Time stands still.
The world goes dark, and yet Iasan knows that Time has yet to make an appearance. All is stopped, and as before, he continues to age as though the passage of time were no matter at all. The adolescent male takes a pause inside the cave once the last vestiges of light are no longer to be seen. He stretches his neck and shakes out his long tattered mane, his back flanks gleaming in whatever little light could still remain. Iasan’s tail wraps around his body like a whip, preparing to make contact with his body like it always does. He is alone—
“I cannot go where I am sending you…”
Warmth returns to his body almost as soon as he hears the voice. His tail slaps against the back side of Time, as if giving him the old heave ho out of existence… For who can tell Time to go find his grave better than the end of a year? Iasan lifts his head. He says nothing as Time continues to speak to him, tick, tick, ticking in his ears. He nods, and the entity dissipates almost as soon as he appears, flittering off into oblivion. Save her.
It’s always a woman.
He keeps his head low, and the broad-mouthed cave is as broad-bottomed as its entrance was. Soft white light plunges over the sooty appaloosa man-child, battling away the darkness. Before long, Iasan is awash with it, stepping out of the cave entirely and into stiffly packed snow. His long lashes cover his eyes, and he blinks—the whole area shimmering as diamonds that have been scattered about to the four winds. But there is no wind. No birds. Nothing. No other tracks that have cracked the perfection of this landscape but his own. And yet, he can still hear the feminine screams of a young feminine thing in the distance. His ears rotate to catch a gauge on the sound, and his nostrils flair agitatedly as his head continues to go up, up, up.
The rising mountain in front of him is not a surprise. Of course he knows it’s there, he’d be a fool not to have seen it before now. The screams for help seem to come from beyond the mountain, and Iasan is afforded a second glance at the monolith in front of him. Two directions that, had this been a normal day, would be obviously well-trekked paths that would take a body to the other side. But this was not a normal day.
One spirals up and around. Ice, rocks, heights. The other cuts straight through the heart of the mountain. More dark. Shorter.
There’s always a price for the shorter path.
I’ll pay it.
He snorts, and crystallized puffs of air escape his lungs and float up towards the clouds above. Iasan will brave the dark once more.
He does not tarry in the light. The beautiful landscape his eyes beheld upon exiting the cave are behind him, and he wastes no time crossing the snow, hearing the crunching of it beneath his feet. The ground remains cold, but the snow falls away as the cover of rock takes the place of the sky, and the world is plunged into darkness once more. Iasan finds himself mildly irritated at the great shifting of time and light versus dark, but he takes it in stride.
I don’t care what they say. Everyone is at least a little scared of the dark.
He traverses for some time. The cold crispness that inhabited the start of the mountain cave has now become warmer, moist and slick, with a stench to signal the coming of death. There are rotting corpses lining the path of his chosen route, and Iasan swallows a pocket of air—the trickle of sweat pouring down his neck and collecting on his shoulders. There is always a price to pay for the shorter path.
I should not have come this way.
The corpses—they are familiar to him. Eerily, they are the faces familiar to his memories… to Jason’s memories. Creatures he has known and spoken with, battled with, gone to war with…loved. As though they had been dug up from the beach and dragged here. Memories of another life assail Iasan, and he is overcome… He closes his eyes, steps back, and he does not know where to turn. He needs to continue forward. To save her.
Whoever her is.
The corpses—the carcasses—look as if they have been eaten. Iasan pulls up his courage, and takes a step forward once more, trying to silence his mind to concentrate on what is before him. The stench is overwhelming. Ammonia and death roll off of them in pungent waves and singe his nose hairs. And yet, he takes a step again. And again. Once Iasan has his rights about him, the bodies of the dead begin to move. They get up on their hooves and follow Iasan, sticking to him like a shadow. There is at least 50 of them dancing about him, walking as if among the living. And the memories…the dead…the passing of time. His thoughts can no longer contain it—
“YOU HAVE NO PLACE HERE AMONG THE LIVING!” they shout. Iasan rears as they rush headlong into him, assaulting his body. The bones clatter against each other and the rotted meat of their muscles slaps against Iasan like a weighted club. “YOUR LIFE ENDED UPON THE BEACH!” Skeletal hooves pushed upon him, shoving him into the rock floor of the mountain cave. Teeth that were gnawed into sharp fangs sunk into soft flesh, and Iasan growled allowed, closing his eyes and lowering his head, pushing forward as a battering ram. In his head, he was beginning to come to grips that he was not simply who he thought he was. He spread his legs and settled his body, flexing his muscles against the weight of the dead, pushing him back, dragging him to the coast to meet his demise. Iasan, son of Ruan, dug his heels in, gripping for traction. His ears were pinned back against his head in anguish, his teeth bared.
He was slipping.
Slipping.
Perhaps Jason’s place was to return to the dust. Perhaps his time was over.
Perhaps…
“NO!” Iasan screamed. The walking dead were pushing against him, assaulting his body—attacking his mind. “I AM NOT LIKE YOU ANY MORE!” He kicked back, curled his spine, and lowered his head to the ground again. The corpses groaned their protests and clamored at him once more, but he pushed them aside. Faint yellow eyes glowed at him in the dark, and he continued to fight against them—to clear the path. He had a mission to do. Whatever he was, whatever he had been; Time had a new use for him, and he intended to complete the mission.
He had to save her.
The last of the dead horses—the memories—of another life were beaten away, the bones of the dead scattered throughout the cave as he had fought against them. His body was not unscathed. Iasan limped as he cleared the mountain, blinking against the sunlight. He squinted his eyes to keep the light from blinding him, and looked at the damage the toll had taken on his body.
He was scratched all over; ruby-red blood stained his snow-spotted hide. Along his stomach—gnashes and gaping wounds where teeth had taken out chunks of flesh. He winced as he walked. Wounds would heal. His memories—they would remain. The haunted images of a man reborn who should have stayed dead on the beach. The fear. The guilt. The selfishness that Time had brought him back for his own selfish purposes. Iasan snarled.
This is not what he had signed up for.
He continues downward, into the valley that lay below. Time has not continued here either. Dead of winter—nothing growing, and bitterly cold—there is no snow. Only bare rock and ice. There, in the middle, the faint sound of the calls for help continue. They echo—ethereal, disconnected. Iasan’s ears flicker around, trying to catch a gauge on where the sound is coming from. As the expanse opens up, a thick fog rolls in. Iasan walks, limping—there is no quickness in his step. Evening falls when he reaches the bottom, and the fog thickens. The faint, dark shapes of rock formations appear and disappear as the low-laying clouds play between; Iasan’s green eyes dance with the images as he climbs the rock-hewn bluff.
He takes a step, and with a grunt, he falls on his bad leg—the ice here is thick. From his place on the ground, he looks up; the fog clears just enough to reveal a gigantic pict circle. The air inside it is warmer than the air outside… and something about this place seems…different. Slowly, Iasan gets up, his eyes suspect as he looks around for what may come next.
What is this new devilry?
Iasan
Word Count: 1500.