Singularity, Ch. 1: On Solitude

There was nothing in this land that was not empty, Taijinn thought as he walked near, but not on, the main path. Each hill held nothing but thick grass that cut his ankles, each turn and twist more fatigue. He blinked slower each step he took: exhaustion set in, and it was not a kind ruler.

If he died here (and he could) he would become part of this emptiness. A brief scare for another traveler, nothing but someday-bleached bones and the remains of an old black coat. If they had any sense at all, they would take the latter. If they were like him, perhaps they could make use of the former too.

At least night didn’t hold the same heat that day did, he thought. The wind, while it whipped his hair, provided enough of a coolness that walking was almost pleasant, if not for the ache in his feet that had lasted for days now. His soles were worn nearly to his socks, which too had worn until his foot nearly met the ground. He could now feel each pebble he stepped on.

Still, Taijinn was lucky. He hadn’t been spotted by the Kobotian patrolls when he had stepped past their blockade, where Amaris faded into hostile territory. He had evaded that danger, at least. The elements, in comparison, were not so harsh. Nature could not no cruelty, unlike his foes: only practicality, however cold and harsh it could seem.

Soon, he would cross into Dalkish territory. He couldn’t tell if this was too his advantage or not: yes, Dalkyr had officially announced its support of Kobotia (nearly four years ago too. It seemed longer ago), but they were not as militant about their borders, not even now. Taijinn could slip past on the northern end, where his destination was. Someone with a little more sense might have stopped by now, to rest at least. It was nearing midnight, and the Dalkish border was no place to stop. But he truly feared, deep down, that if he stopped now he would never continue (and besides, there were few predators that could hurt someone like him on these plains). It couldn’t be far now: after he stepped from Kobotia to Dalkyr, he would only be a few hours away from it. The Merewood, in all its barren glory.

It wasn’t much of a “wood”, though, not anymore. Perhaps once, a very long time ago, but from what he had heard of the place it was even more barren than his surroundings, save for the startlingly deep pools that held strange living relics of the past. Vast creatures, waiting under the surface of the ponds, their many-limbed forms resting in the depths. Taijinn certainly didn’t look forward to encountering one of them: and with any luck, he would never have to, even though he would surely have to traverse the Merewood.

He spent those few hours in near absolute silence, the only sound the crunch of the grass snapping under his feet. A few times, he thought he saw figures off in the distance, and stopped before they could think the same of him, but he was never delayed for long. He was a man driven: though he knew there would still be no rest at the end of this journey, the end was reward enough.

The border was marked by a thin unguarded stream, flowing calmly as grasslands transitioned to forest. After briefly searching for a drier path across, he chose to wade through the shallow water, his coat dripping when he left it. The splashing might attract something, but nothing he couldn’t ward off. The Dalkish guards wouldn’t even come this way, not unless they had reason. (Still, he quicken his pace a bit, just to get that extra bit of distance between him and any obstacle).

There was no path now. Just the dim glow of a half-filled moon through the trees, which had sprouted up out of the earth after a few miles. He walked under their cover, glad for what protection they offered him.

Just once, he paused. It was by the base of a silvery tree, its trunk thick with age. He fixed his coat, drank some water out of his waterskin. Adjusted his collar (though no one was around to see that it was crooked). And then, continued on his way.

He could tell when the land began to change again. By then, it was nearly dawn, with the moon sinking and the sun just beginning to crawl above the horizon. As it did, the trees faded away. The dirt below him turned from sepia, to ash brown, to gray. Soon, he was the only thing he could see on the flat landscape (and indeed, the only thing that anything watching could see as well).

Passing by the remains of an old stone wall (who knew how long that had been there), he felt the air shift too–not in quality, but in tone. There was magic in this air, the kind that would strangle most people. Clog their lungs, arteries–all that. For Taijinn, it invigorated him, even as he tried to push it away. Grudgingly, he admitted to himself that he wouldn’t be able to do that soon. He was here to embrace that power, rather than shy away from it.

His foot hit something, the toe of his boot colliding with a small rock on the ground. Once again, he stopped (and cursed) looking down only to see the beginning of a path beneath him. Hesistantly, he stepped onto it, and looked forward.

Before him, he could see the Merewood. The spiraling path, heading towards some distant palace, the one that he would reside in. The one that led through the abomination’s territory, through their tentacle and limbs and unblinking eyes, through rotted trees and graveyard of things that had ushered in the first dawn. That path that held salvation.

Taijinn sharply inhaled some of the air. He let it fill his lungs, rush through his arteries. And then, he grinned, white teeth standing out it the night.

It felt like coming home.