CHAPTER 4. THE END OF ALL THINGS

CHAPTER 4. THE END OF ALL THINGS

”If you should find water, ask her where the gates lie. We pray you find the gates of Nottingham. Nobody was ever meant to come this far….”

Ask her…. where the gates lie.

I keep saying the words, hoping to find the answer to the riddle. I have found the waters. The wailing waters. But how do I ask them? Truth is, I did ask. I spoke the words, out loud, sounding as earnest as possible. I waited for an awkward moment, too embarrassed to look Shadow in the eye. I felt my face turn red as I caught Shadow shaking her head out of the corner of my eye.

I have ridden up the mountains a couple of times. The scenery is to die for. Lush greens as far as the eye can see. In the distance, the mountains appear a dreamy blue as the sunlight dances playfully with the fog that turns thicker as you go up. The hillsides that stand closest appear darkened by their own shadow. There are streams flowing from the highest peak, one breaking

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into two, two breaking into four, four into eight, all the way down into the sea.

I was hoping Nottingham would appear around me if I had the faith to ride up, but it did not. So I came down and went back up again, convinced I did not have enough faith the first time. And then again ….and again. The third time I came down, I ran down into the icy waters, a little frustrated, I must admit. I barely noticed the waves dancing playfully between my toes. I dived into the water, trying to swim to the underside of this island. I swam and swam until I ran out of breath, never seeming to get any closer. I could not help but breathe in. Immediately, I felt the pain of the water going to my head. It felt like dying. Swimming back up didn’t take more than a moment. It was like I had gone down less than 4 feet. If it was so, I didn’t want to imagine what that must have looked like. I lay there in the sand with my eyes watering, trying to catch my breath.

I then tried digging to the other side. This, I did with very little vigour, knowing full well it wasn’t going to work. I gave up when the depth of the hole was decidedly more than the discernible distance to the other side. So, I rode

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back up the mountain one more time. Right up to the peak. I screamed at the mother in anger. I screamed at whoever wrote that oh so sacred book. I screamed at Shadow, who took it all in stride. I screamed at the rocks. I screamed until the words would come out of me no longer. I was so exhausted by the end, I must have passed out sometime in the night. I was awakened by the warmth of the morning sun on my face.

I remember, when I was younger, which as you know wasn’t that long ago, I’d pray to the mother whenever I got into trouble. I don’t remember her ever coming to my rescue. But still, I’ve always believed that if I ever needed her… if I ever really needed her, she would come. It’s a lonely feeling, knowing now that I need her, she will not come. Knowing that she is the villain in my story. The darkness in all my nightmares. It occurs to me now that the one person who can fix my world is the same person who broke it in the first place. Without hope, I now find myself down on my knees in these shallow waters, face down on the ground. For the first time in my life, I do not know what to do.

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I wish I could go back. I wish could abandon all hope and ride back home to my village. But what if I did? What would I do with the rest of my life? Let them cremate Marika, get over the pain in my heart, grow older? I’m afraid that is a fate I cannot accept. It is a tomorrow that simply will not do.

I must pray to mother again as I once did as a child, though I fear I will not find the words to say. My eyes stay closed as the waves caress my face. I do not know the words to say, but I feel my heart calling out to her in the language of the gods. I refuse to heed the words playing at the back of my head as if spoken by some taunting devil, “Do not seek a key, none was made. ….we do not know what lies beyond here.

I begin to feel a strange wind blowing around me. I hear Shadow getting restless or agitated. I dare not raise my head. Specks of dust caress my skin, flying up past me. The waters begin to rise. Suddenly, my head is submerged under water. Still, I dare not rise. The waters flow over my curved back. Before I know it, I’m out of air. I can feel the mother coming at me. Filled with anger, she wades violently through the water. Instantly, she is

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on top of me, about to kill me. I jump to my feet in fear, my heart pounding loudly in my chest. The mother isn’t there. I turn around, searching for my assailant, but there is no one there. I gasp for air. My eyes hurt. My head hurts. My heart still thinks I’m about to die. I bend over, placing my hands on my knees for support as I catch my breath. The waters run down my leg, rescinding until level with my ankles. The waves dance around my feet as if pretending nothing happened.

Finally catching my bearings, I realise the reflection in the water has changed. My eyes widen. On the beach, there lies a gigantic 50-foot head of black marble stone that was not there before. The moss growing around it suggests it has been lying there for a very long time. I recognise the face. I have looked upon it a thousand times before. It is the face of the mother. The rest of her body is nowhere in sight. I turn around and stare in amazement at the mountain peak. The lush green landscape has been replaced by the city that, just a moment ago, was lost to me on the backside of this island. Right there before me is the great city of Nottingham. I can smell the aged wood from the huts on

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the beach. I can hear the sound of sea gulls echoing off the gleaming white stone walls. I notice for the first time that not one house still has a roof standing. And yet, great oak beams still run across the eaves, telling a story of what once was. At the top, the most glorious sight I have ever seen…. THE TEMPLE!

Having made my way past the huts on the beach, I still cannot get over how empty the city is. Every step I take echoes through the streets, reverberating on and on eerily. And yet, it doesn’t feel as lifeless as the black mountains did. I peer down an alleyway, walking through unafraid. A lone rat scurries away.

I’ve been walking around for the longest time. Up and down the meandering streets that rise more often than they fall. The stonework is gorgeous. Human hands could not have built this place. I cannot help but feel the intricate detailing with my hands. Shadow is gawking as much as I am.

I can feel the whole city when I close my eyes. For a moment, I know every corner, every turn. This place feels like…Home? My head begins to spin. The vertigo

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is overwhelming. I feel like I slipped and fell into a dream. Trying to wake up, unable to wake up. My consciousness is jumping from street to street. House to house. I can feel Shadow back on the corner where I left him. I’m trying to get back to him, but I can’t. I keep losing and finding him. I’ve lost my bearings.

Suddenly, I am back at the village. It is falling apart. Pieces of it are missing. Entire chunks of homes and fields gone, replaced by black voids of nothingness. I’m in the square. There is a deep fissure that has split it in half, with liquid fire spewing out of it towards the grey sky. I see Mera, agitated, walking towards me. Excited to see her. I reach out towards her, but she walks right through me. RIGHT THROUGH ME! And that’s not the worst of it. In that moment, I realise I’m not really there; I’m watching myself there. Like I’ve strayed right out of my body. No one can see me, and that is still not the worst of it. I am translucent. I feel nauseous. I fail to stop the gag reflex that follows as I throw up all over the… I’m back in Nottingham. I throw up all over the cobblestone street. I check myself, sighing in relief when I discover I’m not translucent anymore.

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I feel bad for messing up the street. It was so pristine before I got here. I led Shadow up through a grand courtyard, up the front steps, into the temple, all the while haunted by something the lord of chaos said to me. There is a truth in those words I have known for a while now but have chosen not to understand. I can hear the words echoing in my head.

“You survived a demauglar attack…. The stories must have been false then?”

The stories….

I know what the stories said, “Do not look a demaugler in the eyes. You will not survive it.

I remember the demaugler coming at me. I can almost see it on top of me as I crawl on my back. I can smell its breath. I’m about to perish between those snarling teeth. I try to push it away with my right arm as my left arm covers my face. I steal a glance through my fingers, peering into its flaming eyes. The world goes black. In the darkness, I can hear a voice reciting a poem familiar to me.

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“In Nottingham, there is a healer. He knows you are coming, but he is not waiting for you.

I can see the cave again. Cold and silent. The demaugler is gone. The place is almost empty, except for one thing. There is a body on the ground. A man frozen in place. His skin black and crumpled. Clasping a torch in his arm whose flame has long since died out. The body appears to have been crawling backwards. His left arm covering his face as he tries to push something away with his other arm. I know who the man is. In truth, I have felt myself lost to that mountain since I left it. The man is me.

The words sink in, taking on a new meaning. “For he knows something you do not. Nobody makes it to Nottingham.

I want to break down and cry. How can this be…?

“He knew something I did not.”

I’m back in Nottingham. Seated on the floor. Hugging my knees. My skin is a ghostly pale colour. I am not taking this well at all. I died in the mountains. The passage was right. Everyone was right. Nobody makes

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it to Nottingham. But I would not listen. My gaze is far from here as I stare at the wall into space. Feeling lost.

The village

I know how this world ends. I have seen it. I have seen death on the horizon. I have seen a man in his home, but it isn’t his home anymore. Half of it isn’t there, lost to the nothingness that is eating away his world. I know the man. I know that home. I broke into that place a thousand times, seeking the same adventure that would one day come crushing through my door.

The man is Marika’s father. The village elder. His face is painted white. The man stands tall, towering over his wife as she whimpers in the corner. In her hands is their youngest daughter, her eyes full of tears. The woman has a streak of white on her face.

“Have we not lived proud lives?” the elder bellows, pounding his chest. “Do we fear death?”

The child begins to cry, hiding her face in her mother’s chest.

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“Do we fear death?” he asks insistently.

“We do not fear death,” the woman mutters under her breath. Lines forming across her face, for she cannot hide the anguish in her heart.

The elder paces proudly around the room, with white paint smudged on his hand. He draws across his chest. “Do we fear her cold embrace?”

The woman is silent. He turns to her. Waiting….

“We do not fear death,” she replies. The man stands in front of his window, looking to the hills. The hills are swarming with wraiths. They look like shadows on the horizon. Hundreds of them. The mother stands at the head of the swarm. She has become death. The elder looks her dead in the eye.

“We shall dine with the mother this night,” he bellows with determination. “We are ready; in fact, we look forward to it.

I have seen the god-king in the village. The steward has come to his people’s aid. He watches over them in the mother’s stead. But he is not well. He too is coming

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apart as the word disintegrates into the nothingness that once was. He can feel fragments of himself being pulled towards the black mountains. He struggles up the hill, leaning on his staff, trying to keep himself together. This is not the god-king we know. This is a frail old man.

The mother watches him walking towards her. Her wraiths floating ominously around her. She stared down at him as he stands a few feet from her.

“Child, you must stop this madness,” he begs, the words barely coming out. She floats there for a moment in silence. The air is thick with the hate inside her soul. The darkness in her eyes cannot be ignored. And yet, there are tears there also. She seems tormented. Torn. The wraiths begin to fade away in the wind, leaving only the mother. The god-king walks right up to her.

“I don’t think I can stop this,” she sobs. “I don’t know how.

The God-king wipes the tears from her cheek. She leans into his hand, hugging him. She begins to sob uncontrollably.

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“Why did you have to ruin everything ….We were so happy.”

He holds her in silence. Looking around him, taking in the destruction around him.

“Now that we’ve come to it,” he mutters, “to the end of all things, I wish I could take it all back.

The darkness takes her over. She grabs hold of the god-king and kisses him. The kiss of death. The indecision has faded from her eyes. She’s pure evil now. Pure rage, pure anger. She is death. The life begins to fade from the god-king. He holds onto her as his body goes limp with frailty. He is dying.

But then his hold becomes stronger. Squeezing her. Fiery glory returns to his eyes. He looks forcefully into her eyes as she struggles desperately to break free. The glory is burning through her. Her skin sizzling where his hands are clasping her arms. For the first time, I see terror fill her eyes. Anger in his. Resolution. Inevitability. He burns the life right out of her. Her body goes limp as he holds her in his hands.

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I see him lay her down on the ground, his eyes filling with tears. He begins to disintegrate, no longer able to keep himself together. His constitution being pulled ever more strongly towards the black mountain. The air is also breaking apart. Disintegrating into black voids fragmented about. Particles of white float in the air with shafts of light shining between voids. The trees are choking. I can hear them dying. They begin to shatter. The ground breaks, splitting a road in half across the length. One side rises while the other falls. The fissure runs down the road, pulling everything in. Chunks of ground. Pieces of shattered trees. I can see the god-king fighting to stay together.

This is how the world ends. I have seen it. But this is a tomorrow that simply will not do. For in Nottingham, there is a healer. He was not here before, but he is here now. I have seen his image etched on the temple walls. And I recognise that face. I have seen it in my mirror a thousand times. In his arms, there is a woman with skin the colour of coal. He stands knee deep in a pool of water. I know the woman. A woman with short white hair that refuses to grow. With eyes the colour of a sunny

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sky. I know the woman, but also I know the man. He is the healer. And he wears my face.

And so, I find myself back where the black mountains once stood, standing at the edge of a precipice, looking down at the world below me as it eats itself into oblivion.

The physicality of everything is blurred. Undefined. Everything is blending into everything. The world appears indistinct. An idea of itself.

Chaos is still in there, in what remains of the mountains. He and the god-king are pulled towards each other, even as the world around them is pulled into them and they into each other. Everything from the dark mountains and between comes crushing in.

Chaos holds onto the ground, ripping it asunder. There isn’t a trace of panic in him. In fact, he appears rather delighted by events. He's laughing uncontrollably.

The god-king wrestles with Chaos amidst a perfect storm of debris, trying to push him away from him. Chaos grabs a carrot from the debris in the air and chomps down loudly. He is not taking things seriously at all, chewing and laughing uncontrollably. He chocks on the

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carrot then begins to hit god-king with his elbow repeatedly. He pulls him to himself. Going for an embrace. A hug. Mocking the god-king’s efforts.

I watch as liquid fire from the sun up above begins to seep towards the storm’s core. Forming a stream in the air trailing into the storm. The wind catches my coat as I watch the two gladiators in the storm below. Chaos is toying with the god-king. He knows the god-king is too frail to win this fight. The world will end as it began. But not if I can help it. I do not feel that sense of loathing toward the god-king anymore. Truth is, I never really did. I know that, for all the things he did, the good and the bad, he always had the best of intentions. There isn’t much left of the world, but still, I take one last look before I dive into the black storm below.

I try to peel Chaos off the god-king as debris flies all around me, cutting into my skin. I cannot see a thing, but I can hear the god-king chanting incantations into the wind. The world explodes…. blinding me. Forcing my eyes shut. There is a stillness in the air. A sense of peace I don’t want to leave. But I must. I open my eyes and find I am engulfed by darkness. My ears are ringing.

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I am floating in space. I realised the darkness around me is that of the space between worlds. There are fragments of my world floating all around me, liquid fire mixed with streams of water and particles of dust. I feel so big and powerful. Planet sized. A large chunk of the world floats past my face, its edges crumbling away as its core leaks liquid fire. It must be at least one fourth of what used to be the world. I notice two other chunks of the world about the same size as the first, with streaks, night sky being pulled into them. All the stars around are turning into dust as they are pulled into what remains of my world. I see, at the end of one streak, wrapped around his arm like the reins of a war horse, the godking, also planet-sized. He is holding the chunk of world by its streak of stardust, while with the same hand, trying to push Chaos away from him by the chin. Chaos has a large grin painted across his face. The god-kings other hand is holding onto me, pulling on my tunic.

The world has been broken into four large pieces. And they are slowly floating apart. I manoeuvre to grab hold of the piece of the world that had, just moments ago, passed across my face then twist into position to

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reach for the second chunk with my foot, while trying to grab hold of the third with my other hand.

I realise this third piece is floating away far beyond my reach, just behind the god-king, who has his hands full. He reaches for Chaos’ throat. Choking him. His grip getting tighter and tighter. I feel my skin crawl as I imagine the sound of his neck breaking. And then I hear it. A spine chilling crack. The grin does not dissipate from Chaos’ face even as the life fades from his eyes. The god-king lets go of Chaos, watching him float away with a surprisingly heart-wrenching sadness in his eyes.

I turn in space, manoeuvring my foot to bring the third piece of the world crushing into the first, while looking to the god-king, determined to put this world back together. He looks back at me then grabs the fourth piece in his hand. He twists around, pulling himself towards me.

The village. A few days later

There is a rumour going around. I know you have heard it. Someone saw me in the village, bloodied and bruised, staggering up the hill towards the sacred cave. I know

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you want to believe this. I know you want to hear that everyone in the village is ok. That they are rebuilding their homes, that their fields are green again. You are dying to hear me say the words, “We fixed the world.” Well, I am not going to say it. I am not going to tell about how I ran into the elder somewhere in the woods at the edge of the village a few days after the second breaking of the world. That he nodded in approval to me, acknowledging my existence for possibly the third time in his life. I am not going to tell you about that because it doesn’t matter. Because the truth is, Mera was right; I am not one of them, and that is ok.

I will tell you something about the sacred cave, though. I will tell you that, even as I held pieces of the world in my hand, it was all I could think about. With all the might I could summon, I pulled the four corners of the world together, just so I could walk back up that hill. I saw myself walking through the opening. I saw myself dive into those sacred waters. I imagined the cold chill on my skin. I saw myself wade through to the shallow end right up to where I left Marika. I saw her lying there, ebony skin all but gone from her, with the short white

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hair that refuses to grow sticking out of her skull. I grabbed her in my arms and heard a loud rattling sound as the cave was filled with a thousand winds. Tendons and flesh began to form over the bony frame in my arms. Her skin came alive, but still, there was no life in her. So, I called out to her. I breathed life into her and heard her cough as she came back to life.

THE END

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