Six Days

44th Day of Autumn

767 Karloman’s Peace

Complete and perfect balance. An infinite cosmos. Little more than a blip of light in an otherwise unblemished ocean of night. A universe made majestic by the constraint of its boundless potential. A union between the contentment of the void and the ambition of presence, interwoven and blissfully unaware of one another.

“Ekkehard?” a voice echoed through the eternal expanse, disturbing the darkness and causing it to ripple and writhe.

A world of trillions, forever embroiled in their contemplations, infinitely more basking in their serenity, oblivious to their negative state. Beings, insignificant in their grand achievements, bathe in the light of divine error and are ungrateful for it—experiments conducted in arrogance. The foundational rules ignored—beautiful limits broken. The light taunting the dark. The dark resenting the light.

“Ekkehard?” the voice asked a second time, casting waves in the nocturnal ocean. The void heard the words, and they enraged it.

The sea of shadows broils, the unnumbered masses mournfully despairing at the revelation of their denial. Lustful and envious, the dark turns its countless hungering eyes upon the fractions of light. The light pulls inward defiantly, fearful of the clawing abyss, the more robust emitters consuming the weaker, dazzling the endless hordes that come to feast upon them. Balance is undone by the anguish of revelation. The insatiable emptiness is unleashed. The Thin Man is born and born again.

“Ekkehard!” the voice shouted this time. The night exploded.

Understanding was torn from him. He was ripped from his throne of omnipotence, his all-seeing eyes blinded as he was pulled through the very fabric of a reality he barely comprehended. Physical sensation returned to him, and he glimpsed the Book of Heaven lifting away, torn from his hands. Someone was stealing his precious source of divinity, his tome of all things. Ekkehard reached for the dagger at his hip, drew it and brought it to bear against the neck of the thief. He stopped his blade millimetres away from opening Gerwald’s throat. His brother’s face was a mask of horror, eyes wide and terrified, staring at him. Ekkehard’s breath laboured, his nostrils flaring with each rageful inhale.

Realising who stood before him, Ekkehard thought to retract the blade, but before he could, Gerwald’s face became an incarnation of fear as a more frightful weapon was brought to bear against him. The Red Angel, responding to Ekkehard’s unspoken cry, gripped Gerwald by one arm with such force that it was almost torn right off. Gerwald barely had a chance to cry out in pain before he was lifted off his feet.

“No!” Ekkehard screamed. The Angel halted, Gerwald held aloft in the air, his feet dangling. The Book of Heaven fell from Gerwald’s grasp, landing on the floor of their tent.

Ekkehard dropped to his knees and begged his guardian. “Let him go,” he pleaded, and the Angel released his younger brother. Gerwald collapsed in a heap but scrambled back from the being the moment he hit the floor, drawing his short sword as he went. He pointed the trembling blade at the Angel, warding it back. The Angel didn’t react.

“Calm down, brother,” Ekkehard said, crawling on his knees before wrapping his arms around Gerwald’s shoulders, holding him firm and steady. “I’m sorry, I was miles away. You startled me. He just reacted, that’s all. I promise he won’t hurt you.”

Gerwald kept his eyes fixed on the Angel. “You don’t know that,” he replied in a quavering voice.

“I do,” Ekkehard reassured him. He looked at the Angel, and for a moment, he questioned whether he was telling the truth. He wondered if he really understood what the being before them was. “I do, brother, I do,” Ekkehard repeated, hoping the words would make it true.

He had been lost in his exploration of the tome, swallowed by its infinite breadth. The sudden disconnection from that was shocking and painful, and Ekkehard had called out in his mind for help. The Angel had answered his call. It wasn’t the Angel's fault. It was just doing as he commanded. You were just trying to protect me, Ekkehard thought. His racing heart began to calm, and he shook his head, chastising himself for his melodrama. He had no reason to question the loyalty of the Angel. It had never done anything other than what he commanded.

Ekkehard helped Gerwald back to his feet, but his brother shrugged off Ekkehard’s grip once standing. He kept his blade pointed at the Angel as he circled the creature until, at last, his back was to the tent’s entrance. Then, he spun quickly on the spot and fled the tent. Ekkehard followed.

“Gerwald!” Ekkehard called after his brother as he chased him past the Angel and out of the tent into the disorganised camp beyond. “Wait. I’m sorry. He didn’t mean it.”

“Leave me alone, Ekkehard!” Gerwald shouted back.

“You wanted something,” Ekkehard called out, hoping that whatever it was was important enough for Gerwald to stop and talk to him.

“No, I didn’t!” Gerwald shouted back. “Florentin’s after you. Now leave me alone and keep that thing the fuck away from me.”

Ekkehard knew it was pointless to pursue Gerwald any further, so he halted his chase, watching the younger Reubke vanish into the night. His brother would need to calm down before any reasonable discussion could be had. The Angel was a formidable force; coming face to face with it as Gerwald had would be an unsettling experience.

Ekkehard turned and looked back to the large tent that had been his shelter for the night. The shifting form of the Angel emerged from it, lumbering after him. Ekkehard frowned at the being. “Gerwald is my brother,” Ekkehard whispered both to the Angel and himself. “Never hurt him or anyone else I care about again.” The Angel did not respond. Ekkehard wondered if it understood what a brother was. He wondered if the being understood what caring was. He frowned again.

Turning away from the Angel, Ekkehard sighed, putting his whole body into the exhalation. He planted his face into the palms of his hands and rubbed his eyes. He was far more tired than he expected after only a few hours of reading. The book always took its toll on him; that was the cost of the knowledge within and the privilege of being the only one who read it. Tonight, however, it had been excessively demanding. He ached from head to toe, and his head throbbed with pain.

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“I’m hungry,” Ekkehard voiced his thoughts out loud, pulling his hands from his face and looking around the chaotic collection of mismatched tents surrounding him in the dark. It had been sunset when he retired to his tent, but from the looks of things, it was well past midnight now. He had been engrossed in his studies for several hours at least. In that time, it looked like his followers had been productive.

When he last looked upon the camp, there had been only a handful of tents. Now, there was a veritable refugee camp with hundreds of tents, their number illuminated by flickering torch lights. Ekkehard was impressed, even if the place did resemble a slum more than anything else. Those who travelled with him usually barely managed to raise his own tent before it was time to tear it down again. For them to have assembled this in such a short time was evidence of increasing organisation. There was even evidence of some leisurely activities, such as feasting and drinking. He smiled proudly to himself as he took it all in.

Following the riots, the people of Werth had sacked the city and murdered most of the noble class. The Administrative Sector and the homes of the wealthy had been looted. Many of those involved in the sacking chose to stay, hoping to establish their own sense of order within the city. But the people knew that there would eventually be a response. The emperor would send an army to quell the upstart peasantry and appoint new nobles to run the city, and there would be harsh consequences for the people of Werth when that day came.

Thus, when news spread that Ekkehard and his Angel were leaving the city, many thought they were better off joining him on his travels than remaining behind. More joined his caravan of the lost with every village and town they passed on the journey southward. Ekkehard had no idea why those people chose to follow him. He hadn’t asked them to. Most of them he had never even spoken to. Yet, they followed him and his Red Angel, newcomers inspired by tales of the being's power—a being strong enough to topple a city.

Ekkehard wondered what the followers thought he was leading them to. He was headed home to find Hanib and to close this chapter of his story. He was seeking the revenge he was owed. Admittedly, he was doing that more for his brothers’ sake than his own, now that the book had shown him what a petty thing revenge was. He was a speck in an ocean of nothingness. He didn’t matter. Not to any gods, not to the universe, not even really to himself anymore. So why would he care about revenge? Still, his brothers needed it. Closure would be therapeutic for them. But this journey was profoundly personal and mattered only to Ekkehard and his siblings. So why did these people follow? What did they want from him?

Ekkehard shook the question away. He was too tired to think about such things. Gerwald had mentioned that Florentin was looking for him, and he had best find out why, Ekkehard thought as he set off into the camp. The Angel stalked him from a distance, ever watchful.

He found his brother in one of the largest tents in the camp.

Unlike most other tents, which were used as residences for the growing throng of devotees, this tent was purposed as an office for Florentin and a few others he had appointed to manage the logistics of their travels. It was large enough that on one side of the tent, several tables and chairs had been arranged to be used as writing desks, while opposite them, dozens of sacks and chests, all filled to the brim with supplies, were stored, ready to be counted and catalogued. Despite the late hour, half a dozen people were busy carrying out that very task.

"Ekkehard!" Florentin called out as he entered the tent. Florentin rose from his desk, positioned ahead of all others to observe them from a command position, and hurried over to his brother.

"Brother," Ekkehard returned the greeting. "Gerwald said you needed to speak with me."

"Yes, I could use a word. Is he not with you?" Florentin asked, looking behind Ekkehard.

"Gerwald was needed elsewhere," Ekkehard said, thinking better of discussing the subject of the Angel’s outburst with an audience present.

"I see," Florentin replied in an unsure tone. Whatever hesitation was going through Florentin’s mind was quickly dismissed, however, and he continued. "There is a lot to take care of. We have new arrivals every day, and most don’t bring much in the way of contribution. Gerwald’s been a lifesaver when it comes to organising labour, and if you intend for us to stay here permanently, I’m pretty sure he could build a settlement. There is a wood just a mile off, and if the local lord is unhappy with us cutting there, well, your Angel can be very persuasive."

"Why would we stay?" Ekkehard asked, surprised that Florentin even considered that a possibility.

"Well, now, that is the question," Florentin replied with surprising enthusiasm and energy. He had a real fondness for management, Ekkehard thought. Whether it was Vedast’s accounts or the haphazard baggage train forming at their backs, Florentin loved administration. "You haven’t told us much about what the plan is," his brother explained, "and since you decided to stop here all of a sudden, I’ve been planning for every eventuality. But I need to know your intentions before I can get anything major underway."

"What do you mean since I decided to stop?" Ekkehard asked. "We are setting off southward in the morning like always."

“Oh,” Florentin said, his tone deflated and his shoulders dropping. “I see. I just figured things had changed, which was why we were lingering here.”

“Lingering?” Ekkehard asked, genuinely puzzled about what had made Florentin think that. “Florentin, we have only been here a few hours; we are hardly lingering.”

Florentin cocked his head at Ekkehard, the concern in his features evident. He sniggered anxiously and looked at those working in the tent. He stepped closer to Ekkehard conspiratorially. “Ekkehard,” Florentin whispered, his words soft and slow, as if he worried to say them, “we have been here for six days.”

“What?” Ekkehard chuckled at the absurdity. “No, we haven’t.” He eyed his brother, indicating that he didn’t get the joke. Florentin shook his head. Ekkehard felt his jaw wind tightly, and he sucked his teeth. “Brother,” Ekkehard began, “I retired to my tent to read a few hours ago. I haven’t been to sleep. We have not been here for six days.” The worry on Florentin’s face grew more prominent. “We haven’t,” Ekkehard repeated, “stop looking at me like that. It’s been a few hours, that is all.”

“No, brother,” Florentin said, shaking his head, “that was six days ago. You have been in your meditations for six days. We have barely seen you. I sent someone to bring you food and water, and they said you were engrossed in the book, mumbling to yourself. I didn’t want to disturb you, but seeing as you had been there for so long, I assumed you had a new plan and direction for us. I thought the book must have shown you something.”

Ekkehard could hear it in his brother’s voice and see it on his face: He was not jesting. There was no deception or motive in his words. They were true. “Six days?” Ekkehard repeated. Florentin nodded.

His hand twitched, reaching for the Book of Heaven in the sling at his hip. It wasn’t there, left behind in the tent following the ordeal with Gerwald and the Angel. His body went cold, and a shiver ran up his spine. The air he exhaled turned to vapour before his eyes. How had six days gone by without him noticing? His head swam, and he went dizzy, almost losing his balance. His hunger magnified, his muscles weakening, his throat barren from thirst.

“Are you okay, brother?” Florentin asked, grabbing hold of Ekkehard to steady him. Ekkehard gripped Florentin tightly for a moment until he regained his balance.

“Yeah,” Ekkehard answered, not wanting to alarm Florentin, but he could see from his brother’s expression it was too late for that. “I’m just tired,” Ekkehard added, trying to downplay the situation as much as possible. “Lost track of time. We set off in the morning. I’ll get some rest. I think I have done enough reading for a bit.”

Florentin eyed Ekkehard up and down, assessing him. “Can you take me somewhere there is food?” Ekkehard asked his brother, who nodded in response, leading Ekkehard out of the tent and supporting his weight as they went.

Six days, Ekkehard thought to himself. How did that even happen?