Narim struggled to keep his feet moving. Between the knee deep mud and the ragged hide boots that had long since grown too small, his pace was slow and unsteady. His mind buzzed miserably. At least, he considered, he was lucid enough to notice the irritating pain behind his eyes. How much time had passed, he sometimes wondered during these moments of lucidity. Seaons? Winters? He only had to look down at his hands to see himself changing.
Horns of pursuit sounded in the distance and narim knew they were meant for him. When he closed his eyes, he could feel their presence. 14 Mafaeri soldiers dispatched directly from Alagany stumbling in the same mud as he did, angry and driven by a desire to please their commander. It was during these moments of clarity that he truly understood the gravity of his current troublesome situation. With each new day he woke from hiding he was one step closer to his own death at the hands of those seeking revenge. Considering the things he must have done, those things he couldn’t quite remember, he felt overwhelmingly burdened with guilt and shame. He kept running simply out of preservation, not out of hope for his survival. One day he would meet his end.
Well into the night, as the ground turned from thick black mud to slush, Narim felt the first flakes of winter hit his face. He stopped just long enough to watch them melt under the heat of his laboring breath. Simple and beautiful. If only life were like this instead.
In no time at all the snow fall grew heavier. Soon, traversing through this storm became impossible. The snow was wet, chilling him to the bone, weighing down his frozen limbs. This would be where he met his end. His mind shuddered violently, tracing an incident that occurred in this same area some time ago. A mercenary in the same position he was in, trapped in the snow, pursued, made himself a makeshift shelter in the snow and waited for death. Narim knew with every fiber of his being, he would re-enact this scene, the same sorrowfilled tears freezing to his dying cheeks. He began to dig.
It wasn’t a deep hole. It wouldn’t even conceal him from discovery, but it would buy him time to make one last prayer to Mother Fate. He thought about what would be the thing most worth praying for. It wasn’t for redemption or even for forgiveness. As much as he wanted the burden off his shoulders, it didn’t feel right. He couldn’t even remember how old he was, much less what he’d done.
“Mother, I have done things. Terrible things. Things that I know would shame me to seek my own death however how can I possible feel the appropriate guilt without knowing what these terrible things are. I guess, what I am asking for, Mother, is to know all the things I’ve done. I—“ his body was suddenly gripped in waves of misery. His mind felt as if it would explode. Images of carnage beyond his own imagining ripped through him. A myriad of faces wearing masks of abject horror poured into him, cries of pain deafening all reason.
Narim, blind to his surroundings and the arrival of the soldiers, lay curled in the snow. Shivering sobs wracked his body. Even the sensation of sharpened steel piercing through him failed to bring him back to reality. His last thoughts were shared with the multitudes of innocents that had died by his own hand.
He woke to a pleasant warmth enveloping him. Narim struggled to open his eyes, only catching bleary glimpses of a light too bright to gaze into directly. This must be Auraach, he thought to himself strangely pleasantly. A barrage of scents filled his nose, of sandal wood and lilies, rich woodsmoke and even a faint whisper of the sacred oils Mother Lin used to burn each morning. If he had known death was so … comfortable… perhaps he would have sought it out long ago. The warmth around him shifted slighty, tightening around him. Someone was humming a haunting song that lay deep in his memories, calling back thoughts of Mallora whom he’d not given a single thought to in so long. Remember Mallora made his breath hitch in a surprise sob. Even in death his heart ached for her.
Narim tried to say her name, but the sounds he produced sounded harsh and guttural.
Don’t try to speak just yet. Rest. The voice resonated in his mind. He suddenly felt overwhelmingly weak. His eyes no longer struggled to open, his lips ceased their attempt to speak. He was almost sure he felt a cool hand smoothing his hair back from his forehead, just as Mallora had done when he was a small child.
The terror is over, sweet child. The time for atonement is now. That soothing voice reverberated through his thoughts as he slid away into darkness.
Horns of pursuit sounded in the distance and narim knew they were meant for him. When he closed his eyes, he could feel their presence. 14 Mafaeri soldiers dispatched directly from Alagany stumbling in the same mud as he did, angry and driven by a desire to please their commander. It was during these moments of clarity that he truly understood the gravity of his current troublesome situation. With each new day he woke from hiding he was one step closer to his own death at the hands of those seeking revenge. Considering the things he must have done, those things he couldn’t quite remember, he felt overwhelmingly burdened with guilt and shame. He kept running simply out of preservation, not out of hope for his survival. One day he would meet his end.
Well into the night, as the ground turned from thick black mud to slush, Narim felt the first flakes of winter hit his face. He stopped just long enough to watch them melt under the heat of his laboring breath. Simple and beautiful. If only life were like this instead.
In no time at all the snow fall grew heavier. Soon, traversing through this storm became impossible. The snow was wet, chilling him to the bone, weighing down his frozen limbs. This would be where he met his end. His mind shuddered violently, tracing an incident that occurred in this same area some time ago. A mercenary in the same position he was in, trapped in the snow, pursued, made himself a makeshift shelter in the snow and waited for death. Narim knew with every fiber of his being, he would re-enact this scene, the same sorrowfilled tears freezing to his dying cheeks. He began to dig.
It wasn’t a deep hole. It wouldn’t even conceal him from discovery, but it would buy him time to make one last prayer to Mother Fate. He thought about what would be the thing most worth praying for. It wasn’t for redemption or even for forgiveness. As much as he wanted the burden off his shoulders, it didn’t feel right. He couldn’t even remember how old he was, much less what he’d done.
“Mother, I have done things. Terrible things. Things that I know would shame me to seek my own death however how can I possible feel the appropriate guilt without knowing what these terrible things are. I guess, what I am asking for, Mother, is to know all the things I’ve done. I—“ his body was suddenly gripped in waves of misery. His mind felt as if it would explode. Images of carnage beyond his own imagining ripped through him. A myriad of faces wearing masks of abject horror poured into him, cries of pain deafening all reason.
Narim, blind to his surroundings and the arrival of the soldiers, lay curled in the snow. Shivering sobs wracked his body. Even the sensation of sharpened steel piercing through him failed to bring him back to reality. His last thoughts were shared with the multitudes of innocents that had died by his own hand.
He woke to a pleasant warmth enveloping him. Narim struggled to open his eyes, only catching bleary glimpses of a light too bright to gaze into directly. This must be Auraach, he thought to himself strangely pleasantly. A barrage of scents filled his nose, of sandal wood and lilies, rich woodsmoke and even a faint whisper of the sacred oils Mother Lin used to burn each morning. If he had known death was so … comfortable… perhaps he would have sought it out long ago. The warmth around him shifted slighty, tightening around him. Someone was humming a haunting song that lay deep in his memories, calling back thoughts of Mallora whom he’d not given a single thought to in so long. Remember Mallora made his breath hitch in a surprise sob. Even in death his heart ached for her.
Narim tried to say her name, but the sounds he produced sounded harsh and guttural.
Don’t try to speak just yet. Rest. The voice resonated in his mind. He suddenly felt overwhelmingly weak. His eyes no longer struggled to open, his lips ceased their attempt to speak. He was almost sure he felt a cool hand smoothing his hair back from his forehead, just as Mallora had done when he was a small child.
The terror is over, sweet child. The time for atonement is now. That soothing voice reverberated through his thoughts as he slid away into darkness.
