Tale of Doom -- Chapter 1, Part 1

  Noise, like insects screaming everywhere. A sharp throbbing in my ears as they circle all around in a spiral, coming closer and closer, louder and louder. They wake me up just as a ray of sunshine pierces the clouds and warms my face. Up until this point I've felt numb all over, understandable, since I am lying on a patch of snow, soft, freshly fallen and very cold. I get up, noticing an itching sensation in my left eye. Scratching it makes it fade, but it doesn't really go away. Looking around, I seem to be in some sort of meadow with snow and dirt. There's a path behind me, leading up to a mound, and everywhere else there's a dark forest with short, dead trees, tightly packed together. They all look sort of the same, and I think I can hear sounds coming from inside. Not the insects this time. I can't make out any of them, they're distorted and just hearing them is making me ill. The trees twist before my eyes as I walk closer, but the thought of another step freezes me in place. I would instead want to go away from here, run. But why? Fear? Doubtful, not after, not... I look around again and panic. Where am I? How did I get here? Do I at least know who I am? Thorm, yes, I'm Thorm. I remember looking for someone, but everything else is unclear. Flashes that don't make sense, noise I can't understand, then nothing. This place isn't very appealing, maybe I'll find answers somewhere else, far from these fell woods.  

  I walk to the top of the mound. The land stretches as far as I can see, but it's somehow utterly featureless, blurring off into the distance. Maybe my eyes are getting too old. I scratch the one that still itches and move on. There's less snow down here. Melting into the ground, it leaves behind muddy soil. Though, when walking over it, I could almost swear there's stone underneath. It seems as if it's actually dirt on a paved road. Like the one leading to the tavern. What tavern? There's a sharp sting in my head when I try to remember. Maybe it's not important. At this point I just wish the insects would stop following me. The mud dries up, turning into dry earth, cracked, baking under the bright hot sun. The clouds are gone. Should have picked up some of that snow, the heat is almost unbearable. I turn around to see how far I've gone, but it doesn't make sense. The forest shouldn't be that close, there should be mud, there should be snow, there should be a mound. Had I got turned around? Walked in circles? Perhaps, it's hard to tell in this place, wherever I am. I had walked the world twice over, at least, and some places beyond, but seen nothing like this before. A few blades of grass rise up from the cracks, small and frail, but a most welcome sight. They grow longer after a while, thicker, swaying in cool wind. I find myself surrounded by tall grass. Everywhere, just grass, but not behind me. I don't want to look behind me. Wherever I may be, it's a peaceful place, calming. For some reason, I breathe a sigh of relief, and for a few moments I lie down. I hadn't noticed up until now, but I feel tired and I would like take a nap on a soft bed of grass, if it were not for the insects. Their sounds is like an irritating ringing clawing through the ears and into my brain. I do my best to ignore it, but I can't. I get up and now, in the distance, there's something new.  

  Red. A spot of red in the corner of my right eye. Approaching it, I can see that it's a small garden of roses, being tended to by a woman. I remember her. She's not supposed to be here, she couldn't. I call out her name, but before I can utter a sound, a gust of wind blows dust into my eyes, blinding me for a spell. When it dies down, she is gone, so is the garden. This more than anything serves to fuel my suspicion that I'm not in a real place. And the ringing, it's not insects, I don't remember seeing any insect in this place. It's in my head and growing louder with each step I take. Perhaps going farther would give me answers, so I walk and walk for untold lengths, yet no answers come, just more ringing. The sun is fading, and with it the grass withers. It used to be pleasant here, but now even the cool wind has an ominous sound to it, blowing through the dry blades of grass, making a sound that scrapes my nerves and makes my eye itch even worse. Then the blue sky turns to blood and the ground turns into a desolate wasteland. It doesn't even feel like earth anymore, the ground is dry and hard, almost as if it were stone and, from time to time, small twisters form in the wind, scattering dust in all directions. Then I see it. On the horizon. A single black shape approaching. I know it. The vision that first visited me decades ago, the inevitable I had hoped to never meet again. The creature they would call Death.  

  It looked just as it did then, a tall figure with a black cloak, clutching the staff it leaned on when walking. Chains were attached to its almost skeletal wrists, they were not bound to each other, but to the staff. Each step it took seemed to last an eternity. I had no wish to hasten its approach, yet running would be pointless. Where would I go? If this is Death's domain, then it is far too late for such things. I dare only take a look back and maybe see the field so full of life through which I had almost slept in. But there's only the dead forest, a few steps away. Hanging over me as if it had chased me all this way. Before me, the figure stops and remains silent, motionless. I stare into the blackness of its face, a place so dark that it makes me shiver, and still it does nothing. Why does it hesitate?  

  “Am I dead?”  

  “No!”, it answers. Not with a voice, but with a whispered echo in my mind.    

  “Then why have you brought me here creature of death?”  

  “You are not here.”, it says, slowly pulling back its hood.  “And I am not your death.”  It reveals a face, a real one. Battered, bloodied, bruised, broken, old, scarred and withered, yet I know it.  

  It is my own.  

  “I remember.”  

  The ringing, the accursed ringing grows louder, excruciating and unbearable. It drags me screaming back to the reality I tried to escape, that I refused to accept. Defeat, complete and utter failure.  

  My senses return slowly. I can smell blood. With my right hand I can barely feel the wet floor I rest on and the cold wall I lean against, but nothing else, not a single other part of my body. I open my eyes, yet only one obeys my will. The left one doesn't itch anymore, I wish it did. A blurry swirl of shape and color slowly gives way to an image of sorrow. My left arm stands before me, on the floor, too far away to ever hope to use it again. Seeing it forces into my mind a flash of how it was torn off. The memory of the pain burns, yet I am thankful that the ability to feel real pain has left me for now, like screaming to yourself until you go deaf. It hit me badly, worse than I can ever remember having suffered in such a short time. But what's an arm and an eye, I've done far worse to beings and they still managed to crawl and try to claw my face off. Maybe that's the extend of my injuries, and my legs are just numb, in need of a stretch. For a moment I hesitate, yet there's not much point in just laying here. I try to stand up, using my right arm as support. I rise a little from the ground, if I'm still strong enough to lift myself everything should be fine. It's not like I'm the lightest person possible. I try to move my legs to support the weight, progress is slow, but promising. And what's an arm these days, anyway? Lots of people do just fine without both of them. Nearly there. Almost, almost... I suddenly feel a snap.  

  In the blink of an eye I crash back to the floor, leaning on a broken arm. To make matters worse, I feel blood leaving my body. That's why the ground was wet, while I slept it clogged in the wounds. That was no longer a problem for it, and what was left of my blood is now freely pouring out, quickly, spurred by the effort of trying to get up. I could not move at all and I was bleeding to death. What could make things worse? Must I even ask it? I know the answer. I didn't come here alone. And there they were, staring me down with faces frozen in suffering. They knew this could be their fate and they followed me regardless. Valiant fools until the end, desperate fools. Sleep now dear friends, for you the worst is over. The living shall envy you soon. My vision becomes blurry again and slows to a crawl. I can tell by how the blood flowing around me seems to stand still and then jump farther a few moments later. What a sorry fate. It makes me wish I was back there, with the grass, the snow, but not that frightful forest. I would just sleep there, fading away oblivious to the truth. At peace.  

  There! A flash in the distance! One yet lives to fight, lives to win, to redeem me, us, all of us. And he isn't wasting the opportunity. The shriek of pain hits me like wave of warm satisfaction.  

  This, this is why I was brought back here, now. Not a punishment for my failure, not a cruel jest of fate, but vindication. To bear witness and pass on knowing it was not in vain. I see moments frozen in time of him striking the beast and I see it stumbling, writhing in pain. I rejoice in its suffering. I see him leaping, sword in both hands, burning with the light of long dead ages. I see the beast cowering in terror, trying to block with its arm. Could this be it? The moment passes. The beast is on its knees, struggling to get back up with only one arm, the other bleeding on the floor. Know how it feels monster! He rushes to it, ready to plunge the sword in it's head. The killing blow is at hand.  

  “Take it!”, I would scream at him. But all I could muster is a whimper. It's all that I have left to give. I am sorry.    

  Another moment in time, frozen mid strike. The beast defenseless, the sharp edge near, and yet... no... no... no! The arm, look at the arm you fool. It carries no weight, it doesn't even touch the ground, it's not trying to get up, it lies in wait. Guard yourself. Guard yourself! But he doesn't hear me. This moment seems to last forever and it taunts me with visions of how it could play out. How he sees the trap, jumps back at the last possible instant, lets it lunge at him and then cuts off the head of the beast. Or how he stops just short, slices off the other arm and then impales the beast, cuts it in half. Then it happens. It grabs his hand before the sword hits and breaks the bone. He screams. The weapon falls. The beast grins. The moment passes.  

  It holds him up by his throat, he struggles in vain. This is wrong, all wrong. Me. It should be me there, in his place, gasping for breath in its claws, and tearing it limb from limb as it tries to choke the life out of me. Staring into its dead eyes, victorious. But it's not. It's a child being thrown against the wall, limp and lifeless. With its last opponent vanquished, the beast looks towards the dead, it's as if it felt what little spark I had left. And it comes for me. Each step it makes takes longer and longer for my eyes to see. The arm grows back with even sharper claws.    

  I will deny you my murder, I will die of my own will before you get the chance! This is life is mine, finally mine and mine alone, I will end it, not you! An idle threat screamed into my mind. Had the beast heard me, it would have surely laughed. It nears. It kneels. It picks me up by the head, driving it's claws into my skull, breaking bone and bringing a final unimaginable pain.    

  I can see the meadow again. It's far away, but I can still glimpse it through the trees. I want to look down, but I can't. I want to move, but I can't. I want to close my eyes, but I can't. I don't even have eyes, I'm just here, a short dead tree like everyone else, waiting to be harvested. I know this now. They will come soon, and I am afraid, because I know who will come for me, and what will happen after that.    

  I am afraid.    

  The air before me breaks apart. A black tear spreads out and a familiar hand reaches through. It grabs me and pulls me in with it. Now, silence and a boundless void. No more ringing in my ears.  

  “Am I dead?”  

  “Yes.” , a voice calls out, shattering the silence. Not an echo in my mind, but a true one, powerful and old.  

  “What happens now?”  

  The darkness begins to shimmer with flashing images. I know them. Moments of my life, some that I had forgotten, some I had hoped to forget.  

  “Now you shall tell me your tale.”, it answered 

This is a sample of the first chapter of Tale of Doom, a book that I am in the process of finishing. Volume 1 is available to buy on Itch.io or Amazon, but I'd prefer the other version if you're really interested, it's more up to date. Volume 2 will be out at the end of this year. 

I will be posting more of the book here, on Steemit, in the next couple of days. If anyone is interested in writing a review of the book, let me know and I will send you a digital copy of it.