf. He searched the shadows, his fingers and nails digging into the hardcover of the book. He continued across the row quickly, more shapes darting past him in the shadows. Then he fell backwards, the shelf no longer supporting his weight as he found a corner of the bookshelves. He pushed himself back along the floor, the dark engulfed the row he had been on until it vanished from sight. His back hit hard against another shelf as a figure emerged from the dark. The shape was wiry, and its proportions were wrong; a thin short body, long multi jointed arms and legs with curved talons that protruded from them, and a sharp canine-like head that stretched past its torso. The thing stared at John, with each step he could hear the scraping of its talons rake and clack against the marble. John had nowhere else to go, it drew closer until it loomed over him, a massive figure of dark flowing shadow that drifted off every part of it. The last thing John noticed before it lunged down at him, mouth full of sharp shadow fangs, was the lack of eyes and the ominous sound of wispy laughter.