Part 3

The notion of time was completely lost. Not only because the Valley was always dark, with no hints what so ever of the passing of time, but also because he was adrift, hanging in the brim of his own life.

He couldn’t move anymore. Tiredness and thirst were now unbearable and he decided, semiconsciously, to lie against a stone wall and wait the same destiny as other comrades had before: death, slow and tortuous. The creatures of the valley were still looking at him. Some waiting for him to die, others just maleficently tasting his misfortune, not bothering to rush his death.

He cleaned his eyes of the moist produced by tepid and dry air around him and looked at the great stone wall of the valley in front of him. The rock was uneven, with small spots for a creature to build a lair, and many cracks for the light to come through in thin rays. That light reflected on the other stone wall, producing what seemed to him like symbols. Those symbols were unknown.  Breathing heavily he felt himself day dreaming, losing his consciousness, felt the rhythm of his slow and weak heartbeat, and the pulse of the wretched wound that was still dripping dark-red blood.

A figure approached and stood in front of him, covered by torn-apart rags that covered him from what was supposed to be a head to the place were a human would have his toes. There was no way to tell, although, what he or it was. Even as weak as Calesh was, his hand moved automatically to the small dagger he still carried on his belt. But before he could reach it he felt the air-raising sensation of the gathering of shadow energy, and that typical buzzing sound that came with it, and BAAAMMM, the dagger exploded in his hip. The figures hand had moved only a bit, and he saw crippled fingers with dark nails sneaking from a long dark sleeve. He swallowed and cleared his mind. The time has come. Thank the Gods…

But no, the figure didn’t move. Instead, a voice as chilling as the image, rough and grizzled, spoke, pointing at the sun reflected symbols on the wall: ‘thee does not choose thy way across the Valley; the Valley chooses thy way.’

Calesh woke up, sweating and feeling a dreadful pain on his side. Alive. He cursed at the thought. He licked his lips, feeling them dry and tasting the blood on the corners of his mouth. Suddenly he remembered the dark figure and looked around. There was nothing, except the blinking eyes of evil creatures picking from the recesses on the dark walls. None of those creatures had come to give him his final blow. Not even the vilest of creatures was willing of his flesh. A flesh tainted with the blood of a coward. The figure was nowhere to be seen. He had dreamed, most likely.

One foot in front of the other, he started through the valley again. He was the single survivor of a coward expedition. An expedition of defeated man, longing for repentance, desiring a willing death, or hanging themselves with the rest of their strengths on the prospect of a new life. Calesh wasn’t sure to which he belonged. But he didn’t care.

One foot after the other. There was no more blood dripping, but the pain was still there, and the wound was still open, inhaling this defiled air.

Calesh forced himself through the valleys twisting pathways, not able to glimpse the end of his journey: be it death; or the green grass fields some claim existed in the end of this tormented route.  Suddenly he heard the sound of rocks falling down the walls of the valley, and he stopped. Moving by instinct he dived to the ashen ground, and rolling clumsily he tried to pull his dagger, but it was not there. A burst of fear caught him, and for the first time in his journey he looked back, trying to spot the figure he had dreamed of.  It was not there. Swallowing his dry throat he realized that it hadn’t been a dream and dread engulfed him furthermore. Moving his head around, side by side, and up and down, he saw shadows on the sky. He braced himself, expecting the flames that would follow, but none came. The shadows were just there, circling harmlessly, almost harmonically: a death melody in the sky.

He spotted a small clearing to his left and ran wildly for it, dropping to the ground head first and biting the dirt. The air left his lungs with the impact, and he felt like fading way. Trying to roll onto his back, Calesh’s strength left him and he almost passed out, vomiting the green bile from his empty stomach, as his eyes rolled and his head span.

He was only semiconscious when the shadows approached him. He tried to move his head to see them, but again the air-raising sensation and buzzing produced itself disabling him until he could not move or think, just breathe deeply and slowly. The power of the shadow energy had caught him again. Calesh felt an agonizing pain in his wound, as one of the shadows sank its claws into it. And then there was only darkness.

Copyright: 2017 by Duarte Malaguerra Nunes (SD Shytos)

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