Jherog woke in his wagon alone for what felt like the millionth time. Each day was bleeding into the next. He didn’t know what day it was or how long they’d been traveling. He’d even forgotten where they were traveling to and why. He felt like a useless corpse with little to no energy. Each night, he felt as though he lay awake, begging for a peaceful sleep, but it never came. Each morning he woke up having felt as though he hadn’t slept. Yet, he was in his wagon, rising from his makeshift bed, so he must have. He felt beyond exhausted. He could hardly find the energy to think, let alone speak. He could feel himself wasting away, getting thinner and thinner, weaker and weaker. But, he couldn’t explain how or why. It was challenging to put one foot in front of the other, so he stayed in his wagon most days. Funny, he thought and laughed to himself, he’d built the wagon with aspirations for it being his and Devra’s home, where they would become a family. But now, it was his prison. Nothing made sense to him anymore. Even his desire for Devra seemed so long ago and foreign. When he saw her now, he only felt pain and anguish. He didn’t even really want to look at her anymore and yet, at times, as though suddenly, he’d become aware while already staring at her. Sometimes she wouldn’t notice. Other times, she’d look back at him and give him a dangerous smile. One that encouraged him but he refused to act on.
Today he was determined to leave the wagon. It had seemed so long since he’d last felt the sun on his skin. Though he’d been awake for some time, amassing the energy to go out was proving more difficult than he thought. He needed food. He pushed himself up and out the door after putting on a long, dark, and thick cloak. The stairs were challenging, especially as the wagon was moving. He almost fell as he aimed for the last step, but caught himself somehow. When he looked up, everything was different. There were still masses of Devra’s followers walking along, carrying mounds of equipment, hauling even more on horses backs or in the backs of wagons, but there was a different feel and aura. There wasn’t much talking, or laughter being shared. Everyone seemed to be looking forward with long faces. He walked along, wondering where Devra could possibly be in the crowds. He felt so weak. He needed food. He wandered aimlessly throughout the cavalcade not recognizing any faces. When he reached the front, expecting to find Devra leading the way, he was surprised to find she wasn’t. But he recognized a few faces and engaged with them.
“Where is she?” He asked, though he was more interested in learning where to find food. Why did his mind always seek out Devra before anything else? The large Riggan he recognized turned toward him.
“You look awful, Jherog,” he smiled at him and Jherog nodded.
“Devra,” Jherog blurted though he felt he hadn’t meant to. Brox smiled at him.
“Last I heard she and Gahllagh were with the prisoners, back that way,” he pointed off in the distance and Jherog turned his head to look.
“Prisoners?” Jherog asked, turning back to walk with Brox. He missed a step and fell, but Brox caught him by the arm and dragged him along until he could catch his feet under him again. He looked up in thanks and could see Brox’s face curled up in concern.
“You’re still unwell?” He asked and Jherog nodded. He shook his head. “I would have thought healing you would be a simple task. Must be harder than it looks.” He looked forward again and slowly released Jherog’s arm as he kept pace.
“Heal me?” Jherog asked, confused. Brox nodded, another look of concern clear in his eyes as he looked down at Jherog. Sympathy was present also.
“Perhaps you need more rest,” he said. He stopped Jherog in his tracks, holding him by his arms, looking into his eyes. “I can take you back to your cart. Perhaps some sleep…” Jherog shook his head no emphatically.
“I need food,” he whispered.
“Food?” Brox confirmed and Jherog nodded. He pointed to another spot. “The feed area is right in the middle of everything. Easy access for all,” he explained. “It’s not too far. Can you make it?” Jherog could barely feel the movement, but could see he was shaking his head, yes. Brox patted the side of his arm. “Eat, then rest,” he advised. Jherog attempted a smile and turned away from him. He turned to walk to the middle of the large caravan, but soon found his feet leading away, off into the direction Brox had pointed out Devra’s location. He didn’t want to be moving towards her, but he felt some sort of pull, as though some sort of magical force, drawing him to her. He felt a sudden pang in his hip as a vision of her filled his mind. He could feel the stares as he walked past everyone but ignored them. Finally, after some time, he came to what he could only surmise as the prisoner area. Every Riggan and Goridian around him was suddenly armed and much more dangerous looking. Riggans with spears, and Goridians with swords and bows and arrows. It truly looked like an army and it made Jherog’s skin crawl in discomfort. He kept his eyes low to the ground, watching his feet fall, one in front of the other.
When he heard the clanging of chains and cracking of whips, he finally looked up. His eyes widened and he stopped in his tracks when he recognized what he was seeing. Many long lines of Gigans, their arms locked in chains to their chests, and their feet all linked by rope. When had they taken Gigans prisoner, he wondered. Had there been a battle he’d slept through? He followed the line of Gigans with his eyes and almost fell to the ground when he tried to look up at one as it passed by. Suddenly, he felt himself being lifted. His eyes worked to open but he found it difficult to keep them open.
“Shhhh…” a voice whispered. “I’ve got you.”
Jherog opened his eyes only to see the sky moving above him. How was he moving while laying down? He slowly turned his head to see a Gigan looking down at him, a kind and sympathetic look in his eyes. Jherog wanted to jump out and down, but couldn’t find the strength.
“I won’t hurt you,” the Gigan promised. “You look like you could use some rest.” Jherog didn’t know what to say. “Perhaps you’ve walked far enough, eh?” Again, Jherog couldn’t find the strength to speak or move. “As Gigan, I can walk for days. Rest with me until your strength has returned.” He could feel the Gigan pulling his cloak over his body.
“The… Dev…” Jherog struggled to speak.
“The Red Woman is near,” he whispered. “As I see it, you have two choices. Either rest with me and live, or fall for her to find you, and kill you.” Jherog couldn’t make sense of what he was hearing and tried to force the sleep attempting to take over to go away. “We prisoners have to stick together.” Jherog finally found the words to ask his question, but it was too late. All went black.
He woke to darkness, with a small flame burning off to the side. He turned to see a Riggan standing at attention, looking all around him, a torch in his hand. Jherog moved, feeling the stiffness in his body. It ached, likely from sleeping on the ground as he could feel the cold earth beneath him. He slowly lifted his head and felt it begin to spin. A soft but large hand touched his shoulder.
“Be careful,” a voice told him. “No sudden movements.” Jherog turned to see the same Gigan he’d fallen asleep on standing over him. He smiled down at him. “You seem somewhat better. Though you still look awful.” He moved and held something out to Jherog. “You need food.” It was a piece of soggy bread, but it was food. Recognizing how ravenous he felt, Jherog began eating it quickly. “Not too fast,” the Gigan told him. Jherog tried to slow his movements, but the piece of bread was quickly gone. The sensation filling his stomach, the warmth, the contentment, almost brought a smile to his face. He finally felt as though he had some energy, though very small.
“Where are we?” He finally asked. The Gigan looked around him, as though to ensure no one could hear.
“Several days to Efevra still, but we’re getting closer,” the Gigan answered.
“Efevra.” The Gigan nodded and Jherog could recall Devra telling him they were headed there.
“The Red Woman seeks to destroy the High Counsel and take over ruling Serenia.”
“She is the light…” Jherog muttered and the Gigan looked at him, confused. “She thinks she is the light,” he corrected himself.
“Yes. But I know she isn’t Venera Profera. No way would the light force us into this. She will poison all that is to bring the light.” Jherog moved to sit up, looking up at the Gigan, confused. “Goridians are not believers of the light.” He stated it as a fact, not a question. “Why would light then choose a Goridian? The Red Woman is Goridian.” He looked down at Jherog. “As are you.” Jherog nodded. There was no denying it. “Why are you prisoner, Goridian? Are you escaping?” Jherog didn’t know what to say and the Gigan smiled. “You must be a rare Goridian, choosing not to follow the Red Woman. You have no chains or rope tying you down. What’s your story?” Jherog searched his mind for an answer but could only come up with the truth. He was about to speak when all of the soldiers nearby began yelling and slashing their whips about. The Gigan quickly stood and looked around. The yelling grew louder and the Gigan lifted Jherog to his feet. “You must go. Now!” The Gigan yelled at him. “Warn those ahead. Including High Counsel.” He shoved Jherog away and turned to block him from being seen. Jherog hesitated for only a second and then ran.
He still hadn’t much energy. His legs still felt very heavy and his mind foggy. The Red Woman kept repeating in his mind and he wished he could make sense of it. He ran until he felt he was past the prisoners area to catch his breath. Movement was clearly still too taxing for him. He needed to get back to his wagon, but had no clue where to start. He turned and gasped when he saw the amount of fires before him. They went as far as the eye could see. Devra had evidently amassed an enormous and extensive army. How had she done it, he wondered. He walked around small camps and could hear voices talking as they sat around their fires. It felt as though he walked for hours and still, his wagon was nowhere to be seen. He came across a row of carts, covered with fabrics, and looked in hoping to find more food. Each wagon was filled to the brim with weapons - bows and arrows, swords, knives, shields, and more. The sight of them all made Jherog feel sick, and weak. He heard voices coming up behind him so he quickly crawled into one, hiding under the blanket so as not to be seen.
“Gahllagh!” It was Devra. Jherog would recognize her voice anywhere. He felt a part of him pull toward her, as though he desperately needed to see her, but he pushed it down. “We must find him.” Her voice wasn’t too far away.
“And we will,” Gahllagh responded. He was much closer, likely standing right next to the cart. “He can’t have gotten far.”
“Gahllagh,” Devra was now right next to him and lowered her voice. “You don’t understand…”
“Please don’t make the mistake of thinking otherwise,” he told her. “He is your father, and you are worried about him.” He sighed. “Just because I am Riggan does not mean I don’t understand the dynamics of caring for another.” Silence. “As soon as I am finished checking over the new weapons amassed, I will go in search of him. I promise. And I will take Brox, Bradehr, and Galrea with me. He can’t have gotten far.”
“It’s more than the fact that he’s my father, Gahllagh…” she sounded upset. It was as if there was concern behind her voice. Or was it fear?
“I know. You’ve been working tirelessly to heal him.” He sighed. “But look at you. You are wasting away. Look how thin and frail you are. It would be wiser for you to rest, especially now with the youngling…”
“I’ve told you! This youngling is ordained by the stars. The light. It’s fine. It’s safe. But it’s all connected to Jherog. Can’t you see? I need to heal him!” She sounded desperate.
“No, I don’t see! You’ve never explained it in a way I can understand. You’ve told me that you’re walking in his dreams. Forcing him to find memories he’s displaced. That to heal him you must first hurt him. Terribly. How does any of that make sense?” Gahllagh’s voice was raised, though in frustration, not anger. Silence hung between them and Jherog remained very still so as not to be heard breathing. There was a sigh. “Devra, you’ve confided in me and I am honored. You are the Bringer of Light. The light chose you. And I’ve sworn to follow you, protect you, empower you, as best I can. Every step of the way. But the connection to your father, I can’t see it.”
“Can you not simply trust me?”
“I do. Have I not proven so? I’ve helped amass this army for you. I’ve overseen the taking of prisoners, those who claim to follow the light. But you’ve sworn what we’re doing is all in the name of the light. That in order for light to shine its brightest, there must first be a time of darkness.”
“Precisely,” Devra’s voice changed. It was now calm, and came out almost in song. “Light cannot exist without darkness,” she told him. “We must take the light into the dark to know it.” She took a deep breath. “My father is the beginning of that darkness. Understand?” Jherog heard no response. “If I can heal the darkness in my father, there is room for light everywhere.” Silence. “Please.” Jherog heard nothing for a moment, and then footsteps trailing away. He waited with baited breath, not wanting to reveal himself too early. “Damn you Jherog!” He heard Devra whisper under her breath. “I will find you and I will break you until you are nothing but dust.”
Jherog’s heart stopped and jumped into his throat. He could smell Devra’s scent, hear her breath and it began to pull him to move. He could feel his heart pounding, and his body willing him to reveal himself to her. He wanted to see her hair blowing in the wind. He wanted to feel her face in his hands. But he fought it. He pushed the powerful urge down and tried to remain calm as he finally heard Devra’s steps move away. As he waited, his head spun with ultimate confusion. How was Devra healing him? With the flame she’d planted in his hip? He slowly released his breath and took long, slow ones to slow down his heart and try to muster up some energy. What had Gahllagh meant when he’d said she was walking in his dreams? Forcing him to find memories? He couldn’t make sense of any of it. But he knew he had to flee. He needed to get away from Devra as she clearly did not intend him any good.
He slowly lifted the blanket and looked around. There was no one to be seen. He looked up to see the tiniest part of the moon. The Time of No Shadows would be upon them soon. Hopefully it was dark enough he could sneak all the way back to his wagon without being seen. Hopefully he had enough strength. He stepped down from the wagon and stopped. So far, so good. But, what if Devra had someone watching the wagon, waiting for his return? Perhaps he should just leave now, on foot. With nothing on him. No food. No money. No clothes. Nothing. How would he survive? No. He needed to go back to his wagon to collect some of his things. He’d just have to be extra careful. He pulled his cloak around his body and head, aiming to hide beneath it as he began walking. The cloak felt as though it were hundreds of pounds. He urged himself to move faster, but it was too difficult. His body was too heavy to bear.
It felt like hours before he finally came up on it. There it was, his little home, his prison cell, sitting in the dark. It didn’t appear as though there was anyone standing guard or watching it. Still, slowly, creeping along the ground, he crawled until he rolled underneath it. His heart was pounding, and his eyes closed, as though ready to sleep. But he knew he had to keep going. He forced his eyes open, though it wasn’t easy. He pushed himself up and reached into the bottom of the wagon, pushing open the trap door he’d secretly made in the floor. It took so much energy to force himself onto his knees, to be able to look into the wagon. He was terrified, but relieved to see it empty. He was safe. For now.
He pulled himself through the trap door, but it took way too long. His arms just didn’t have the strength to pull him in, and his legs felt too weak to push him up. He rested there for just a moment and somehow managed to crawl inside. He moved to take a bag off the wall and start to fill it. There wasn’t too much, but he’d be able to make the berries and bread last a few days at least. He thrust them into the bag and looked around. He needed something to hold water. Where was his waterskin? He couldn’t see it, but found a bottle of liquid on the floor next to his bed. He crawled over and grabbed it. It was just a little over half full. He opened it and took a quick sip. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. It wasn’t water, nor wine. He didn’t quite know what it was, but it had a strange aftertaste. He closed it and shoved it into his bag. He stood and grabbed the candle on the bedside table. Was that everything, he asked himself. Was there anything else he should grab, just in case… He turned in circles, looking around the wagon and found himself disoriented. He felt queasy and stopped just before his bed. It looked so comfortable, and he was so tired. He felt his eyes grow heavy and his vision blurred. He tried to shake it off, but couldn’t. Suddenly, Derina was in his bed. She lay back, smiling up at him, caressing her swollen belly.
“Come,” she teased him, begging him to join her. “Be with me. Be with us, your family.”
Jherog somehow knew it wasn’t real this time. He tried shaking the vision away and succeeded for a movement, but she returned.
“Jherog,” it was Devra. Her voice in that sing-song style he liked when she was playful. “Please. I need you.”
As though beyond his control, he could feel his arm let the bag fall to the floor, and his legs move toward the bed. Derina smiled up at him with open arms. He fell beside her and smiled, ready to kiss and caress every inch of her, but she was gone and the bed burst into flames.
Ⓒ October 2023. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.