The Last Thought

The hard velvet sound of laughter woke him up.

He groaned, and opened his eyes. Sunlight, piercing. It struck out at him through the brush. Past dawn, then. Maybe even later if the sun was high enough to get through.

He shook his head, and rolled out from under the bush. He patted the brambles twice, a quick thank you for a hard place to sleep. Shelter, shade, and just enough pain to keep him honest.

“Why so honest? You should come on back, sweetling. There’s a bed with silk so fine that angels weep on it.”

Another peal of that beautiful voice.

“And I’ll be there. I’ll always be there.”

Long day. It will be a long day.

He rode through…places. He didn’t remember the names, or the people. It had been going in a southerly direction, so hotter, he supposed? South, at least. He knew he was going South.

“You should turn around. Or stay. Let me find you.”

This is the day of the Unknown Rider.

That one. Harsk’s special project, or at least the one that seems the most problematic. The most effective of his broken boys, able to kill at a moment’s notice with sword, bow, or bare hands. Keep watch all night and Ride all day.

He’d killed demons, dwarves, monsters, spirits. Anything that Harsk had asked of him, he’d done.

Not that he’d remember.

He put one foot forward, and then another. His stomach rumbled. Food, that was a need. Water, too. Something that could take the gnawing need off of him for a moment longer.

A Rider without his mount. That was a mystery. He had had a good horse, that much he could remember. Something that had been loyal, hardworking. Mare or stallion, he wasn’t sure, or even if it mattered. It had gotten him places.

He didn’t remember how the horse had died. How the cultists had dragged him far across the land for weeks. Ignoring his struggles, and the limbs he broke as their captive. When he finally killed the leader, they responded by eating his horse for food.

They didn’t stop until they reached the frozen lands. Where giants raged alongside the stormwinds, and great beasts rose up to challenge their dominance over the sky. Not until they had run out of world did Carzic Mons’ cultists finally kill themselves. Leaving the Rider cold, hungry, and alone.

“Sweetling. You’re never alone. I’ll always be there to warm your heart.”

The Rider didn’t remember that. In fact, he didn’t remember too much of anything. Did he repeat that? He couldn’t recall.

There were facts that he clung to. The basics, of course. Get up and bathe, what fork to use, the waltz and foxtrot. Obey Harsk in all things. A quick bolt to the heart is worth far more than a long duel at dusk. Things every Rider should be able to recall in an instant.

Demons are evil. Demons are always evil. The only time they don’t hurt you is when love will hurt you more.

“And I will always

He forgot everything else.

His bare foot stepped, and sunk down. He looked down, and noticed muck, squelching through his toes. Water, right. He reached down and started to dig. The sun beat down on his back, and the cold made his chest feel numb, but in an hour he had a small pool of water to drink.

The Rider leaned against his hole, and drank as much as he could, before continuing South. The direction was always South.

Harsk had told him the truth once. More than once, had ingrained it into all of his Riders. When all is lost, find the Lakes, and there will be help. The Lakes that stretched as far as the eye could see, a freshwater ocean surrounded by the plains. That was his goal, and he clung to it as much as he could.

Harsk was the only person who could cut through the noise. The lovely agony that filled his soul with every lucid thought was pierced by the man’s hard gaze and harder words. Even then, it came off muffled.

“Because you know the truth. You hide it often enough, but I know. We both know.”

No he didn’t. He forced it all out, a long time ago. Kept forcing it out, and would continue to do so until the end of time.

“You can’t fool me, sweetling. I’m right here. I know everything.”

It was time to go. He stood up, and started jogging.

Keep focusing on the path ahead. Don’t think about people. Don’t think about anything. That was how he survived, day after day. Clearing his entire memory bank and moving forward whenever he opened his eyes.

Wherever he was, that was home. Those who recognized him, they were friends. Any woman who was by his side was a welcome distraction, and one that was worth another day.

Those who tried anything were enemies and had to be destroyed.

That was how he lived. Obey Harsk, react to the world, and forget Sibel.

“Awwww. You remembered my name.”

He grunted. His stomach rumbled, insistent this time. Food was not going to be ignored for much longer.

“I’m not going to be ignored, either. You have your needs, and you know that I’m one of them.”

No. she wasn’t. she was simply the loveliest, the most compassionate, the greatest experience of his life, to which the rest of his days would be nothing but a pale comparison to her touch. He could deal with that.

“you know, this is the longest we’ve had a chance to talk in a while. Harsk always seems to find a way to butt into our conversations. This is rather nice.”

Food. What could he do about food? He had found a pocket of water, maybe he could find a way to a stream? Then fish, or find anything that might use it for sustenance.

“I DON’T LIKE BEING IGNORED.”

He quelled, falling to the ground in obeisance. Sorry, sorry. Forgive him, he didn’t mean it. He was just a lowly worm. A small insignificant

RIDER

The word rang true. He got up, and started towards again.

A sigh settled over his bones.

“Even now the old fart has his hooks in. not as deep as mine, but they are solid.”

She smirked. He could feel the smirk. Sibel was watching his move, even now.

“Go ahead. Keep trying to run away. I can wait.”

He grunted, and kept moving.

Day stretched on. The sun climbed, and started its descent. The heat that he had wanted to abate was fast disappearing. There would be ice tonight, and maybe even snow. If he didn’t find shelter, he might find it to be his last night.

That wasn’t the main concern. He clutched at his stomach, growling. The rumble had developed into a fully grown roar which could drown out even her rose-colored words. Food, he needed food. When had he eaten last, honestly?

“Four days.”

Four days? He buckled, and collapsed. The reality smacked him down as much as the weight. Four days without food. And how much could he have had before that?

He rolled onto one side, and tried to sort through the pain. Food, and then South. Shelter, South. Just keep finding the way down. Just keep moving forward.

“Move forward. Move far away from memories. Try and trick yourself into thinking you aren’t a despicable piece of filth.”

That was wrong. He was a Rider. A force for good in a sinful world. He was something truly worthy.

“You are tolerated by good people for one reason only. And you know what it is.”

He didn’t. Too many stabbing pains were crawling through his guts. A sucking vortex of razor blades that rolled around his insides, scraping in a need for food. Feed, just find a way to get rid of that noise, that pain.

“You can’t find peace. You don’t bring peace.”

Shut up shut up shut up. He scrunched his eyes shut. Focus, try to find food. There had been nothing for hours, but something, something had to give. Maybe fish in the river? A bird? A frozen rat, give him anything!

“Behind you!”

He felt it come barreling up the riverbank. A large beast, foaming at the mouth. It ran on four legs, churning up the mud and silt in its path. Wild-eyed, it seemed to scream even if he couldn’t hear it.

It didn’t strike. He didn’t give it a chance. The Rider was up in an instant, and plunged his hand forward. There was a spark of crimson light, and he broke through flesh and bone. He felt the veins, the pulsing heart, and crushed it under his grip. The beast tumbled, fell into the river, and died.

The Rider stood up, triumphant. He looked over at the beast. Now that he could truly see, it looked like a distended horse. With odd red colorings on a tan coat, with a long neck and quite useless horns. What was it doing in the frozen northlands?

There was another sound. Something that pierced through the river. Through his hunger, his Sibel. He turned, and there was a warrior. A screaming animal, wielding claws that sparked with golden fire. Some parasite of the beast, it rushed at the Rider. It swung out with its claws.

Even famished, the Rider remembered Harsk’s training. Lean back, just enough for the enemy to get too close with that swing. And then strike hard, and sure. Even demons deserve a quick death. His fist crushed a windpipe, and the neck beneath it. The warrior collapsed, silent.

For others, this could perhaps be a time for a pause. But the hunger would not relent. It plagued at him, insistent. There was food now. Food! It cannot be wasted. He looked towards the equine creature.

“Well, I can tell you that certainly isn’t mine,” she said.

He licked his lips.

“Probably best to let it fester. It can’t possibly be good for you. All that meat, just waiting to be consumed.”

She tsked, and shook her head. “No. that’s not you. There’s no fire, no utensils. Nothing except raw flesh.”

He stared.

“Look at it! It’s not clean. It’s bloody. Disgusting, feral. A pulsing hunk of pure…”

He tore into the hide with his teeth. Gnashing at the carcass, the first chunk slid down his throat in ecstatic satisfaction.

His mouth filled with hot blood he swallowed, and took another bite. The creature was hot, and sweet, and salty, and perfect. A moan escaped his lips, and he kept eating.

In seconds the beast was missing a foreleg and most of its shoulder. The Rider rolled over on to one side, tumbling into the stream. The blood and muck sloshed down his back. He found it both a comfort and a chilling awakening.

As his vision cleared, he could see the creature truly. Still an unnaturally long neck, and horns, but the equine seemed more docile than demonic. His stomach rolled thinking about what was there. Not because of how crude it was, but what he had done.

And the creature. He paused, and looked further. It was covered in straw and fur clothing, dyed in a rainbow of colors that beckoned the mind to look closer, to see the dark young boy underneath.

He moved over, and pushed the straw away. The boy looked shocked, confused. His neck was a single bruise, caved inwards.

The creature must have been his mount. Maybe even his closest friend. And some man came up, and killed it without a thought. When he rose up to protest, the Rider killed him, too.

He was a killer. A child killer.

“You are a warrior. An enemy moved, and you reacted.” She laughed. “Oh, who are we kidding? You would have killed him for no other reason than your precious Harsk said so.”

That was…not inaccurate. He shivered, and looked around. What was he supposed to do now? Should he bury the body? Both of them? Bring the food with him?

Should he hate himself for it? Should he strive to do better?

Or should he keep following his plodding feet South? The Rider kept moving, if only because no one told him to stop.

Not even Sibel.

The shadows started to grow as the Rider walked. He never looked back, and by the time he left the river to continue South he had forgotten everything. He was starting to get hungry again.

“Walk away, always away.” She taunted him. “Is that all you can do?”

Yes. He couldn’t banish her from his head. He didn’t know anything else to do. He didn’t know how to be a good person, not without Harsk. He couldn’t even tell what evil truly was.

“That’s a lie. You are wonderful at evil.”

No. No, he didn’t. he started running, and then sprinting. Forget, it was always about forgetting. He had to outrun all the memories. All his mistakes.

“Mistake?” the demon’s voice dripped with scorn. “Don’t be absurd. Everything you have done has been a wondrously delicious choice.”

That was a lie. It had to be a lie.

“Would you like me to show you?”

“NO!” He screamed.

Too late. With a last peal of laughter, there he was.

Dust trailed off into marble tiling. The sky darkened, passing from dusk on to midnight as the walls grew up around him.

He ran from the river. Forget he must forget. Wipe this from his mind. Bare footsteps sloshed from muck onto a luxurious rug. His leg banged against the bedpost, and he tumbled into bed, his last vestiges of clothes torn from him.

He spun, confused. And found warmth next to him.

“Hello, Charles,” Sibel murmured. “What took you so long?”

Charles ignored her question, and turned towards her, kissing her fiercely. She laughed, and pulled him close. His hands ran through her hair, down her back. Cupping her rear.

This. He had waited so long for this. For the touch, the taste and scent of Sibel. The days at court were a dull bore without her mischievous wink. His wife could not satisfy him. His children were nothing more than a distraction.

His lips ran down her neck, her chest, lower. Her laughter filled his ears as her legs drew him in closer.

“Oh, my sweet lord,” she breathed.

“My queen,” he whispered between kisses. “My greatest queen.”

Was this a memory brought to life? An illusion brought on by the demon? At this point, he could care less.

Sibel was there.

How long did they make love? Hours? Perhaps days? Charles did not stop, could not stop until she released him. And Sibel had no intention of coming down from her high.

She looked up, and laughed. “Charles. Your wife is here.”

He ignored that. His wife was here, so what? She knew of his beloved. She understood her place. If she wanted to watch, so be it. Sibel wasn’t picky.

“Charles…”

He couldn’t hear that. He grasped Sibel by the horns, and drew her close. He felt another rise coming. Sibel let out a soft coo, and wrapped her tail around his waist.

“Charles!”

“Gods, woman!” Charles shouted. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Where was he? He seemed to have lost his grip.

A heavy blow to his back drove the lovers to the floor. Charles was up in an instant, and fell, still tangled up in Sibel’s tail.

The demon laughed, and released him. She stretched, and lay languid on the floor. Watching.

He grunted, and stood up, finally looking at his attacker. Charles’ wife held up a brass candlestick, shivering. She held it out, defensive.

“Okay,” he muttered. “You have my attention.”

“I…I want you gone!” she shouted.

He arched an eyebrow.

“You,” she stammered. “You are a disgrace. You’ve left your lands to spoil. Our servants have all left, at least those she hasn’t captured.

“You are nothing more than a toy, covered in gold, for her. And I want no part in it.”

Charles sighed. “This is my house, woman.”

“Then let me go!” She screamed. “Give me enough money, and I’ll take the children. We’ll leave you two, and you’ll be free to do whatever you want.”

Charles stepped forward. She cringed, fearful. His hand wrapped around the candlestick, and drew it away.

“I have everything I want,” he murmured. “I have my lands, my title. A wife and children to spare. But most importantly…”

He smiled, looking down at Sibel. The demon stood up, and wrapped her arms around him.

“I have her. I was lost, and now I have purpose. I have…love.”

“She can’t love!” His wife said. “She’s a demon. She’s using you, can’t you see that?”

“We use each other,” Sibel said. “I thought you saw that.”

“Don’t speak!” She said. “This is between me and my husband, you whore…”

Charles struck out with the candlestick. His wife staggered, and dropped to her knees. Blood ran down her ear. She shook, out of pain as much as fear.

“Ch-Charles?”

“Never,” he sneered. “Talk about my love like that.”

Sibel’s grip on his shoulder tightened. Her breath on his neck was hot, excited.

“Hit her again,” she whispered.

He did. Again and again and again. Until that pathetic woman was nothing more than a bloody mess of flesh and pretty clothes.

Sibel laughed. Harder this time, triumphant. She walked off, hips swaying. Charles followed her, his hand gripping her horns.

“Not right now, Charles.” She snapped her fingers. Smoke trailed from her hand, forming a tight leather corset and leggings. “I have to attend to business.”

Charles pouted. He had taken care of the problem, why wasn’t he being rewarded?

“Oh, sweet thing,” Sibel said. She laid a soft hand on his face. Her eyes filled with sadness. “I know. I’ll be back, I promise.”

He grasped her hand. “Then don’t go. Please.”

“I have to,” she said.

Tears ran down his face. “I love you.”

She smiled. And tapped the candlestick.

“Prove it.”

She faded away into mist.

Charles looked down at the candlestick. He then went off to find the children.

“No!” The Rider screamed again. “No. please, for the love of all this is pure. Don’t make me see that again!”

“Why? You were resolute in proving your love.”

Her voice lilted up and down. “And don’t try to pretend that I placed you under some compulsion. You know the truth.”

He did. Gods forgive him. He killed his wife, his children. He burned his house to the ground, and had sat in the ashes for weeks. All because he wanted to prove himself to her.

Rain started to fall. One struck him in the side. Hail, he was walking into a hail storm. The Rider walked forward, trying to remember what had happened next. It was the last good thing he had done for himself.

The Ride had come upon him. A wasting, pathetic man, rolling about in the ashes of his dead family. Delirious in hunger. Lost in love. And yet he couldn’t say a word. He couldn’t do anything.

Sibel. Sibel. Where was Sibel?

A gloved hand punched him in the jaw. Charles spat out blood, and Harsk gripped him by the jaw. Water was poured down his throat. Water that burned.

He screamed, a primal sound. Harsk grunted, and kept his grip. Holy water purged through the man’s body. It lit fire through his veins. Charles convulsed, thrashing against Harsk. It did nothing.

Harsk frowned, and through the empty skein away. “Not enough. She’s still in you.”

The old man looked at Charles, and scowled. “This was you, wasn’t it? You did all of this?”

Tears streamed down his face.

“Pathetic. Should just leave you here.”

Charles gripped a hold of Harsk’s hand. No! Don’t leave him there. Don’t abandon him. Everyone had abandoned him.

Harsk kicked him in the chest. Charles groaned, but held on. Please. Please just let him come away from this place.

Harsk sighed, and nodded. “Let’s get this thing some clothes. We don’t have a horse, you’ll have to ride along with someone.”

Charles nodded. “Thank…”

Harsk cuffed him again. The Rider’s eyes were filled with rage.

“Never speak to me,” he warned. “I never want to hear your voice. And if you know what’s best for you, you’ll put all of this behind you.”

Charles nodded. He walked over to the group of men. Five, all mounted on horses.

One extended a hand. “Hey. Name’s Carson. What’s yours?”

Charles looked at Harsk. He was already on his own mount, and riding away.

The Rider sighed, and took Carson’s hand. He swung up behind Carson, and started riding.

And forgetting.

“That’s why?” Sibel asked. “You think you’ll wipe yourself clean if you keep yourself on Harsk’s leash?”

The hail kept pouring down. Another stone struck his face, drawing blood. They pelted on his back, and he kept walking.

“He hates you. Harsk cares for everyone in his Ride. He loves his horses more than he cares about you. Why stay?”

She didn’t understand. She couldn’t understand. He kept walking.

“You love Harsk now?” she asked. “Is that it? You can only love those who hurt you?”

She laughed. “Is that why you’ve never thought about Nettie since you left?”

His footsteps faltered.

“What was she? Another warm body? Someone to keep at your side?”

Nettie. He hadn’t touched her. Not like that. But she had been…nice. Comfortable. Which was why he had been glad to see her gone. No one should have to deal with him for too long.

A hailstone that size of an apple struck the back of his leg. He stumbled, and crashed into the ground. It was churned up, a mix of dust and mud.

He started to crawl. Grasp one solid bit of ground, and pull himself forward. Always to the South.

“Why do you love him?”

“I don’t love him,” the Rider muttered. “I can’t love him.”

He collapsed, exhausted. “I only love you. Only you, Sibel.”

Tears streamed down his face. “And you left me. You left me.”

The hail pounded on his back. Let it. Let it all come down. He was nothing but wretched. He deserved it.

He closed his eyes. And waited for death.

In the morning, he woke up, refreshed.

He sat up, and looked around Hail was melting around him. Somehow, he wasn’t bludgeoned to death in the night.

The Rider stood, confused. What had happened last night? He couldn’t remember. But he was alive.

He waited for the voice. But it was silent. He didn’t even have Sibel to explain what had gone on, taunting him with false memories.

Curious.

He shrugged, and kept moving South.

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Thank you for reading. I hope that this sparked a piece of magic for you this week.

Until next time.

Blessings,

Jack Holder

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