Fate’s Peak Page 6

  After William finished the pancakes, he picked up the last piece of fruit—a yellow pear—and bit into it. He mulled over its texture, which dissolved like sand on his tongue, and found its bittersweet taste refreshing in a way. He tried to prolong the enjoyment but finally had to toss the core away. Wiping his chin clean with the back of his bandaged hand, he scanned the horizon for the point that defined his destiny, that distant bulge rising over the plain. A haze shrouded its tip, but its base seemed broader than before; he measured it at four finger-widths, feeling satisfied at his progress. The wolf padded over to him, glancing at him as if encouraging him to get to his feet.

  “No hurry,” William said. Patting his clothes, he felt how they had dried overnight, and he glanced around to find his hat resting in the grass next to his sword. He picked up the hat and put it on his head, shading his eyes from the Sun as it smiled down at its favorite son. He figured he had wasted enough time with breakfast, so he grabbed his sword and used it as leverage to push himself to his feet. Turning his back on the Sun, he faced the bulge on the horizon and whistled for the wolf to follow as he tromped through the field. His heart sank as the grass thinned out and the cracked earth reappeared under his feet. He looked back over his shoulder as he walked away from the field; gritting his teeth, he turned his gaze forward to the grey expanse that separated him from the horizon.

  William found it harder to think of the plain as a wasteland, for all the clumps of grass he passed were green. Thoughts of progress buoyed his heart as he watched the grass blowing in the wind. Sniffing, he found that the stench of decay had been dampened by this new life, making the trek more tolerable. The wolf gallivanted by his side, as if the plain was its playground, each patch of grass a new mystery for it to explore. It paused at every clump to sniff and mark its territory in case some other wolf passed by. The wolf’s antics were a pleasant respite from the monotony of the plain, so William tolerated its erratic pace—watching as the wolf performed its ritual, pondering the joy of ignorance. He almost wished he could transform into a wolf so he could frolic across the plain without any concerns. After each stop the wolf would look at him, as if to say, “Everything’s under control here,” before loping off in search of the next clump of grass.

  William knew the desire for ignorance was pointless—almost heretical—but that did not deter such thoughts from dancing through his mind. They were more pleasant than the other thoughts—those about his destiny and the future of the plain. He had put his life on the line to bring the grass to life, and terror gripped his heart as he wondered what he would have to do to cause more significant changes. He could not understand how he alone could cleanse this world of its rot; no matter how hard he stared into the future, it never emerged from behind the horizon of his mind. The promise of its emergence only disappointed him because each revelation only told of greater mysteries lurking out of sight.

  Thoughts of the future were so hard to grasp, William despaired of ever reaching it. His feet continued carrying him towards it while he tried to divine where they were carrying him. Hitting a blank wall in his mind, he returned to reality in time to see the wolf bound over to another clump of grass. It cocked its leg to mark, but nothing came out, so it sat on its haunches to sniff itself.

  William took a few steps away from the wolf, and it jumped back to its feet to follow. A snarl of fury rent through the air, freezing both of them in their tracks. The wolf cocked its ears in all directions, searching for the source of the sound. The viciousness of it chilled William to his bones and adrenaline started pumping through his veins. His fingers tingled with anticipation as he tightened his grip on his sword’s hilt, raising it into fighting position as he looked around for his opponent.

  The wolf heard a crunch of dirt from ten meters away; it raised its head, howling its challenge, and it charged past William, who had been looking in all the wrong directions. He spun on his heels and saw a panther with midnight-black fur, bracing for the wolf’s attack. He charged as it snarled and raised a paw to swipe at the barreling wolf. The wolf leapt out of the way and pivoted as it landed, launching itself at the panther’s side. The two rolled on the ground in a cloud of dust, teeth and claws.

  William roared as he drew his sword back to strike at the panther’s flank. Before he could join the fight, the panther lashed out with its rear paws and launched the wolf through the air. It tumbled and landed with a thud in the dirt. The panther rolled onto its feet and prepared to pounce on the wolf—the muscles in its legs and haunches bunching up. William roared louder to grab its attention. It cocked its head to the side and looked at him with a red haze in its eyes, twisting its body around to face him.

  William slammed to a halt a few feet in front of the panther. Looking into its bloodshot eyes, he shivered at the emptiness within the creature. This is a natural killing machine, a vehicle of the Darkness. He glanced along its body and saw splotches of dried blood coating its hide. Traces of fresh blood ran in rivulets down its side as well. He set his feet to attack but the panther pounced first. He lashed out at it with the flat of his sword and made contact with its broad shoulder. The transfer of energy from steel to flesh altered the panther’s trajectory, but it swiped a paw at him as it tumbled past. The claws raked his chest and his breath caught in his throat as the pain seared through him. He touched his chest and felt blood oozing from beneath his cloak.

  The panther twisted itself about as it hurtled through the air and landed on its feet. It spun to face William, who had pivoted with the panther. He wagged his sword in the air as the panther snarled and charged at him. He swung at it with all his strength, but it jumped out of the way. Setting its paws in the ground, it launched itself at his unprotected side. He spun to block this new attack, but the panther’s full weight plummeted into him. He fell onto his back as it went for his jugular with bared teeth.

  William brought his sword up with a flick of his wrist, between his throat and the panther’s chest. Its teeth gnashed in front of his face, a putrid smell wafting over him, as the edges of the blade cut into its flesh. The panther snarled and dug its claws deeper into William’s flesh. He cried out as the pain reached a crescendo, but then the panther’s maw vanished from before his face and its weight lifted from his chest as a grey flurry hurtled into its side.

  William picked himself up and charged to where the panther and wolf were rolling over each other. The wolf had its mouth locked around the panther’s throat while it clawed red gashes into the wolf’s side. William set one leg on the ground and brought the other back, kicking at the panther’s side with all his force. It spun through the air, blood showering from its torn throat, and landed in a heap.

  The panther tried to lift itself onto its front legs, but it fell back to the ground. It let out a too-human scream as its lifeblood pooled in the dirt. The death cry lasted only a few seconds, but William thought it would stay with him until the day he died. The panther continued to writhe on the ground in the throes of death; suffering could be seen in every twitch of its tail, every undulation of its blood-soaked body.

  William felt bile rising into his throat. He walked to where the panther lay, oblivious to all but its own pain. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he raised the sword and stabbed down through the panther’s skull. Its body fell still and its eyes misted over in the thankful release of death.

  William let the sword slide from his hand and turned away from mangled carcass. Doubling over, he vomited on the ground. When the heaving stopped, he dragged his feet back across the ground towards the wolf, where it was licking its wounds. He looked down at his chest through a mist of tears and saw trails of blood running through slashes in his cloak. He felt no pain, only remorse. Slumping to the ground beside the wolf, he wanted nothing but to sleep, to forget the panther’s scream.

  William lay back on the ground, but the rush of blood to his head sent his mind whirling with grotesqueries. Fresh nausea racked through his body. He s
at up and rested his chin on his hands, closing his eyes to meditate, to find his center. The nausea passed and he looked down at his ripped cloak, blood stains running down its length. The image of the panther’s face—inches from his, bits of flesh stuck between its yellowed teeth, the frenzy in its eyes—flashed through his mind. The fear he had felt in that moment gripped his heart again. I would have died if not for the wolf. He reached out and patted it on its back—the fur matted with blood. The wolf whined and lifted it head from where it had been licking a cut on its side, looking at him with a glint of pain in its eyes.

  “Sorry.” William withdrew his hand. “You are going to be all right, boy. The wounds will heal. I do not know if licking them helps, but I will look at them after I wrap mine up.”

  William looked down at his chest and counted ten crimson tributaries that ran down his cloak, joining into a stream which flowed down to its hem. Fresh blood continued trickling down as he watched, and he became aware of the pain burning his chest. It shook him out of his reverie, urging him to staunch the blood flow. He unclasped the cape from his shoulder and laid it out on the ground so he could cut it into bandages. Where is the sword? Oh… He recoiled at the prospect of returning to the panther’s carcass.

  William knew he had no choice; he looked across the battlefield and saw the glint of the blade in the middle of the blood-soaked ground. As he tried to stand, a wave of exhaustion swept over him, but he took a deep breath and kept pushing through the pain until he was on his feet. His legs felt like rubber under him, wobbling as he took the first step. He paused to regain balance, gasping for breath, then he took another step. Each step brought him closer to the panther’s torn carcass, and each step was harder than the last as his nerves screamed for him to turn his back on the sight. His will won in the end; standing beside the dead panther, he closed his eyes and bent to scoop the sword up in his quivering hand.

  As William’s fingers wrapped around the hilt, he heard tuneless whistling drifting through the air. He stood up too fast and the world started spinning around him. He swayed and stumbled back from the carcass. The world stilled and he looked around for the source of the whistling. Thirty paces to his right, he saw a robed figure casually approaching him. He took a firm grasp of the sword’s hilt and tried to wave it at the figure, but his arms were dead weights. He let the sword tip fall back to the ground and leaned upon it like it was a staff.

  The robed figure continued whistling as it strolled towards William. This figure was not confined within the limits of Time and liked to take everything at its own pace. Death was not a variable in this land, or anywhere else in the Galaxy. It would always be there, so, instead of making things worse than they already were, it liked to maintain a leisurely pace and try to lighten the mood. William could have told Death that the whistling only made his blood run cold, but he had been frozen from shock and could not form a rational thought. His eyes danced in their sockets as he watched the figure’s approach.

  Death came to a halt beside William and calmly surveyed the panther’s carcass. “My boy! My boy! Is this here your doing? Quite a show. Quite a show, indeed! Haven’t seen such work in some time. I think I like you. You truly appreciate the finer side of life.”

  Laughter rang out of Death’s throat like a bell, sending a chill racing down William’s spine. He sputtered, trying to think of anything to say in response. He studied the figure’s skeletal face, cloaked in shadow under its hood. He gasped and looked away when he saw the red orbs where its eyes should have been. The silence stretched out, but Death waited patiently for a response. “Who… who are you?” William asked.

  “It talks! Good question, my boy. It feels like eternity since I’ve been asked to explain myself. Yes, it can quite boring out here.” The figure flourished its arms and gave a deep bow. “Even for Death.”

  William’s eyes widened and he stumbled backwards. Death grinned at him. “Yes, I am none other than Death incarnate. Thankless work, I tell you. But there’s no need for you to fear me unless you think those tiny scratches—” Death traced a finger down the trail of blood on William’s cloak, causing him to jerk away “—will kill you. Now, now, no need to be afraid. I’ll save you the mystery: you ain’t gonna die today.”

  Death laughed at the joke it alone could see. William remained speechless as his mind tumbled. Am I supposed to destroy this apparition? It sounded absurd but who was he to question destiny? He stood up straight and changed his grip on the sword so he could attack at a moment’s notice.

  However subtle William tried to make the motion, Death was more observant. It raised one bony hand, which stuck out of the folds of its sleeve. “What do you think you’re doing, now? I already told you who I am, no point in getting hostile. It wouldn’t do you any good anyway. Why don’t you just lean right back on that pointy stick of yours? I can see you don’t have the strength to stand.”

  As if an invisible hand pulled his strings, William found himself again leaning on the sword. “Good, good,” Death said. “Now, why don’t you tell me your story? I’ve already made some guesses, but let’s go ahead and get the mystery out in the open.”

  Compelled by Death’s charisma, William said, “I was an idea my Father had. He has many names, I do not know which one you use, but He was the one who created the Galaxy.”

  Death chuckled. “More like let it all fall apart.”

  “That is why He created me. You cannot understand the sorrow He felt after the butcher of Darkness slaughtered His Creation.” William fell silent. Why am I betraying my Father’s secrets?

  “I didn’t know he could feel anything. Go on.”

  “He mined the depths of his sorrow,” William continued. “Until he found the core, the source of corruption that allowed the Darkness a foothold in his realm. He then set to developing a cure for this corruption.”

  “Let me guess,” Death said. “That would be you.”

  William nodded. “My Father put me here to bring the Galaxy back into balance. Nothing can stop me, for He is with me.” He glared at Death in defiance, challenging it to question what he had said.

  Death studied William from beneath the folds of its hood, its face expressionless. “I see. So, the whispers of change I have been feeling these past days are true? The Demiurge has finally decided the time is right to fix His mistake? It took Him long enough. Well, I can’t say I’ll miss this god damned place. I’ve had my hands full. Hopefully—if you succeed, that is—I’ll be able to rest for a spell.”

  The following silence stretched out, William and Death deep in thought. The sound of the wolf licking its wounds carried across the air. William turned his head to look at the wolf and Death turned to see what William was looking at. “That’s the one who ripped out this panther’s throat? It sure got scratched up, but I think your furry friend will survive. It’s a smart animal.” Death sighed. “I can’t stand to see such a good one suffer. You should go help mend its wounds. I think water might help. Here…”

  Death stretched both hands out before its body and hummed an incantation under its breath. The air began to shimmer between its hands, and a hardened-clay pitcher materialized there, filled to the brim with water. Death chuckled as William did a double-take, and it handed the pitcher to him. “Yeah, I can do magick. So what? Go, help that wolf, and help yourself. Good luck!”

  William grasped the pitcher’s handle in his bandaged hand. “Thank you.” He turned and, using the sword as a walking stick, made his way back to the wolf. Water spilled over the pitcher’s rim with each step as he crossed the battlefield. He heard Death uttering another incantation behind him, and he felt a burst of heat on the back of his neck, smelt the pungent scent of burning flesh. He did not look back until he sat down beside the wolf, placing the pitcher on the ground and his sword upon his cape. He glanced towards where the panther’s carcass had lain, but it had disappeared into thin air. Death, too, was nowhere to be seen.

/>   ELEVEN

  William’s mouth hung open as he tried to comprehend the empty battlefield—even the pool of blood had vanished like all the carnage had only been a dream. He reexamined his chest to see if the gashes were still there. Blood continued trickling down his chest, so he knew the panther had existed no matter where its carcass had gone. He shook his head and turned his attention to his immediate concerns.

  William turned to the wolf and stroked its quavering haunches. It whined and lifted its head to look reproachfully at him, and he lifted the pitcher by his side, offering the sloshing water to the wolf. It started lapping at the water and, when it had its fill, it turned its head back to resume licking its wounds. He stilled its movement with a hand and set the pitcher on the ground. “Let me take a look at you,” he said, and the wolf rested its head on the ground.

  William started by checking its legs for any breaks, prodding them with his fingers. The wolf did not make a sound. He felt relieved, for he did not want to imagine having to abandon it and continue on his own—having come to think of it as his friend. He moved on to isolating its wounds from the mass of congealed fur. He upended the pitcher onto the wolf’s back, and the water washed away the dirt and blood as it flowed onto the ground. The wolf whined but kept its head down while William brushed its fur back to see the flesh underneath. In total he discovered sixteen slashes on the wolf’s sides and back in groups of four, some so deep he could see the white of its ribs. As he studied their locations, he figured he could cover them all with two bandages if he cut them wide enough.