- Oct 28, 2006
- im in ur atic revvin a chanesaw
PROLOGUE TO THE BRIGHT LORD
--Four Ways an Ending Began--
--Four Ways an Ending Began--
He had been in the burned-out shell of a city, in the rubble that was a hospital, with the sick and the dying. The civil war had raged around him as he went to the moaning, writhing injured one by one, healing their wounds regardless of allegiance. He was a doctor and that was what he did, until that moment when the magic didn’t come and the blood didn’t stop flowing at his touch and he looked up to see the warriors in red-spattered white laughing as the blue-clad fighters dropped under the weight of swords and shields and armor suddenly five times too heavy for their muscles.
They were supposed to save the world.
Just the five of them, sneaking in, a team of assassins who would be hailed as heroes when they beat the man who had single-handedly won the rebellion. She would lead them, she would protect them and everything would be okay again.
The ominous feeling began when she saw the trimmed red beard and unwrinkled skin, the face of a man thirty years younger. When her comrades charged and fought and cut into the Bright Lord with everything they had until he fell, when her comrades turned around with tired eyes ready to begin the journey home, she was not entirely surprised to see the man rise up behind them with a sword in hand.
They were the first to meet each other across the mountain range, just two men out riding and hunting. They talked to each other in strange words and called on strange instruments to bring the rest of their hunts, and the two groups of strangers made friends that night because they didn’t know yet how to argue with each other and slept next to the same campfire and started to learn each other’s languages.
Much later, after the screams and battles and blood, when the stranger from the south recalls bitterly the chants and the rituals and the priests that brought strength enough to crush rocks and horses that never grew tired and injuries that never festered, he thinks I should have known. When the stranger from the north remembers the first time he saw the Heathens, he has no regrets, because he should have known better but he didn’t and he doesn’t and he won’t.
There are many books in the library and she’s only skimmed three but already she knows too much, far too much. There are a lot of missing pieces but the timeline of events begins to sketch itself out in her mind no matter how hard she tries to forget, to insist that it just can’t be true.
Right now everything is fine, isn’t it? All the blood and the dying and the revolution turned out okay. So she can leave it, she can go, her curiosity has been satisfied, close the book and walk away forever. This is where the story ends.
I'm afraid this isn't going to make sense to anyone but me. I mean, right now it's supposed to be a little confusing, but I have the feeling it's going to be completely incoherent. Especially the last sentence of 3, but I've fallen in love with that sentence for some reason and I'm not changing it. 2 was supposed to make you think of fellowships and adventuring parties, but I'm not sure I got that point across. The person in 4 is the main character of the story. The reason she's not named is because... um... I don't actually have a name for her yet. Yeah.