Part Eight - The Dark Beyond the Door
Enin brushed his fingertips against the light, feeling its presence. Waves of heat shot down his arm and into his chest, engulfing his newfound heart in a flame that did not consume. The light of indeterminate color flooded his eyes. The heat spread through his body like a fever.
“Stand.” came a calm and steady voice from above him.
Enin rose to his feet, expecting his head to meet the low ceiling of the cave. It did not. Had he been crouching needlessly all this time? No. He thought. The cavern had become much larger than before somehow, infinitely larger.
The ring of light began to fade.
“Who are you?” Enin asked the voice.
“Close your eyes.” It said.
“Why?” Enin asked, but did as he was told, asking “Who are you?” once more.
“Open them now.” the voice said.
Enin found himself standing on a precipice over a black ocean beneath the vast and moonless sky. Waves of shadow rolled softly beneath him, creating a gentle lapping sound.
Enin felt the ocean looking back at him, measuring him through and through.
“What are you?” he asked.
“Young one,” the voice spoke, “I am the rippling void, the thought unformed, the silence between universes. I am the ink that drowns light, the dreams that life forgot.”
“I am not young,” said Enin.
“That is the point you wish to argue?” said the voice. “I am older than anything with a name. You come seeking the yawning void that spans all reality and want to tell it that YOU are old?”
“No,” began Enin, “I beg your pardon, old one. That is not my purpose in coming to you.”
“Then say it.”
“Your emptiness,” Enin said, “I may seem young to you, but I am very very old by the standards of my kind. The islands from which I hail were once mountains, and I lived upon them at that time. As I reached manhood, I sought wisdom to help my fellow mortals. I wrestled demons and tricked gods. I uncovered the secret of eternal life and took it for myself. I tried to give it to mankind, but it was a gift none could accept. Humans are fragile things. Trying to grant them immortality is like pouring a volcano into a teacup. My first attempts were...unpleasant. Instead I sought to heal the sick and bring knowledge to the ignorant. I had earned longevity for myself. I believed that over time I could uplift others so they would be prepared to join me.”
“But you were wrong.” said the voice.
“Yes. Very wrong. Even those who claimed to want to live forever failed at taking even the first steps. For centuries upon centuries I brought what I had learned to the masses. And almost every time they garbled it, misunderstood it, or rejected it entirely.”
“Mortals can not achieve immortality. It would be a paradox. The fact that you stand before me now should be impossible. Yet here you are.”
“I pondered that for ages.” said Enin, “Why me? How is it that I was able to accept forever within my mind and my flesh when so many others could not? I struggled with this question. Ultimately I decided that I am the paradox. No longer am I bound by mortal laws because my existence now resides outside those laws.”
“You sound pleased with yourself.” said the voice.
“I am not, though.” continued Enin, “Yes, I am different from the rest of humanity. I have seen and done more than one can in a hundred lifetimes, a thousand lifetimes. Yet here I am. Alone. Tired. Finished.”
“So you come here. To this place outside of places in this time outside of time? To ask for what? A boon?”
“I suppose I do.” said Enin, “I need you to help me bring about the end. The people of the world tell the tale of Mur the destroyer. He who sucks life out of the world at the end. I know that Mur is simply a shadow of the true darkness. A shadow of you.”
“I see.” said the voice, “You can no longer die. The only way for you to end is to take your world with you?”
“Yes.”
“So you wish me to tear the realms asunder, set the air to fire, and devour the souls of all who breathe? All so you may die?”
“Yes. I wish this very much.”
“This is not an easy thing you ask.” the voice told him. “There are four pillars which hold me apart from your world. Each must be broken in turn...”
“Yes. I know.” interrupted Enin. “I know of the four pillars. I also know that they cannot be broken without the proper tool.”
“Little immortal,” said the voice, “you want to see me unleashed upon the world? You would have me freed from the dark beyond the Door? You choose to be my servant, my harbinger, my herald?”
“If that is what I must do to silence my own mind, then yes.”
The surface on which Enin stood rumbled. The black ocean waves rose to a tumult, crashing and slamming against one another and splashing against the precipice. Their substance was not water, but something colder, darker, and much much older.
Out of the waves rose an object, a shard of darkness in the vague shape of a blade. Blacker than black, the blade drank in what little light existed in this dim place. It floated gently upward over the roiling sea. Without thinking, Enin grasped it like a sword.
“I give you this splinter of my being. With it, you will pierce the pillars and sever their bonds to creation.”
“And then you will come into the world?” asked Enin.
“Yes.”
“And then finally there will be silence?”
“Yes. Now go.”
The ring of light appeared once more over Enin. Before he could form another word, it swept over him.
White light flooded Enin’s eyes as the sound of the waves suddenly ceased, replaced by a low murmur.
The white blindness slowly faded, and Enin began to see shapes and the low rumbling noise became the voices of a crowd.
“Where did he come from?” “Who is that?” “Is this the entertainment?”
In time the voices grew louder and more plentiful as Enin’s vision returned.
He found himself standing in the wedding hall between the columns of Maj and Mur, now decorated with ribbons and candles. Dozens of aristocrats pranced about in fancy clothes, drinking and chattering. A circle of them had gathered around Enin.
“Are you the conjurer they hired?” asked one.
“He looks too grubby.” said another, “Are you completely certain that he isn’t some vagrant who simply wandered in?”
“The guards would not allow that.” answered the first party-goer. “Besides, this is the custom to appear like a hedge mage. All the great entertainers do it now!”
A third reveler, a man in a black suit with a purple sash, indicating him to be the bridegroom spoke, “You there. Hedge mage! Perform a trick if you wish to be paid.”
Enin’s wits returned to him. He realized where he was and what was being assumed of him.
“You all speak too much!” he spat, “Insipid twits, every one of you!”
“Clown!” said the groom, “My father, the Baron, has hired you to entertain me on this day, not insult. Perform your magicks now or suffer a thrashing! The choice is yours.”
“You want the magicks?” bellowed Enin, “You want to see the wonder? You worthless pile of insects?”
The groom became enraged at this insult, but tried to stifle his feelings under the practiced veneer of civil propriety.
“Yes, wizard. Show us your power.” he spoke carefully and clearly, between clenched teeth.
Enin’s eyes turned black as he pronounced a string of words not heard by the ears of another mortal in three thousand years. The bridegroom stepped back, feeling his face. Across the surface of it appeared several bumps and boils. They grew and popped, spewing pus and ooze onto the nearby guests. The bridegroom opened his mouth to scream, but instead of a sound, out poured millions of writhing insects, centipedes, and worms. The man fell down in a heap. The party guests nearest him rushed to his aid and tried to lift him off the floor. Their arms pulled his empty jacket off of him, revealing a mound of tiny verminous crawling creatures that scattered off in all directions, causing chaos among the wedding guests. Screams echoed throughout the hall along with the sound of shattering glass as the aristocratic attendants ran for the exits.
The guests who attempted to lift the groom stared in confusion when the scattering insects were gone, leaving only a vacant mess of clothing topped with a purple sash.
“Sorcerer!” exclaimed one of them, looking up at where Enin had stood a moment ago, but the man had vanished.
Part Nine - Breaking the Sky
Enin slinked out of the wedding hall, his boots crunching on gravel as the cries of the confused and frightened nobles faded into the distance. Above him, the clouds churned in shades of gray and violet.
He could feel it now. The first pillar. A presence pressing on the edge of his mind, a pull stronger than gravity, drawing him toward the estate’s distant northern grounds.
The forgotten and overgrown path was lined with jagged hedges and gnarled trees that clawed at the dim sky. Ahead, the remnants of an ancient structure loomed—a circular courtyard dominated by a massive column of white stone that pulsed with faint luminescence. The air around it shimmered like heat waves rising from a desert.
This was it.
Enin tightened his grip on the shard of darkness, its edge leeching the warmth from his hand. He approached the pillar, each step heavier than the last. Burdened with the weight of understanding—what this act would mean, the scale of the unmaking that would ripple outward.
“You should not be here.”
The woman’s voice rang out from nowhere and everywhere. Enin froze, turning his blackened eyes toward the speaker.
A figure stepped forward, emerging from behind a warped tree near the pillar. She wore the form of a twisted old woman, her hunched body bent and gnarled like the trunk of a wicked tree.
“You don’t know what you’re doing.” The being’s tone was calm but edged with sorrow. “This monolith is a foundation of the world. Its breaking will bring ruin upon everything. You are not so lost that you would sacrifice all creation for your silence.”
Enin’s voice came low, calm. “I have already sacrificed much.”
“You think the void will give you peace?” The crone tilted her head to one side. “The void devours peace. It will devour you as well.”
“I have made my choice.” Enin lifted the shard. Its cold pulse seemed to quicken, as though eager to fulfill its purpose. “And I will not be swayed by the pleadings of a wayward spirit.”
The crone moved faster than Enin would have thought possible, closing the distance in a single step. She reached out with spindly arms that ended in claw-like fingernails, grasping at the blade in his hand.
The fight was brief but terrible. The hunched old woman’s limbs were thin, but strong as iron. Enin twisted to wrench the blade out of her clutch, but she held fast, her wiry fingers bleeding onto the cutting edge. Finally the sorcerer kicked the crone in the chest, knocking her off balance.
Forcing her against the pillar, Enin used leverage to twist the blade away from the old woman. As he stepped back she howled and lunged at him once more, but Enin was swift. He brought the sword down upon her crooked body. It cut through her as if she were barely material. She fell to the ground in a puddle of gray goo as if melting.
“...This is not the peace you seek.” came her last words as her form liquified, seeping into the ground.
Enin stood alone now, before the pillar. He looked up at its towering form, its marbled surface pulsing like the slow beat of a heart.
“No,” he whispered, “but it will do.”
With a single motion, he plunged the shard into the base of the pillar.
The stone cracked, sending fissures racing up its surface. White fire burst forth, blinding and searing, as the pillar let out a horrendous sound that tore into the sky. The ground beneath Enin’s feet shook violently, and a gale of wind roared outward, scattering debris.
Clouds parted, and the heavens fractured. From the void beyond, streaks of fiery light rained down - a thousand stars falling from the sky.
Enin stood amidst the chaos, watching the firestorm unfold. The estate was the first to fall, a cascade of flame reducing the once-pristine halls to ash. The screams of revelers and servants echoed in the distance. Beyond, the meteors struck forests, rivers, and distant villages, each impact sending shockwaves across the land.
He felt no triumph, no satisfaction. Only the faintest flicker of relief, buried beneath the vast emptiness that had consumed him for so long.
The shard in his hand pulsed again, urging him forward. The destruction of the first pillar was only the beginning.
Enin turned, stepping over the crumbled remains of the pillar, and disappeared into the darkness of the night as the sky turned orange from the fires burning in every direction.
Part Ten - The Flaming Earth
The Witch tapped at the bars of the cage that held the tiny bird.
“Does it hurt?” she asked Tula..
“Not anymore,” said Tula. “When it was happening the pain was unbearable. The world turned black and the next thing I knew my grandmother was shaking me awake. The pain had gone then, leaving me feeling merely...hollow, as if a wind could whistle clean through me.”
“Tula-” the Witch began, but was interrupted by a horrendous crashing noise outside of the hut.
The two raced outside to see fire raining from the clouds. Crimson balls of flame streaked with yellow blasted through the sky and into the boggy ground with dreadful force and exploded in terrifying bursts around them.
The Witch’s eyes grew wide as the hut they’d just been sitting in ignited behind them. The swamp hens clucked and squealed frantically, running in circles around their pen. The walls of the tiny structure burned quickly and plumes of black smoke billowed around it. From inside came several smaller explosions as the bottles and jars within burst from the heat or perhaps from some magical force within them.
More streaks dropped around them in a blazing torrent. From within the hut the smoke swirled and coalesced. It almost seemed to take a human-like shape.
“No!” gasped the Witch. “No no no! Not now. This can NOT happen NOW!” She stood frozen and stared at the shape.
Tula grabbed the Muck Witch by the hand and pulled her into the dry forest on the edge. Tula led her to the relative cover of the trees. Above them branches cracked apart in white-hot flares as the meteors fell into the world around them. Splintered wood and searing fire flew in every direction.
The pair ran forward until they came to a wall of blazing trees. They turned to their left to avoid the fires, but only found their path blocked by several fallen tree trunks that were blackened and burned by the destructive force that had laid them low.
They veered back toward the swamp. A meteor struck the ground behind them with concussive force and the sound of ten thousand thunderbolts that threw Tula and the Witch into the dirt. Everything fell silent.
The world around Tula moved in slow motion as blasts continued to fall around her soundlessly. Though she could see the chaos raging on, her ears gave her nothing besides a faint ringing noise. Tongues of fire licked at the bog and branches snapped in white-hot bursts, crashing around her without a whisper.
She got to her knees. The Witch lay face down on the scorched ground with her leg bent at a strange angle. Fire continued to rain all around them. The girl’s eyes filled with tears. If she still had her heart it would have been beating its way out of her chest. But instead of a heart she had a bird and the Bird spoke to her.
“Get up!” it said.
Bewildered and frightened, Tula almost failed to register the voice.
“Get up now or we both die!” said the Bird.
“What?” said Tula, “How are-” before she finished uttering the sentence she realized that she could not hear her own voice. She could hear nothing but the Bird.
“No time for questions, girl!” spoke the creature in her chest. “Move, move, move! That’s all there is to do!”
“But-” she mouthed silently then stopped. Trying to speak was obviously futile.
“Now!” shouted the Bird as another meteor struck dangerously close to them.
Tula grabbed the Witch by her arm and hefted her over one shoulder. The older woman came-to and looked around.
“We must run!” shouted Tula, but she could not tell if the Witch heard.
The Muck Witch tried to move, but her leg was clearly broken. She fell onto Tula.
Somehow the girl found the strength to drag the Witch to the swamp.
They trudged on three good legs through knee deep water. Every muscle in Tula's body screamed as she hauled the Witch on her shoulder, the older woman's weight threatening to buckle her knees. The swamp water sucked at her legs with each step, slowing her like tar.
The blasts of flame from the sky seemed to lessen as they went. In several minutes that felt like years they reached a small hill where the earth was dry. Tula slumped to the ground, exhausted. The fire had not spread to that spot and as she looked around, it seemed as if the meteor shower had ceased. Slowly Tula’s hearing returned to her.
The two women sat on the edge of the bog, surveying the destruction.
“Do you know how to set a broken leg?” the Witch asked matter-of-factly.
The Bird said nothing.
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This story was written and recorded in New Jersey on Lenapehoking territory.
Intro music is 'Shoulders Of Giants' by Scott Buckley - released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au
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