"Darkness" by Stephanie J. Walls

Light. Darkness was swept from the land in a great sweeping rush. A light so bright it seared the senses and burned out sound leaving the earth in muted silence and fire. Light so hot it seemed near to melting flesh from bone, or singing hair to ash. Bright white blistering heat tearing apart the cool crisp night. And then a dwindling, as the light was pulled back into the blackness once more.

Thought. Darkness returned so quickly it seemed impossible after the brightness before. Brightness? Yes, a flash, a light… What light? There was darkness so thick it seemed to permeate the soul… Soul. Was this his soul? There had been a flash, and then darkness. Had he died? He rubbed a hand against his eyes. Hands? Souls didn’t have hands. Did they? Of course not, silly question. He sat up, squinting against the darkness. Total darkness.

He could feel. Feel his fingers spread out against the grass. Dry and hot it crackled beneath his skin. A warm breeze played across his face, going cold against the tracks of tears down his face. Wetness as he brushed his hand against his eyes again. He hoped it was only tears. Hoped it wasn’t blood. Don’t think about that. Blood made him feel like he would sick up. He wondered if he’d always been that way. Why would blood make him sick? He must not be used to seeing it, that’s all.

There was a stench in the air. It reminded him of putrid meat on the fire. Meat? God, he hoped it wasn’t him. He didn’t feel like he was burning. He still couldn’t see, not even his fingers as he slowly waved them in front of his face. He gingerly felt along his body, patting his legs, his abdomen, his chest, all the way to the top of his head. No burning. More wetness. He encountered it occasionally across his torso, on one shoulder, always followed by a burst of sensitivity that made him wince. It was pain, he thought. Too much to hope it was more tears. Eyes cry, but not that much.

He laid back on his back. He was so tired. As though he’d worked three days on the farm with no sleep. No, he didn’t work on the farm anymore. He had though, once. His head might be filled with fog but he remembered that much. Then, high above him, slowly coming into focus was a dull white circle. A light, but not blinding. Soft and bright all at the same time he watched in wonder as it slowly came into focus. A moon, shining out of the darkness like a jewel. Only one, and in its full. That seemed odd in itself. If that was Agnitos moon in its full, then where was Zandre in its quarter? Perhaps his eyesight was still adjusting. Even the dim light from the moon made him wince but he kept his eyes open.

The moon grew brighter, clearer; its brightness seemed to radiate and glow. But still Zandre did not appear. Now the night seemed painted with brilliant fires streaking across the stars seeming to race toward the ground. He turned his head. More light. In a semicircle around him small fires burned on tufts of browned grass. He could only see a few feet around him clearly, but it looked like small fires burned all around in the distance. And something radiated… around him. Its faint blue light quivered and shook, seeming to fade in and out. Blue streaks like electricity chased around the outside.

He blew air out of his nose, crinkling against that smell. It seemed worse now. Horrible. He had to move. Somewhere away from this smell. It made him want to rid himself of his lunch, though he hadn’t remember eating one in awhile. He sat, shaking his head to clear out the haziness misting his head. It was brighter now. Dawn must be approaching. He brought himself unsteadily to his feet, shifting from leg to leg as he tested his balance. He looked around him. Small fires blazed across the plains, dwindling as though burned out. Around him the blue arc flexed and quivered. A shield just barely maintaining itself. He seemed to remember making it just before that crashing wall of light. He couldn’t fathom how it had sustained itself. He was fairly certain he had lost consciousness. Its blue dome faded the view from outside, failing though it was. Otherwise he would never have felt that breeze that brought that stench. He thought he might recognize it. It smelled of death.

He fell to his knees, retching onto the singed soil. He had been unprepared for what lay outside the shield when he let dissipate. The hot breeze hit him full in the face bringing with it that sour, putrid smell. But it wasn’t the smell that made with retch, heaving the scant contents from his stomach. All around him, as far as he could see… Bodies. Nothing moved except for the stirring of blackened banners swaying in the wind. Great corpses of the Dragons surrounded by huge mounds of dirt furrowed in long tracks where they had crashed from the sky. Horses twisted against the ground as though they had writhed in pain before the blessed quiet of death had descended. Eyes stared blankly to the sky from the face of one of the great and noble wolves, fighting with men against the evil that threatened to destroy the world. All of the forces of Ariginoth arrayed against the might of the Tenbarbia. Magic wielded against magic, power raging as both sides struggled for control. And here lay the remains of all their efforts, their noble intentions. The bodies were blackened, most beyond recognition. Most.

He stumbled over to Sindares, Sergeant General to Her Royal Majesties Battalion. His friend. He closed his eyes against the sight, not wanting to look away but unable to face the ruin of one of his closest friends. Just outside the perimeter of his shield. He ground his fists against his eyes, grainy against the tears. If he had been just a little stronger. Just a little closer. They had to watch each others backs, be there for each other. How could he have failed so miserably? Just a little more power… if he hadn’t wasted so much. If he had tried harder. And there were more. More people he knew would not see the sunrise. The sun rise over this field of death and destruction. He envied them.

They had finally done it. No winners. Only death. Destruction lay for miles around, in every direction. Spreading for who knew how far. Was there anyone left? He knew he had to find out, though he doubted he would make it out alive. He gripped the chain from Sindares neck and snapped it off. The pendant was just a melted lump against his palm. Sindares’ wife would want to know. If she was alive. If anyone was alive. He swayed to his feet and looked around. Destruction. Which way? He started off in the half light, keeping his eyes ahead, trying to block everything out. How did you start over when everything you ever knew was gone?