The cries of the living echoed in the void which wasn't a void, sounding out into the unknown beyond the Pillar of Man. The sandy floor stretching into the distance with great branches of light breaking off from the base of the Pillar, slowly bending and shifting, like hands grasping for the void just beyond them.
The branches varied in length. Some were just nubs, little fingers sticking off the tree. Some, unlike the rest of the tree, were dark and enervate, though at times they seemed to glow a little, only to fade quickly. Some branches reached around the Pillar, seeming hugging with a loving embrace the base from which its sprouted. Other branches of an evanescent glow grew wide and far, only to die off past a certain distance, fading and withering, but regenerating the branch as a whole. They all ended at a certain point, just where the sky went black, where there was no view beyond. Wisps float off the branches like dandelion seeds in the wind, floating in an unseen and unfelt wind into the beyond, like a titanic beast was filling its lungs.
And in this beyond there were voices still, coalescing. Motes of light colliding, spinning together like great planets in an eternal dance. Wisps floating, elegant and inextricably pulled towards one another, like to like. All calling out for something more, all becoming more. A branch once more reaches for the horizon, glowing and desperate, and a nascent hand of brilliant light reaches back.
Four new pillars appear in the endless sands, four new and ancient gods are born, and for the first time human and divine make contact beyond a brush.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Andrew wasn’t entirely certain that he enjoyed being gang pressed. The whole affair seemed rather unnecessarily violent. He just so happened to be heading to market that day, the early morning sun gleaming off the red brick buildings. The twisting streets leading him down to the Exe river, with the sky clear and the air crisp, a giddy joy was the natural byproduct. Though he was self-conscious of his gangly arms and legs the morning was enough to inspire skipping, and skip he did. What else was he to do on such a beautiful morning. Oh and what a beautiful morning it would be.
He leaned back on what could be generously called a bunk, which in reality was a few pieces of wood with his assigned bedroll thrown over it and his leather pack as a makeshift pillow. The creaking of the ship around him didn’t help with his general level of comfort, but as long as he took care not to fall off his bunk it lulled him to sleep if nothing else. Mess had just been called, but he had greater things on his mind than hardtack.
He regretted walking to the docks that afternoon. The pull of watching the sunset had been too tempting. From the dock, when activity had died down, there was no better time to watch and think. He had wasted the day a bit, lounging around, talking with the shopkeepers, reading his books by the river. It was only after the sun was almost to the horizon that he realized how fast the time had flown. If only it had been the end. If only he had gone home instead of walking to watch the sunset at the docks. Instead a group of men had approached while he was sat at the edge, asking questions and making noise. He had intended to just wait for them to leave so he could spend the sunset in peace, but his reticence to act, to stand up for himself was exactly what landed him in this position. He should have just run, or fought, or anything, anything at all would have been better. Instead here he was, on a ship bound for Europe, leaving his family behind.
The hull of the ship seemed nearly identical in its makeup as he walked the length of the ship towards stairs up to the deck. Sailors and soldiers in garb befitting of their station passed him by as he idled his way through the halls, the thoughts of home filling his mind. The last few days had taken him from a comfortable future, where a good life full of books and learning and happiness was within reach, to a life of drudgery and toil and danger which might not last all too long. The crepuscular red light of sunset filled the sky as he stared from the bottom of the stairwell, a sliver of the cloud filled heaven above gracing his senses with a salty breeze. “Ahhhh”, a sigh of relief escaped him. The cool air from above pulled the tension of his muscles away as he stepped up the stairs, the sound of sloshing water on the side of the hull growing ever louder.
Seagulls called out as they circled in the sky, laughing as they dove and swam in the air, searching for the fish just below the surface of the placid water. Sailors with the slight sway of seasoned seamen swaggered about their tasks, the setting sun casting the few on deck in a gradient of orange. The deck rolled as Andrew walked to the edge, the lull adding a smoothness to his step that was usually absent. He laid his arms over the railing, taking in the sight of the sun transforming the sky into a spectacle of reds and yellows and oranges. The clouds capturing the light of sundown and the sea alight with roiling color.
The dread of death came over him. He was pressed into sailors garb, given no choice in the matter. Why didn’t I resist? he asked himself, Why couldn’t I make a difference in my own fate? The question stubbornly persisted to pester him as his eyes roved the horizon, refusing to quiet down as he tried to regain his calm and let his mind work on it in the background. He suddenly laughed at himself, how foolish can I be, wanting to matter when I can’t even act, like a child wanting a galleon when he can’t stand on a rowboat.. The thought of his potential death faded into focus again, stark and bloody images of his skin being cut and bones broken, of sleepless nights and encroaching shadows. He shuddered. He didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to suffer, his life had been of comfort and vicarious living. Each book, each character. They all went on adventures, each one of them living their lives, exploring, finding purpose and friends and a life beyond the usual. King Arthur and his knights, Beowulf. Lords of old, great battles, and heroic men. His little life had none of these, no adventure, no purpose, no princesses in need of saving. In those moments of pressure, when the men had surrounded him with their clubs and announced to him what where he was about to go, that thought - I have no purpose - filled his mind, and for a brief second he hoped, a faint glimmer, that this was the opportunity to matter.
The calming sight pulled to him once more, and as his gaze fixed itself upon the wonder before him. We couldn’t help but feel just that, wonder. Here he sat, watching the sun of his ancestors, the sun which would be around long after he would. The sun sat low, dipping just into the sea. It gave light, it gave life, unwavering and beautiful as it ruled the heavens. If only he could touch the sun, perhaps he would shine bright enough for all to see, perhaps then he could matter, maybe it would all make sense.
His chest started to squeeze, feeling as though it was floating upwards, his eyes staring deep into the sun. His limbs faded into the background of thought, his mind for a split second beyond himself. He watched the sun with an eternal view. Watching…watching…watching. His soul began to feel lighter and lighter in his chest, as though it longed to pull him into the heavens. It all made sense, he felt a connection, a connection to everything. This universe made sense, he knew his place within it. A feeling of immense happiness filled him, a drive to go beyond. He could feel it, a realm beyond mundane reality, a place of the infinite and known and unknowable. A realm beyond all that he had ever seen, a place that he had only glimpsed at between stories and nature that pulled deep at his soul, a willing to be beyond, to step beyond finite and to brush the divine, the infinite, the whole of which he was only a part. To become more than just an insignificant speck in the infinite span of the universe and to become more. A place that told him “It is okay, It will be alright, You have your place in the universe.” He understood himself, his emotions, God, the world, he had become more than he was. He understood and accepted who he was. He grasped the beyond.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
You Will Be More.
I have to be. I have to be more. And just as he had three days ago, he thought to himself, with grim sanguine determination, I will matter.
The Divine grabbed back
Fire filled his veins. His soul rapidly filling with weight that mere moments ago hadn’t been present. His chest squeezed, as though it was trying to contain the pressure he felt now build up within. His stomach clenched, next his lower chest, as though something was squeezing his organs. His left leg gave out, collapsing under the weight that he could now feel on his shoulders. The sun blazed a violent bloody reddish orange. He clenched his hands on the railing, trying to keep himself upright as his right leg began to buckle. He slammed downward onto his knees, slamming his head onto the railing. He grabbed the railing again, desperately contracting his muscle to pull himself upward. His cheeks felt a warm warmth, running down from his eyes to his mouth. His head pulsed. Then pulsed again. The sun shown a royal deep red, the sky turning the color of blood, flares of orange flame emitting from its center. He hunched over, his grip on the railing slipping and elbows smacking against the wooden deck. His body now bore the weight upon his back, putting pressure on the legs that kept him from flattening out. He ground his hands into the wood, pushing up against the hidden weight, staring still at the sun through lidded eyes. Only a crumbing determination, a rage against the world for whatever cruel punishment this was for striving for more. I refuse to yield, I will not be nothing, this cannot be it, I refuse, I refuse. The last of his breath was pushed out of him as the weight doubled. No…no..please…no. I will mean something, I will.. I will not.. I cannot…I mean.. I just wanted to find meaning. The sun turned a brilliant white.sky turned white, everything turned white, the pressure disappeared. Andrew closed his eyes.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A titanic eye of darkening yellow opened in the void, spreading color, hot yellow fading to warm orange, fading to brilliant red, fading into the darkness around it. Fading into an even darker nothingness beyond it, into the cold hallowed heart of the void.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A man stood over him, staring at his palm which wept blood, a circle of burned and broken flesh carved in. He didn’t seem as though he was in pain. He just seemed…empty, as though he was a riverbed with but a drop within. His cherry red eyes slid off his palm down to Andrews face, a crooked frown marring his face. “You burn manling, you shouldnt burn” spoke his sibilant voice. He leaned down, sinuously crouching with a casual grace - inspecting Andrew while he did so. His hand once again reached down, only to steam as it grew closer to Andrews arm. A look of shock filled his face, then replaced by a look that on anyone elses face he would have called a shiteating grin. He chuckled. “Why are you here? I can’t quite touch you yet, seem to be connected but somehow out of my reach. I need more time I suppose”. He leaned closer “You'll be a kind fellow and give me that, won’t you, just a little time?”. His grin grew even wider as he leaned back, “Don’t worry, you'll be mine by the end.” His face faded into obscurity as he swiftly turned and walked into the darkness, the smooth rhythm of his steps gliding into the pitch of the night.
Andrew woke up to the frantic words of multiple men and a single lantern held above his head. “Hold on! Come to man””Where did all the blood come from””Is he okay””Someone get the captain”. He couldn’t make out the faces of the men, even now the world above him blurred and shifted. He could feel his eyelids pulling down. Silence, he just wanted silence. The world once again faded to numbness and the titanic eye opened again.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The flogging began at noon. Somehow in the captains mind a man covered in blood and knocked out on the deck was showing “improper decorum” while within a fleet that held royal blood. I doubt the Duke of Cumberland would hear about it anyway, Andrew thought to himself. For now he was in the brig, a cage within the heart of the Fourth Rate Ship of the Line, a beast which carried upwards of 350 men within her belly.
Even if he wanted to escape, there would be little to no way for him to get out unseen. There was only a few days until they docked near Hannover anyways. He had heard some sailors speculating, apparently having heard from the servant who heard from the cook, that they would port in Cuxhaven, so there was hardly a point to worsening his sentence. Not that I have the courage to attempt it anyways.
A few of the sailors had apparently found him wobbling in and out of consciousness on the deck and tried to wake him. He remembered that clearly, though he wasn’t as much worried about that memory as he was the one before. Who was that? Why didn’t he get help? Or do I just remember it wrong? Did it even happen?! He wasn’t really even sure where to begin. Obviously something had happened, even now he felt as though a weight he hadn’t had before was on his shoulders, and his chest felt…”deeper”, as though his heartbeat was the beat of a great drum, the resonance of its strikes deep and shaking. Blood had poured from his eyes, and when they found him they had worried he was already dead. To be honest, I don’t feel any worse for wear, maybe they were just exaggerating. He shook his head a little. The memory felt to real. If I was hallucinating due to bloodloss, how am I so fine now?
His cell door was opened, its croaking wood stirring him from his thoughts. Light entered the room with a soft golden yellow, illuminating the black that had before left him near sightless, its lantern following close behind. “Up on your feet! The man who entered the room was large. Not as tall as himself, but wide at the shoulders and well muscled. His dark beard and hair were well kempt, the beard being moderately long and his hair being cut short. His is voice rang within the confinements of the room, “Up. Your due for your flogging within a quarter hour, I need you on deck!”. Andrew scrambled to his feet quickly, pushing himself off the ground with ease. The man frowned, stopping just inside the door, as if cautious to enter further, “lets go. The captain will be on deck soon”. The captain. Why would the captain be attending my punishment. Why is he glaring at me. The mans eyes had narrowed in the few seconds that had passed since Andrew had started shuffling towards the door as well as he could when his feet were in chains. Ultimately he passed through the door with little but a rough hand on his shoulder and a warning to “do not try anything or I will break your hand”. The passage to the surface was uneventful other than the occasional stares he would get from passing sailors or soldiers below decks. It seemed more empty than it should be, and the humdrum of mens idle
conversations was absent in a way that struck him as wrong. It shouldn’t be so silent. No lower deck should be so quiet. Are they all on deck, it would make sense, where else would they be? The captain on deck to see me and now the majority of the crew…what happened?
Noise rose from the depths of silence as Andrew and his escort approached the top deck. Each stairway opened up new aspects of the humming sound from above, each step allowing him to hear another tremor, another pitch, overlapping and rising and falling all at once. Voices resounded from above, like the cries of battle from avenging angels, echoing down from heaven.
The weighted heat with the ship didn’t lessen as they ascended, only intensifying as the clamor above rose. Sweat dripped down his cheek and sides, little pinpricks of icy fire running along his skin, burning with an intensity that he couldn’t ignore, the fear of whatever awaited him above inevitably hammer away any attempt of calm or thought.
His stomach clenched, tense. They had finally reached the penultimate deck. The cacophony of noise outside quickly intensifying, the baritone of voices shaking the deck, the treble of men cracking against the open air. The final hatch came into sight. His captor pushing him forward “Don’t stop moving”. Andrew didn’t have to look back to see the look of hatred on the man’s face, the cold fury in his voice said it all. He took another step What happened, what do they think I did. It suddenly occurred to him to ask. Idiot he told himself. You could have just asked. This isn’t class with Edmund, you can just ask. Before he could ask the man behind him the hatch to the deck was opened. It croaked as it opened, its old wooden creak quickly drown out by the wave of noise. The place that was so recently one of peace was now one of terror. Andrew took the first step upstairs, the cragged face of the man who opened the hatch quickly receding from view.
The sky was a clear blue, the wind quiet and soft, a perfect day otherwise. Even through the shroud of his gut-clenching fear did Andrew notice this.
The stark white of sailors uniforms blazed in the burning sun, blindingly light. The cacophony of noise he had heard below now hit him with full force, voices on voices. The mass of men pressed down around him, noise and bodies and heat hanging above the ship like a physical force, the pressure weakening his limbs and his breath sticking in his throat.
A yell cracked out over the crowd of man, “Silence! Captain on Deck!”