Aforemention

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“Will you ever leave me?”

“…”

The wind rustled through the trees. Silence lulled the two boys to peace in the meadow below the mountains.

“I mean it… Will you?”

“Of course I won’t. I have no intention to.”

The sun was falling below the summit of one of the peaks. It started getting cooler.

“But I mean forever.”

“Forever?”

A leaf fell next to one of the boys’ heads.

“You’re my best friend. I need you.”

“I need you too.”

The breeze shifted as it rolled off the mountain. It blew the leaf away.

“Forever…”

“Forever. I promise.”

It was cast into the twilight. Shortly after, a rain fell. And it kept raining. Some say it’s raining still…

What ever happened to that leaf, I wonder?

Chapter 1: Sunlight

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Silence. Nothing but silence. Then, suddenly, breath. A slow inhale followed by a long, quiet exhale, then, silence. Deafening silence. Silence louder than any noise could possibly make. It felt cold; like a thin sheet of ice over a calm lake in the middle of winter. It was something that seemed to have echoed of home. Home? What was home? Why does it feel so familiar? Suddenly, warmth. No, heat. Heat, growing warmer and warmer; hotter and hotter. Then, a flash of light; brisk, yellow sunlight that leaves a reddish orange smear, outlining the capillaries on your closed eyelids. This felt like something he’d known from before, only stronger and brighter.

Open your eyes.

It was a sound that seemed to come from inside; from inside the mind, almost like a subconscious, omnipotent being that commands and dictates your every move. Like thought. Thought? Suddenly, the light consumed everything. The yellow glare was blinding and powerful. Sunlight. Why was it so brutal? Suddenly, a memory came streaming back:

Day and night. Light and dark. Black and white.

This was the world he had always known; the world as he had been taught his whole life.

At last, after basking in the sun for the better part of an eternity, he mustered the strength to stand up. With every ounce remaining in his mangled, sprawled body that lay motionless in tattered clothing on the scorching, desert floor, he rose. He stared away from the sun. He couldn’t bear it any longer. He looked to the left, then he glanced to the right. No one. Nothing. There he stood, in an empty world, devoid of any life, sound, or color. Where was this? What was before this? What comes next? The questions kept coming, but the answers continued to be just as vacant as the wasteland lying right before him.

The heat acted like a weight, pressing down on his body like carrying a boulder in the sweltering heat. Heat like this was… unfamiliar, to say the least. It wasn’t the warmth that, in the back of his mind, he felt he used to know. No. This was the heat that killed men. Hell? If it wasn’t, it was certainly hellish. But why? Why was this his apparent destiny? What did he do to deserve such inhumane treatment? Sprawling wasteland and endless heat. The goddamn heat. Who could survive in�"?

What was that? That sound. It was the first sound he had heard since he started walking and it wasn’t his own doing. But what was it? Was there something out here with him? No. There couldn’t be. This was where men went to die. No man could�"

Again. No, it must be his imagination. There’s no way it was�"

No, there was something out here with him. But where? There’s no one and nothing here. This is no man’s land; not even his own. For, he thought to himself, if any man could own hell, he wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy it. Suddenly, a feeling engulfed his core. It was as though he could feel every last little blood cell surging and pumping through his arteries. He felt himself begin to perspire. He felt a sudden compulsion to start running, even though he had no idea what was chasing him; perhaps because he had no idea what was chasing him. In the back of his mind, he could recall what this was�"

Fear.

The silence stopped.

“Greetings, outlander.”

He shook with anxiety. The last thing he wanted to do was turn around. He thought of all his possible options. Endless, empty space. He could barely walk, let alone run. No chance of escape. Apprehensively, he turned to face the sun once more.

There stood a silhouette of a man. He towered over like an obelisk in the sun. He stood a chiseled statue in comparison to the lanky, malnourished ghost standing before him. He had on a khaki, rough skin vest atop a stained, white tunic with a v-shaped indention at the neck with thread to keep it tied together, although he seemed to neglect that function. On the tunic, there were marks of mud, dirt, and what could only be made out as blood littered all over. Below that, he had on brown trousers covered in dust and torn along the bottoms near the ankle. His face, though hard to make out, was boney and covered in thick, black hair. His hair reached down to his upper shoulder blade. His beard, however, seemed fragmented and had bare patches around the upper left cheek and in places along the jaw line. His tan skin only further blurred his figure in the sunlight. He carried a sheathed dagger on his left hip and what appeared to be another dagger hidden under the right half of his vest. All of these details registered in his mind in the blink of an eye. Fascinating.

“What’s your name?” said the man.

With all his might he tried to remember. No, not his name; that was far too beyond him; but, rather, how to speak. Much like the desert, it seemed his memories had been laid to waste. He opened his mouth and pushed the words out by exhaling and forcing out sound. His articulation was a whole other task he wasn’t ready to take on just yet.

“Ida… Idun… Doughn… Don’t”

He struggled with the words.

“Do you not know, son?”

He shook his head.

The man laughed with a hearty smile.

“Most people in your situation at least know how to speak. We’ll work on that, boy. Come with me.”

He motioned to follow. What would following him offer? Why should anyone follow a stranger in a wasteland with nothing but strands on their back? But what was his other option? Die alone in the torturous heat of the barren wasteland. Ok, he thought to himself. He’d go. His odds were slightly better this way. He followed.

The relentless beams of light from the sky receded into a somewhat dim resemblance of what once was unbearable. For a moment, if only for one shred of a moment, the wasteland actually felt… tolerable. The scraggly man had led him thus far, but for how much longer until they arrive at this unnamed safe haven?

“Not much longer, outlander,” he said, as if feeling the silent questions of the young ghost following at his side like a confused dog following his master to safety.

They trekked their way over small cliff-sides, around colossal rock spires, and through small depressions, which made the world around them seem to tower above them like a mighty, looming threat. But the man felt no fear, or so it seemed, to his newfound companion. After what felt like half of the day, but probably only lasted a few hours, the sun set and they arrived at a small makeshift campsite at the edge of a small cliff near what appeared to be a cave. The tall man collapsed down into a chair set against a wall of rock adjacent to the entryway of the cavern.

“Sorry for being so silent, outlander.” said the man calmly. “It’s just… This happens so often as of late, you learn to just go through the motions and forget the details that actually make your job worth the while. You see, I’m used to telling stories and entertaining my guests, but I’ve learned after telling them so often, I start to mix up the details or tell other aspects of the story; some of which may or may not have actually happened.”

He let out a soft chuckle. Then a sigh.

“It seems people these days have lost value for the truth…”

He trailed off into silence. He seemed deep in thought, but the ghost was far too attentive of the looming darkness to contemplate what he was trying to get at.

“You’re probably wondering why it’s getting dark, arnt’cha?”

The ghost nodded.

“There’s much you’ve forgotten about the world around you.”

He stared at the sheet in front of him. It was starting to sit down, as if eager to listen.

“I suppose it’s time.”

A moment of silence inserted its way into the conversation for just a second before he continued.

“You’re going to hear a lot of stories and tales about where you are, what it means and why it’s here. That is, if you choose to assimilate into this society; something I’ve long refused to partake in. People these days just get under my skin, honestly. There’s much more out here under the sun and the stars. It’s amazing how this huge, empty space of sprawling void can hold more bearings than a thriving metropolis with people every size, shape, and color. Sometimes a wealth of knowledge is more useless than a vat of ignorance. Take that as you please.”

He sat there staring at the sky, folding his arms across his chest, grinning as he spoke.

“Truth is, I think the more you think you know, the less you understand. Allow me to explain what I mean. These are the Wastes. Plain and simple. Just plains of nothingness; to the untrained eye that is. But, from the sky, we get water; from the rocks, we get shelter; from the ground, we get food. For an ‘educated’ fella from over in the city, these plains are barren and lifeless. For some brainless idiot like myself, these are fields of riches and bounty. They don’t notice the details that, for me, make life worth living. It’s all how you look at it, I suppose. Everything’s a matter of perspective… Or so the saying goes.

“I guess my point is, the stories I can tell you will be flawed, but they are what you make of them; truth or no truth. And don’t think that’s just for me. Everything’s a matter of perspective, my small friend, and some people here have quite a way of telling stories. But they’re all just stories, you know? The truth is something else entirely; and it’s in there… waiting for an unsuspecting passerby to snatch it up from out of the lining. That’s up to you to find, I suppose. And once you’ve found the “truth,” you too can start telling your own stories, and I think I’ll let you find your own way and save you my boring tales.”

He leaned back in his chair, as if trying to get a better view of the sprawling starlit night sky of a thick, rich black hue. He moved his hands and folded them behind his head, letting in a silent inhale followed by a suspended, tame exhale. His slightly foolhardy demeanor snapped like twig and his grin straightened as he spoke.

“We’re outcasts, criminals, the forgotten souls. Ever since I emerged into the blinding light, much like yourself, I’ve made an effort to drag every poor soul out of the heat and into the cool dwellings of this cave. It seems more and more bodies end up on the grounds of the Wastes by the day. But it’s not like these bodies all end up in the same place, like a depot where I can go to retrieve lost souls. I have to search these grounds before these bandits find you first.”

A flash of fear lit up the once lifeless ghost. As if, for a second, he was full of fear again.

“Truth be told, it seems like it took me a while to find you. You were… well, um… ‘well-baked’ if you will, despite your pale figure. That’s merely a side-effect of the malnourishment you’ve received over a long span. Which reminds me.”

The man sat up and got out of his chair. He reached into a small knapsack and retrieved a fruit.

“Eat this.”

The ghost hovered over to him and began eating right away. He didn’t understand hunger, but he knew it was a problem. Instinct took over.

“My fault for not giving you more earlier. My mind has been a bit… preoccupied today.”

The man sat back down and resumed the position he was in.

“Where was I?”

The man paused and raised his hand to scratch to bottom of his chin, then his face lit up and he continued.

“Ah, yes. I’m surprised the bandits didn’t get to you first, but for whatever reason, they weren’t anywhere to be found. But, I have to say, judging by your figure, I think I have my own theory as to why you’re still alive. Still, I wonder why you remained there so long. Most people retain their basic cognitive function; they just fail to recall specific memories. You are an enigma to me; that much is certain. I roam these Wastes searching for anyone who’s lost and wants to be found. Problem is… not everyone out here wants to be found.

“You. You took my hand. You made your first decision out here in the land of unforgivable heat. Who knows what that could entitle? But you need to make one more decision. You can choose to stay here with me or you can venture further through the heat and find civilization. If you choose to do that, I cannot take you. The only issue with staying here is… well… you can’t. I mean, I’ll teach you all I can, but then you must venture into this world on your own. Which will you choose?”

The pale aura returned to the ghost’s body. He felt at a loss for words. Mostly because he was just learning how to speak again.

“Tie. Time. I wanna have time. Time to thing… think.”

“Alright. I’ll give you until morning, my small, ghostly friend. But tomorrow my courier, Nikk Gunner, will arrive to either take you to the city or leave you here. Then, by nightfall, if you choose to stay, you will enter the Wastes at your own caution. The choice is yours, and it is a big one. Sleep on it and we’ll decide in the morning, eh?”

The man arose from his chair and threw a rusted tin bucket of water over the thin flames that had been burning at the front of the campsite.

“When you’re ready, you have a pallet over by the oil underneath the rough, skin tarp. It’ll be your shelter from the weather. In the meantime, I’ll be in the cave if you need me. I’ll help you if you require it. It’s important to have friends out here, outlander, and you now have one. Keep it up.”

The man began to walk into the cave, leaving the ghost alone, blending into the darkness. He felt as if an ember had gone out in his breast. That darkness… He remembered… It was as if the feeling had gone full circle. He tried to shake the feeling of hopelessness and fear, but he couldn’t.

Wastes…

What was this place?

Where was he going?

What does any of this mean?

All he could think about were the questions this man had tried so haphazardly to answer, but proved to little avail. His mind raced and his nerves intensified. He shook as he trembled over to his pallet on the cold, hard ground. At this moment, he almost envied the feeling he had in the day. He almost yearned for the blistering heat to alleviate this tight, sharp cold. It got worse by the minute- no, by the second it seemed. His fears seemed to perspire from and perpetuate in the cold and the fear seemed to intensify the cold itself. It was a cruel cycle and it only seemed to accelerate. He collapsed onto his pallet, almost in tears. He didn’t understand why his throat began to choke and his face felt so heavy; almost like a tragic mask plastered on his skull. He could not bear this any longer. He inhaled, ready to unleash an outpour that felt contained on the surface�"

“Outlander!”

A shock raced through his nervous system, from head to toe. Though it was nearly instantaneous, it felt like the shockwave lasted a millennium as he felt every inch of his body swallow up in fear. Was this kind man about to reveal his true intentions? Was he a psychotic killer of innocent spirits that washed up on the shores of this living hell? Was he the reaper of souls coming to rip from his flesh the essence of his very being?

“In my urgency to tell you my story, I forgot to tell you my name. I am Lazarus Erei, but you can call my Laz.”

Lazarus? A name? This man had a name? For whatever reason, it never crossed his mind as a necessity.

“Anyway, sorry to startle you. Good night.”

Lazarus. Lazarus Erei. “Laz.”

It was a name. It was his name. This was his friend. The young man let out a relieved exhale. This sudden revelation made him feel like all he had worried about before was nothing more than obscene paranoia. All at once, the tight feeling of fear took a breath. He was being protected. He had safety. He was finally able to relax. The cold felt like nothing more than a breeze in the thin air. He was finally able to sleep.