The Secluded Village by Bradley Sullivan

The Secluded Village by Bradley Sullivan

The village Kelan lived in all his life, surrounded by impassable mountains and lush plains, had no name. The adults said that this village was all there is, as there lay nothing outside its territory, so why have a name? A name signifies a relationship with another, a piece of a population used solely to give context to itself. There is no outside context for a village if there is nothing beyond its borders, so the village simply lacked a name. Even as a child, Kelan found this explanation unsatisfactory.

“Ah, thank you Kelan. This old well was fit to collapse. I’m glad you’re so reliable,” the old woman said. She came up to Kelan and whispered in his ear, “unlike some of the handymen these days!” She nodded her head towards his mentor across the street. The man had begun to lose his sight, and as a result the door he was tinkering with was in no better shape than it was three days ago, when he began the repairs. “Anyway, dear, you run off home now. About time you fill your belly before ritual preparations tomorrow. Take this fresh loaf of bread to your family. I’m sure they’ll love it.”

There wasn’t a ritual planned this year. The last one had been held last spring, they were still nine years from the next one. Kelan attributed the comment to old age and shrugged it off. “Thanks ma’am. Hopefully your well holds up for a while longer!” Kelan waved to the woman as he made his way towards the family’s home. Each house in the village was identical: a thatch roof, big pine logs, and a stone fireplace. It was nothing flashy like the Chief’s house behind the central plaza, but it was all Kelan, and everyone else in the village, ever knew.

Gray smoke poured out of the fireplace when Kelan approached his house, a smell of ash mixed with the smell of sizzling meat as Kelan opened the door, hearing the familiar squeak.

He expected his father to be diligently preparing dinner, his mother to be tending to the fireplace, and his sister to be resting on the couch after a day in the fields. Instead, they were gathered in the living room, as if they were waiting for him. His personal diary sat open on the table, the pages scribbled with black ink.

His sister, Liara, spoke first, “Kelan, what is this?” she asked as she pointed at the familiar book, frayed at the edges and protected by an amber leather cover.

Kelan resisted the urge to lunge for the book, instead rambling out an incoherent answer. “That’s the diary I keep at night, it just has a bunch of words in it, like poetry. None of it is serious at all, so don’t worry about it. It keeps me sane; my work can be hard as you’d imagine. I’m sure it’s quite common for people in the village to have books like that, isn’t it? Here, I’ll take it back to my room and we can have dinner. The old lady gave me bread and it’s still warm!” Kelan tried to rush his way into the kitchen, only for his father to step in his way.

“No, you’re going to explain why you have dozens of pages in this ‘diary’ of yours dedicated to thoughts about the outside. This village survives because we keep to ourselves. This family survives because we listen to the laws of the God of Plenty. This book is treason!” Kelan’s father slammed his fist into the wall.

“Speak up, Kelan. Unless you have a damn good reason for this, we will be forced to report you,” Liara said, her voice an unfamiliar icy tone. Kelan’s family, normally warm and loving, were attacking him like he was a criminal. In a way, he was.

& & &

The villagers lined the path to the central plaza, all waiting for the criminal to take the walk to the Grand Hall and provide them a bountiful harvest with their blood. Kelan, hands bound with rope and scarlet with its burn, walked between his family past the jeering farmers, the excited market merchants, and the hopeful citizens. For everyone else, this was a blessed ritual, one linked to the continued existence of the village. For Kelan, it was his last chance to view the night sky. His father held a scowl, contempt and shame from his only son’s treachery. His mother cried, in disbelief that she had to watch a beloved child of hers leave the land. Liara simply looked forward, no emotion on her face.

“You did this to yourself, brother.”

That was all she said during the sentencing, and nothing more since.

As each face passed by Kelan’s vision, he felt a feeling he did not know. These people were all his neighbors. He fixed their houses, cleaned their fireplaces, watched their children. The theories he laid out in his diary, he realized they were true.

Blind Faith is the greatest lie. Without purpose, faith takes hold. Without faith, fear grips.

Each face held a twisted joy. Excitement simmered in the hearts of all, ready for a renewed harvest season. Either they didn’t care about Kelan, or the sacrifice was more important to them. Everyone cheered on the procession as it neared the stone steps to the central plaza.

Kelan couldn’t hear much through the myriad of voices on all sides. His hearing was already damaged from the labor he did for the good of the village, but this time, it was the overabundance of noise that deafened him. Yet, there was movement just outside his vision among the crowd. The old woman whose well he fixed just yesterday stared into his eyes with reason, unlike the other hungry stares of the villagers. She mouthed just three words, and held her finger towards the north, at the snowy peaks behind him.

“The Forbidden Mountain.”

Kelan couldn’t help but turn around for a moment, and saw a dim light emanate from the north village gate, before he was yanked back into formation by his father with a painful shoulder grip.

“Look forward!” he hissed, “You’ve already risked my family enough!”

The Forbidden Mountain was one of the only stories he managed to dig up in his few years of work. The rumor was, if you could brave the intense physical and mental strain of the secret mountain path that snaked through the north, there was bounty and knowledge in abundance for you and you alone.

Kelan was led up each step, pushed forward by his father’s relentless arm. In the plaza there were only three objects: a torch to illuminate the ceremony, the ornate ritual knife plated with gold and wheat carvings, and a large hide sheet used to carry the sacrificed body to the Grand Hall. The procession stopped and each family member stepped back, allowing the chosen to honorably end their own life for the village. Kelan wondered if it were possible to run. The ropes were now removed, and he had full range of movement. He wasn’t drugged like some of the other sacrifices have been in the past, and there wasn’t a backup executioner in place. This whole ceremony seemed rushed, incomplete, like his sacrifice was not planned. In the pitch black darkness, he could make it. All he needed was the knife and he could force his way out.

He looked at his family’s faces. All the love they displayed, the care, and the compassion, it was all gone. What were tears of sadness in his mother’s eyes became tears of joy. He looked at his sister. What looked back was voracity. He looked at his father, and only duty returned his gaze. They couldn’t wait for the carnage, as if they were possessed. This was a chance to watch up close the brutal suicide of a sacrifice, all done for the good of the village.

Why?

Kelan picked up the frigid knife, looked around for an opening in the crowd, and spotted one. There was a gap leading westward, towards his former home, where he could snag supplies before searching for The Forbidden Mountain’s trailhead. Kelan tipped the torch next to him and dashed. The light from the stars was hardly enough to see, especially with his eyes filled with tears, but Kelan ran as fast as his legs would allow and hoped he didn’t trip. Each step felt like an eternity as one hit the dirt after the other, in rhythm. His home was no longer safe, and his family was no longer sane. It was as if the God of Death’s malice had sunken into the minds of the townspeople.

The second he broke through the wall of people, a collective cry pierced the air, one of anger and sadness.

“How could you!”

“Get back here, traitor!”

“Your blood will spill, you bastard!”

The screams were painful to hear. They were his friends, his family. They helped him grow.

Not anymore.

After a few minutes, the screams subsided, becoming nearly inaudible. Kelan had already run far enough that it would take a coordinated effort to spot him in the night’s dim light. Before long, he made it to his old home, taking everything from bread to blankets, stuffing them into a large leather sack. Before the moon even passed its peak in the sky, Kelan had already left the village proper, and traversed the chilly autumn dirt road past the endless plots of farmland, taking in the crisp, brittle air in huge breaths to calm his stomach.

When God’s light lit up the early morning sky, Kelan arrived at the border of the village. Steep mountains rose along the northern border, acting as walls of stone. Kelan spent the morning and afternoon tracing the mountainside, searching for any evidence of a trail, but even once the light faded for the next night, there wasn’t a single hint of a way past the stone barrier.

“Am I searching for another lie?” Kelan asked no one as he sat against a large pine tree and attempted to rest his eyes.

“You’re here,” a voice said in the darkness.

Kelan jolted to his feet in an instant, expecting a fight. He ripped the ritual knife out of his belt.

“Good reaction time, but I’m not here to hurt you. You can put your weapon away,” the voice said. A figure stepped out of the shadows in front of him. What appeared was not a monster or a bloodthirsty villager, but an old lady.

“Thank you again for fixing my well, Kelan. You know, I’d suspected this day would come sooner or later. You always carried yourself differently than the other kids.”

“What do you… wait, how did you know where I was?”

“You remember what I mouthed to you while you marched towards the plaza, yes?”

“It was ‘The Forbidden Mountain’ right?”

The old lady nodded. “The Forbidden Mountain’s trail is a dangerous place. There are twisted creatures who will try and trick you, paths that will lead to places that don’t make sense, and treacherous weather that will kill you if you aren’t prepared. You must keep your goal firmly in the back of your mind, or you will lose it and die up there.”

“My mind is hardened, as is my resolve. I must reach the summit, I need to know the truth.”

“The path begins here,” she said, pointing to the vertical rock wall behind her. “When the sun shines on the stone, the blessing of the God of Plenty will reveal the way. Good luck, Kelan.”

The lady did not wait for Kelan’s response. She blended back into the shadows and disappeared like a specter, leaving no trace.

Without another thought, Kelan let his exhaustion overtake him. He tucked himself into the roots of a nearby tree and drifted off into a nightmare filled sleep.

& & &

The light of the early morning beamed into Kelan’s eyes, forcing him awake. He pulled his body off the ground and grabbed his bag. The old lady hadn’t lied. What was an impenetrable rock wall had become a doorway of stone, with a dirt trail leading up a mountain covered in wildflowers. It was ethereal, like a picture of Plenty, the god’s domain. Reds and yellows and greens were woven together like a celebration of nature, sweet pollen floated in the air, smelling of lavender and honey, surrounding the winding road to divine knowledge. Kelan stepped through the gate, embracing the calm that overtook him. His feet seemed to move on their own, weightless, as Kelan put each foot in front of the other. God’s light cast a warmth on his skin, tempting him to lay in the flowers and rest. But he knew this wasn’t possible. The mountain was trying to gauge him, to trick him.

Blind faith, Kelan. You can’t stop, not after what you saw in Liara’s eyes. Press on.

The trail gradually transitioned into a dense forest. It was nearing midday, yet the trees covered more and more of the sky. Kelan slowed his pace, watching the ground for any roots.

“Brother?”

Kelan whipped his head to the right where he heard the voice, his heart skipping a beat. Nothing. As he turned back towards the trail, a branch appeared right at eye level and he smacked into it, falling onto the ground.

“Ow!” he said, holding his forehead with his hands. No blood oozed out, but he could feel a bump forming.

“Would you like some help up, brother?”

A woman stood in front of Kelan, clad in the village’s wilderness gear and a large supply pack. She was the spitting image of Liara, with the same shoulder length auburn hair and round aqua eyes that felt like they stared right through you.

“Liara?” Kelan asked.

She smiled, continuing to hold out her hand.

How he missed that smile already.

Kelan accepted her help, and she pulled him back on his feet.

“Why are you out here, brother? Come home. Father made a delicious roast, and mother has prepared a nice, warm fire.”

Kelan couldn’t help but feel a pang in his chest as he began to walk forward once more. “I can’t. You saw what father and mother really thought of me during the ceremony. If I go back I’m a dead man.”

“That’s not true. Home hasn’t been the same since you left. We didn’t realize how much we needed you…so please, brother? Please come back!” Liara suddenly broke out in tears as she held Kelan’s arm. He stopped, and turned towards her. Liara was always the strong one of the family. She was the lynchpin, and much stronger than anyone he’d ever known. He’d never seen her cry.

Kelan shook off the arm of the monster pretending to be his sister. “Get off! You aren’t her!”

“HEE HEE HEE!” It seemed to boil away its disguise as the skin dripped off and sizzled on the ground, letting out a harrowing laugh before hopping like a squirrel into the trees.

Kelan picked up his pace, cursing his own naivete. He couldn’t allow these monsters to slow him down. Other voices called out to him, but he kept his head forward. He heard his mother, desperately begging him for one last hug, his father, demanding that he come back to prove his innocence, even the Chief, reciting the mantras of the village.

“Shut up! You aren’t them!” He finally said, swinging his knife through the air in an effort to scare them off. Each voice let out a piercing laugh like a knife against his ears, and all of them bounded away into the trees. Kelan could feel his heart hammering in his chest as he tried to steady his breathing.

Keep walking.

With each step forward, the forest subsided, replaced by a land of accumulated snow. The steep path that snaked up the mountain was covered in uneven piles, and the summit was barely visible, even as the thick treeline retreated. Snow clouds dropped small flakes onto Kelan’s body, causing them to melt into frigid water droplets.

Kelan felt a chill travel down his spine, and threw on the leather jacket from his bag.

Don’t stop moving. He repeated this like a mantra in his head.

The ice beneath his feet cracked as he carefully took one step at a time, dodging snow drifts built up over many months, and climbing over rocks that had broken off and embedded themselves into the ground. With each step, Kelan could feel the biting cold and the dry air assaulting his body. His breaths billowed out visibly as the heat dissipated before his eyes and the little moisture he had with it. After a short time, he felt his face and hands go numb.

Winter had never been this bad in the village. The most he ever dealt with was some small snow showers and fleeting freezes. Despite the seasonal rotation of crops, the weather hardly changed most days. He needed a place to warm up soon, out of the wind and snow that never ceased. He noticed, as if it were waiting for him, a cave. It was barely visible from the path, tucked into a small nook of the mountain as if hiding from the weather.

I need to warm up. I can’t get to the summit if my body freezes.

Kelan, through his instinctual desire for warmth, stepped off the path and into the cave. Small icicles hung from the entrance, as if warning against entering. The walls were covered in solid ice, clear and reflective as a piece of glass. Even the smallest, most insignificant sounds echoed through the cave, making it strangely loud inside. Despite all this, it was much warmer without the wind. Once his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he noticed a crevice in the ice. It was no more than two feet apart, and at least four feet tall, but there was a glow emanating from inside. He heard the words of the old lady in his head, reminding him not to lose track of his goal, but the cold lapsed his judgment. As his body shivered like a tiny, bald dog, Kelan inched towards the crevice to see what was inside.

A cozy fire burned in the center of the small room, casting long shadows across the frozen walls. A man sat beside the fire and flipped his slab of meat as it sizzled away, whistling all the while a tune unfamiliar to Kelan.

“Oh? Do we have a guest? Welcome, welcome! I have more than enough for you, my boy,” the man said with a wide smile. His hair was unkempt and ragged, but his earnest blue eyes fooled no one.

Kelan stepped into the room, and instantly felt heat spread throughout his body, as if the sun was held in that crackling fire. “What are you doing out here in The Forbidden Mountain?”

“Is that what the folks out here call this place? It has its fair share of harsh conditions, but it hardly needs to be forbidden,” he said. He let out a hardy laugh from the gut, “The real question is, what are you doing out here, without any winter gear?”

“I need to get to the summit. Something I need is up there.”

“Not in those clothes, you’re not. You’ll freeze to death before you get close. I have some spare gear I can lend you. In my pack.” He gestured towards the corner of the room.

Kelan looked behind the man. Indeed, there were blankets and heavy shirts stashed in the travel pack, practically spilling out of the top. He moved with desperation towards the life-saving gear, but stopped just shy.

“Why would you just give these away? Why here, in this cave?”

“You saw the weather outside. I can’t leave here until the storm blows over.”

Kelan closed his eyes, rubbing them. When he looked around again, there was no sign of the warm fire, the juicy, tender meat, or the man. What was left in his place was a pile of bones covered in thick winter gear.

Guilt and disgust stabbed Kelan in the chest as he robbed the bones of their layers and covered his own body. There was no doubt that this man was a villager who wanted the same as him, once upon a time. The man had underestimated the mountain. It was now apparent to Kelan that the snowstorm was never going to abate.

With proper winter gear, Kelan continued his ascent. The bulky boots protected him from the uneven ground and the bitter cold, and the pants and heavy shirt kept the snow and wind from hitting bare skin. With the cold no longer an obstacle, Kelan trekked through the terrain with ease. Yet now, he had a new problem: navigation. The wind had begun to pick up loose snow from the ground, removing any notion of visibility. It howled in Kelan’s ears, blocking out even the loud cracks of ice from under him. At first, it was only noise, but the sound of the wind began to take shape, like it was speaking.

“Betrayer…Coward…Virulent…Poisonous!”

At first it was just phrases. Words meant for no one, almost like the mountain was lamenting something. It wasn’t long before the words were clear and targeted, meant for Kelan and Kelan alone.

“You betrayed your village,” it said, “We will never allow you to reach the summit! Prove yourself, or join the unworthy in death!”

There was no escape form the voice in the wind. Each word vibrated in Kelan’s head; it felt like his ears would rupture and his head would explode. He looked to his left, and spotted a faint silhouette next to him. The figure took his hand and dragged him along, through the absolute blindness and the mind numbing words of malice. Kelan took each small step up the steep cliff, dodging slippery ground with the help of the stranger on his left. After what felt like an eternity, Kelan regained his vision and his ability to think. He looked around the area. The field of snow and wind was beneath him, seeming so small, contrary to his experience inside. What lay before him was a vast mountain range, expanding in all directions around the tiny village below, like a pupil placed within an eye too big for itself. He moved to thank the stranger who had led him through the storm, but there was no one, not even footsteps.

The summit was close. Separating Kelan and his final stop was one wall of ice, offering nothing other than a few stone outcroppings to grab onto.

“Seems impossible, doesn’t it?” A woman looked up at him from the ground to his left, clearly tired and bruised, presumably from many attempts at the wall.

Kelan tried speaking, but nothing would come out. He nodded to the woman, who tossed a glass bottle his way.

“You might need that. It’ll help you regain your strength. I was supposed to drink it, but… it’s a little late now. May as well give a newcomer a chance. Oh, and you can use those ice picks when you’re done. Good luck!” With a weak smile, the woman disappeared, and as Kelan blinked, she became nothing more than a still body, preserved by the cold, frozen in time as well as place.

Kelan turned away form her, stifling his emotions, opting to examine the bottle now in his hands. The liquid was thick, with a deep red hue like well fermented wine. It smelled familiar, but Kelan couldn’t quite pinpoint the nostalgic scent of the mysterious concoction.

She said it would recover my strength. If I don’t try it, I’ll die one step shy of the top.

Kelan tilted his head back, and allowed the viscous liquid to drip down his throat. Instantly he felt his mind shutting down, his eyes shutting seemingly of their own accord. He collapsed onto the path, his body limp.

& & &

He awoke in a field of tall grass, before a small hut made of thatch and wood, with a stone chimney. No other buildings stood in the field. There was a voice coming from inside, audible through the window.

“Cursed God! First you banish me from the human world, then you grant me this sickening valley full of your light!”

“Orlan. You need to learn your place in this world. You see humans as a toy, not as beings independent of the gods. Maybe this banishment will change your attitude.” With a flash of light, the otherworldly voice disappeared.

“Oh I’ll change, Light God. You’ll see my ‘attitude’ in a thousand years, mark my words…”

The scene changed, everything was washed away in a stream of color, replaced by the village’s central plaza. There in the center was a well-dressed woman in black, with long, curved horns sprouting out of her head.

“Perfect, thank you, Kuku,” the woman said, “This will make our ritual much more…official.”

“Anything for you, Chief! The carving was hard work, but now that the plaza is done, I’m damn proud of the long days and sleepless nights,” The woman named Kuku said.

Another shift. The village was covered in the dark of night. A sacrifice stabbed himself with the ritual knife into his heart and collapsed onto the plaza’s stone. A man in the Chief’s clothes picked up the body and carried it inside the Grand Hall without a word.

Another. A man passed away in the chief’s bed as a black cloud invaded every pore of the young woman by his bedside. She soon got up as if nothing happened, and walked out of the room with a devious smile and the same black horns.

This scene played over and over again, person after person inherited the role of Chief, and along with it the black horns. Again and again and again, as if Kelan’s mind were in a loop, chiefs died in the same bed and released the same cloud, like an endless nightmare.

Eventually, the scene shifted to something new. Kelan stood in his room, behind his parents and sister. Liara was no more than four, and looked anxiously over their parents into the crib in the corner of the room.

“Mommy, when can I play with my brother?” Liara asked, pulling at her mother’s pants.

Her father picked her up and placed her on his shoulders, “Little Kelan isn’t quite ready to play, honey. You’ll have to wait a few more months,” he said.

“I wanna play now!” Liara said as she kicked her legs wildly.

“I know! Liara, would you like to help daddy cook dinner?”

Liara switched gears instantly. “Yeah, yeah! Let’s go cook, Daddy,” she yelled. Liara hopped off her father’s shoulders and ran out of the room, with her father not far behind.

This left Kelan watching his mother fuss over baby Kelan in the crib.

“Little Kelan, you gave me lots of trouble, you know,” she said while tenderly stroking baby Kelan’s head, “You just didn’t want to come out on time. First you tried early, then, once you were stopped you refused to come on time. For a baby, you’re such a rule-breaker, hehe!” She gave a soft smile and adjusted the blanket of the sleeping baby.

Next was the coming of age ceremony. It was only three years ago, but it felt like a lifetime. Kelan stood alongside his fellow villagers as the Chief handed each one of them their adult clothes and their calling as a villager. Each candidate received a slip of parchment with a symbol drawn, and the new adult would immediately get to their initiation, stepping off the stage with vigor.

“To Kelan, the path of the serviceman is hard, but the results can be more rewarding than any other profession. To you I bestow the role of handyman, to keep our village clean and well-cared for.”

The speech was the same as any other, but the Chief came close, and whispered into Kelan’s ear words of caution. “Keep the village clean, follow the rules. That’s your job.” He did not wait for a reaction, and moved to the next speech.

Then the world began to transition once more. Each scene flashed by in seconds: A stone statue adorned in gold, a kingdom of light, a meteor of black smoke, a snake consuming its tail, a mountain covered in black curses, light poking out of the snow.

Kelan pushed himself off the ground. God’s light had begun to fall behind the mountain peaks around him, leaving an orange glow that reflected off the snow and ice. He still felt disconnected from his surroundings, like they would shift at any moment. Even so, The Forbidden Mountain remained as foreboding and mystical as ever. The ice picks left behind by the frozen woman were still embedded into the base of the ice wall leading to the summit. Other than a little disorientation, he felt energized, just like the woman had promised. With each swing of the ice pick, Kelan methodically scaled the treacherous cliff, carefully stepping on the rocks to gain a temporary foothold. He was determined, even more than when he started his journey in the field of flowers. The visions he saw were cloudy, but they left him with questions he needed answered. He had doubts before he left the village, and now a burning curiosity occupied Kelan’s every thought.

Who is the devil in those visions?

It wasn’t long before they came. They took the form of massive hawks, swooping down on Kelan with the intent to kill.

“You should just die, brother!”

“You’re a disgrace of a child.”

“I just wanted a son I could be proud of, why did you break my heart?”

Each hawk carried the voice of Kelan’s sister, father, and mother. Yet the faces were morphed, distorted. It was as if his family was merged with the animals by force, their face featured a sharp beak that stuck out of their left cheek, and an extra pair of eyes protruding from their forehead. They spoke their grievances as harsh shrieks cried out from the beaks. They flew as if possessed, smashing into the mountain over and over, before taking flight once more.

“Get away! You’re not my family!” Kelan said as he stuck an ice pick in the next spot.

“No longer family?! Then just fall. You have no place in the world without family,” they all said in unison.

One inch at a time. Kelan climbed little by little as the grotesque hawks tried to slam into him repeatedly, screaming words all the while. Suddenly, the bird imitating his sister slammed into Kelan’s right arm, dislodging the ice pick and leaving him with only one arm away from certain death.

“Fall, brother! Just fall!” it said as it crashed into the ground below, before taking to the air.

He could see the end. Just four more swings, and he would reach the summit. All he had to do was swing his right arm, and he would be that much closer.

“Die!” “Die!” “Die!” “Die!” “Die!” “Die!” The hawks chanted endlessly. The noise was unbearable, raking on Kelan’s ears.

“Shut up shut up shut up!” Kelan said. He couldn’t muster the resolve to stick the ice pick back into the wall. His arm felt like it was made of stone, too heavy to lift. The ice pick dangled in his hand, threatening to fall off the mountain and doom him with it.

Swing it.

He couldn’t. The screams were so loud.

Swing your arm.

“Shut up!”

Kelan’s mind was divided between primal instinct and conscious desire. He wanted to get to the top, he could feel his heart pumping like a jackhammer in his chest. The noise was so loud, his mind couldn’t think, just like in the plaza. Then, it was the villager’s excitement that deafened him, this time it was these horrid renditions of his family. Suddenly a voice echoed through his mind, blocking out the piercing noise of the hawks.

Without faith, fear grips. Will you let fear grip you, Kelan?

With a surge of adrenaline, Kelan fervently swung his right pick into the ice, embedding it enough to pull himself up one more time. The hawks continued to spit horrible words at him, but he could no longer hear them. His mind was tunneled in, swinging a pick, finding a rock, and swinging again. The hawks smashed into his back, his legs, and his head with their bodies, but the pain was distant, barely registered.

With the final swing, Kelan heaved himself onto the flat ground of the summit, collapsing from fatigue. He pulled fresh air into his lungs with desperation, and stared at the fields of wheat that stretched across the endless expanse. Everything from the sky to the dirt radiated a soft warmth, as if it were pulling away the deep cold from Kelan’s body. At some point, the hawks had disappeared, their voices with them.

Kelan pulled himself off the ground with what little energy he had. He was surrounded by wheat just days away from harvest, tall and thick. Yet behind him was the sheer cliff, still icy and unforgiving. He thrust his hand off the side, and instantly the frigid winds bit at it. He turned back to the fields before him. In the center housed a golden effigy in the shape of a man. He wore heavy plated armor and a chiseled grin, holding his hands out seemingly in an effort to give. Then a strange figure appeared before him.

“Someone has finally made it?” he asked. When his eyes locked onto Kelan’s, he gave a smile from ear to ear, “What is your name, young man?”

“K-Kelan. Are you…The God of Plenty?”

“Think bigger! I am the God of Light, the protector and lover of humanity,” he said as his voice boomed.

Kelan untensed his body, loosening his muscles and relaxing his jaw, “God of Light. I am here after my long journey through The Forbidden Mountains to have my questions answered.”

“Ah yes, of course! You wish to know the truth of your village, do you not?”

Kelan gave the God of Light a nod.

“To put it simply, your village is a curse upon the land,” he said, losing his smile, “If it weren’t for Orlan and his thousand year plan to kill me, you and your village would never have existed.”

With a sudden curiosity, Kelan stepped closer to the effigy-turned-god, “Orlan?”

“The demon lord, banished to your world so they could learn humility. You might know them as the Chief of the village.” As he spoke, the God of Light conjured an image of the Chief beside him, with the same demon horns that appeared in Kelan’s visions.

So they were real? Kelan struggled to find words. “…Orlan founded our village?”

“A village in name, really. In reality, all the humans inside are no better than livestock.”

Through the fields of wheat, a herd of cows wandered, fattened and content.

Livestock? That’s how the chief sees us? Cattle, ready to be slaughtered for nutrition at any moment? Kelan stifled his anger in the presence of the God of Light, balling his fists and tensing his body once more.

“It’s not an easy thing to learn, I understand,” he said, stepping off of his platform and placing his hand on Kelan’s shoulder, “You can save this you know. You braved the mountain trial, even as Orlan’s traps threatened to kill you. I applaud your intense drive, and for that, you get one wish granted by me. Anything at all.”

“Can I wish for my village to be freed?” Kelan asked, looking up to meet the eyes of his savior. They radiated a bright glow, and invited Kelan’s gaze, making it hard to pull away.

“Of course. There is no limit to my power.”

A warm wind cascaded through the wheat, causing it to gently sway. Something laid behind the endless fields, something blackened and charred, but Kelan did not think anything of it. With pleading eyes and a fluttering hope in his chest, Kelan told the God of Light his wish from the bottom of his heart, and turned his gaze to the village far below him.

“I wish my village was free from Orlan’s influence.”

“If that is your desire.” He snapped his fingers, and disappeared in a flash of blinding sunlight. The village in the distance stood proud in the autumn sunlight, then promptly ignited into blue flames.

Echoed screams could be heard but for a moment, even at the summit, before the otherworldly fire reduced the village to ash, leaving not even smoke behind. The homes became blackened husks, the streets a field of ash, and even the Grand Hall was left crumbling.

Kelan’s eyes stared unblinking at the destruction as he fell to his knees. A shadow appeared next to him, but he took no notice.

“I told you to stick to the rules, Kelan,” the Chief said without a hint of emotion, “This was your fault.”

Kelan instinctively looked to his right, as if commanded by a script.

“Ironic, isn’t it? You wrote of blind faith, yet trusted him to save you without question. Not only have you set me back five-hundred years, but you’ve left a bigger mess than any other deserter. The least you could do is offer me your body as recompense. This one has started to deteriorate, after all.”

“Ha…ha. Ha ha ha ha ha!” Kelan heard a heartfelt laugh from the distance as he collapsed onto the ground in agony. He kicked his legs, slammed his fists, rolled across the wet dirt.

Oh.

That’s me.

I’m laughing.

Isn’t that funny?

His eyes poured tears that moistened his face in a comical cry, like that of a clown’s makeup.

“I better do it now, before he breaks something. I can’t have a broken body,” Orlan said, as if Kelan were nothing more than an object. A black cloud flung itself into Kelan’s nose, his mouth, his ears, and his eyes. His senses dulled, his mind was pulled away. The pain disappeared, the anger diminished. Kelan was no longer himself, only a prisoner in his own mind. He watched himself as if he were someone else walk away. His body grew long black horns on his head, curled backwards like a crescent.

“I guess this will have to do for now. Five hundred years is a long time, but I have plenty of it. Let’s get to work once more.”

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Bradley Sullivan 2025