Lord Zee
DracoLunaris
Frettzo
Cyclone
Vec
Torack
LORD of the DEATH-ROAD | WATCHER | DEATHDART | SHEPHERD of SOULS | MASTER of the SCALES of JUSTICE
SOVEREIGN of the AFTERWORLD | LORD of SOULS
with
ZIMA the ZIMMER
&
Mish-Cheechel the Avenger
The Warpath of Vengeance on the Field of Champions
She stepped out and found herself behind Mish-Cheechel, a great expanse of brown earth - dotted here and there with grass or little knolls - spreading out in every direction before them. He turned back towards her, his eyes sunken and face haggard. After a brief moment, he chuckled. “Well, at least one of us is looking good. You look like a furless otter or som’ing. By all things bjork, if I could be born anything I’d want to be born an otter. Have I ever told you that before? I think I have.”
Zima looked at Mish-Cheechel with anxious eyes and then down at herself. It seemed she still wore the form modeled after Lansa. She hadn’t even noticed in the last trial. A small sigh escaped her lips but she was apprehensive. “Is it really you? Not another trial?” She asked with a shaky voice.
“Could ask you the same thing.” The manbjork sighed, throwing her a wary glance. Then a certain pensiveness took him and he approached and placed a paw on the top of her head. “I’m sorry kit.” Perhaps if he had been a softer bjork - the bjork he had been before he was Mish-Cheechel - his eyes would have watered or glistened or perhaps he would have elucidated or said more, but he was not and so he looked her in the eye and was in all ways sombre.
Zima said nothing, just looked at him for a time. Her eyes began to glisten with wispy tears and then she hugged the manbjork, grabbing him tight around his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen. I didn’t know…” She sobbed, “I didn’t know that’s how you felt. I’m sorry.” He wrapped his two great arms about her and her sobs disappeared into his expansive furred chest.
“I dragged you in here Zim, the fault is mine. Things get… weird in the moment, y’know? Like…” he paused, trying to enunciate his thoughts, “like the world gravitates around our cause. And…” he looked down at her, “it is our cause, isn’t it Zim? You do want to see this through, don’t you?”
She rubbed her face into his fur and sighed softly. After a few moments she looked up at him and spoke, “I… It feels like I’ve been gone for a very long time. Like every trial was a life-age to endure. I questioned everything, met old friends and new faces and fought through fear with courage. I am changed, for better or worse. Perhaps I lost sight of the path that we ar- were on, but where do we go from here? Mish… your curse means you will return but I… I’m not so sure.”
The manbjork looked down at her intently, his coal-black eyes thoughtful. “I would have returned curse or no curse Zim. I will return as many times as it takes for justice to be done.” He looked across the eternal field that spread out all around them. “Who will do it if not me? If not us.” He unwrapped his arms and stepped back, holding her at arms length and smiling faintly. “If you want to return, if you will be a revenger with me, then I will raise heaven and earth for you Zim. You just say the word.”
Hesitation crossed her face and she asked him a simple question, “What does it mean to be a revenger?” The manbjork cocked his head and furrowed his brows. He appeared on the verge of an answer when the world seemed to shift and swirl about them - as though they were moving at great speed over unknown expanses - until they found themselves stood beneath a single tree of tremendous size with an equally tremendous tree hollow gorged into it. In that hollow sat a hooded and robed figure. But for two blue pinpricks, all beneath the blue-white hood was tenebrous darkness.
“What, indeed, does it mean to be a revenger?” The stranger spoke. “Do you, Mish-Cheechel, who are the first of mortalkind to tread the revenger’s warpath, know?”
The manbjork, for his part, placed himself between Zima and the stranger. “Who are you? Another fucking god?”
The once young, now old, spirit looked upon the stranger and his tree with a sense of awe. “Be gentle Mish…” Zima murmured. She placed a hand on his shoulder. The manbjork glanced back at her and pursed his lips behind his prominent buck teeth, but ultimately acquiesced and relaxed.
“We have met before, Mish-Cheechel.” The hooded figure said, crossing his legs and tucking his feet beneath him before leaning back into the hollow. “I told you, then, to beware of regret and to beware of harming your friends. And here you are. Those who blindly walk the warpath are like kits minding a fire; sooner or later they will be burned and will burn others. That’s how it is, Mish-Cheechel. So it is a good question that your friend poses.”
The manbjork frowned and brought his tail between his legs and sat back. “Well, I don’t remember you. But then, you gods are the sneaky sort-” he paused and glanced at Zima, “uh, with all due respect, of course. So I guess you could’ve been any bjork.”
“It is no matter; it suffices that I remember. That’s how it is. Now, again Mish-Cheechel, if I were to ask you, ‘What is the true meaning of the Warpath of Vengeance?’ what would you answer?” The blue pinpricks bored into the manbjork, who flared his nostrils.
“Well-uh.” He scratched his head and gave Zima a sidelong glance. “Feels like another trial, don’t it?”
“It does…” She began, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “But if I remember one thing from that singing apparition… Trials are meant to be alone. So that begs the question: if this is a trial, whose is it? Yours… or mine?” She giggled. “I don’t think this is that though. This feels different.”
The manbjork chuckled and looked across to the god. “Wouldja look at that, we got ourselves a clever one here. She’s using all these big words now - y’know, when I first met ‘er she could barely put two words together! How quick they grow, right? Well go on then, why don’tcha tell our fella what vengeance is all about. And, uh, I’ll think of something smart too.” He clamped his teeth against each other and mumbled something about, “fuckin trials. Who thought that was a good idea anyway?”
“Hmm, there is no need for us to talk right now. I’ve a feeling all our questions, ones we have and ones we know nothing about, will be answered if we let the stranger before us speak. So please, speak and we will listen.” She said, looking at the blue pinpricks of the hooded god. Those blue pinpricks seemed to twinkle and a wave of approval washed over the two.
“That is good.” The hooded being mused. “The essentials of speaking are in not speaking at all. That’s how it is. If you think that you can do something without speaking, do so without saying a single word. But if there is something that cannot be done without speaking, then speak with few words and in a way that accords with reason.” He paused and leaned forward. “Now I will say much to you, but not more than is necessary for you to understand the Warpath of Vengeance. As an act of charity from me, you will remember it all. That’s how it will be.”
“Alright, if you just want us to listen - and if you’re gonna be brief, like you say - then I can spare you some time. But for crying out loud, what’s your name? Who even are you?” Mish-Cheechel grumbled.
“Names are important, Mish-Cheechel, and they will change as you change. You know this best, do you not? That’s how it is.” The blue pinpricks surveyed him, and the manbjork grunted in agreement. “Then at this moment you are students, and I the Way Teacher. That is my name.”
“Helps when you can put a name to the face y’know?” Mish-Cheechel said with a satisfied smile, then looked into the tenebrous darkness under the hood. “Or, uh, in your case, to the unique lack of face.” The blue pinpricks glowed threateningly and the manbjork grimaced. “Uh, I mean, that’s how it is right?” He chuckled, but there was only silence from the others. “I’ll, uh, keep those essentials of speaking in mind.”
Ignoring him, the Way Teacher then continued. “The person who can provide a prompt answer to the question, ‘What is the true meaning of the Warpath of Vengeance?’ is rare. That’s how it is. This is because it has not already been anchored in one’s mind.” The blue pinpricks hovered on Mish-Cheechel, then shifted to Zima. “From this, one’s disregard for the Warpath of Vengeance can be determined. Such negligence, especially for those who call themselves revengers, is an extreme thing.”
Mish-Cheechel pursed his lips and looked down awkwardly, but restrained himself from saying anything. The Way Teacher continued. “The Warpath of Vengeance is to be found in death. That’s how it is. When you are presented with the choice - either this or that - there is only the quick choice of death. It is that simple. Be determined; advance. When faced with the choice between life and death, it is not necessary to achieve your goal. It is of course a source of great agony to die without achieving your goal, but to be satisfied to live while your goal is unaccomplished is the height of cowardice and shame. This is the entirety of the Warpath of Vengeance; set your heart on it by morn and eve and so live as though you are already dead. Then you will not be at fault in any way and you will succeed.”
Mish-Cheechel brought a finger to his teeth and considered the Way Teacher intently. The words he was speaking were clearly far from what the manbjork had expected, but his coal-black eyes seemed alight with the concise and simple revelations. The Way Teacher did not pause, but continued.
“No matter what, as a revenger you are brought to shame if you do not take revenge. That’s how it is. By waiting to get the agreement of others, a matter like taking revenge will never be brought to a conclusion. One should have the resolution to go alone and even to be cut down. A person who speaks vehemently about taking revenge but does nothing about it is a hypocrite. Cowards, by mouthing off like this, are simply trying to save face. That’s how it is. But a real stalwart is one who will go out secretly - saying nothing - and die. It is not necessary to achieve one’s aim; one is a stalwart in being cut down, for the Warpath of Vengeance lies in simply forcing one’s way towards one’s enemies and being cut down if need be. There is no shame in this. By thinking that you must ‘complete the job’ you will run out of time. By considering things like how many enemies there are, time piles up and in the end you will give up. That’s how it is. No matter how powerful or numerous the enemy, there is fulfillment in simply standing them off and being determined to cut them all down one by one. When you have made a decision to kill someone, even if it will be very difficult to succeed by advancing straight ahead, it is futile to try going at it in a long and roundabout way. One’s heart may slacken or one may miss the chance; there will be no success. That’s how it is. So the Warpath of Vengeance is one of immediacy, and it is best to dash in headlong. Even if it seems certain that you will lose, retaliate; a real revenger does not think of victory or defeat but plunges recklessly towards an irrational death. Thus the Warpath of Vengeance is in desperateness; neither wisdom nor technique has a place in this. Ten enemies or more cannot kill such a revenger. Common sense will not accomplish vengeance, so simply become insane and desperate. Such a revenger will most likely achieve his purpose. That’s how it is.
“This may appear to others as fanaticism, but it is in fact martial valour. Merit when it comes to martial valour lies more in dying for one’s vengeance than in striking down the enemy. Thus martial valour is a matter of becoming a fanatic. That’s how it is. With such fanatical strength of spirit, even if one’s head were to be suddenly cut off, he should be able to do one more action with certainty, and even if a revenger be sick to death he should be able to bear up for many days. But if your spirit is weak you will fall the moment you head is severed or sickness strikes you. With martial valour, if one becomes like a revengeful ghost and shows fanatical determination, though his head is cut off he will not die. That’s how it is.
“No matter what it is, there is nothing that cannot be done. If one manifests fanatical determination, one can move heaven and earth as he pleases. But a pluckless revenger cannot set his mind to his goals. This is why a revenger’s obstinacy should be excessive. A thing done with moderation may later be considered insufficient. When you think you have gone too far, you will not have erred. That’s how it is.
“Now a revenger should still be careful. Why? If one thoughtlessly crosses a river of unknown depths and shallows, he may die in its currents without ever reaching the other side or properly seeing to his purpose. That’s how it is. One should consider first stepping back and getting some understanding of the depths and shallows and then getting to work.
“So a revenger should be careful. Above all, if he is not careful in his choice of words he may say things like, ‘I'm a coward,’ or ‘If that happened I'd probably run,’ or ‘How scary,’ or ‘How painful.’ These are words that should not be said even as a joke or on a whim, and not even when talking in one’s sleep. If anyone with understanding hears these things then he will see to the bottom of the speaker’s heart - this is why the essentials of speaking are in not speaking at all. For a revenger, a simple word is important because by one single word martial valour can be made apparent. That’s how it is. Words show one’s bravery, and by them one’s strength or cowardice can be known. This single word is the flower of one’s heart - it is sculpted by the heart and sculpts it also. It is not something said simply with one’s tongue; even in matters as trifling as this the depths of one’s heart can be seen. That’s how it is.
“Even a poor revenger will go a long way along the Warpath of Vengeance if he is careful, studies by imitating a good model, and puts forth effort. That’s how it is. If there are no models of good revengers, it would be good to make a model and to learn from that. To do this, one should look at many people and choose from each person his best point only. For example, one person for politeness,” the Way Teacher paused and looked at Mish-Cheechel for a few silent seconds, and the manbjork grunted in irritation and looked away. The god continued, “one for bravery, one for the proper way of speaking, one for correct conduct, one for steadiness of mind, and so on. Thus will the model be made. If one carefully observes any person’s good points, one will have a model teacher for anything. That’s how it is.
“I will save you observing a model for cleanliness, as it is one of the basics. Every morning, bathe, put lotion in your hair and fur and in all ways pay attention to your personal appearance and the condition of your equipment - a saddle, a spear, or anything else. Although it seems that taking special care of one’s appearance is nothing but vanity, that is not the case. Even if you are aware that you may be struck down today and are firmly resolved to an inevitable death, if you are slain with an unclean and unseemly appearance you will show your lack of previous resolve and will be despised by your enemy. That’s how it is. For this reason every revenger should take care of his appearance.” The Way Teacher looked at Zima. “Even if you are a spirit, the physical form you inhabit should be kept ever clean and ready for death. In cleanliness, prepare for death as you would prepare for the person most loved and dear to you.
“If one were to say in a word what the condition of being a revenger is, its basis lies first in seriously devoting one’s body and soul to one’s vengeance. And if one is asked what to do beyond this, it would be to fit oneself inwardly with these three virtues: Intelligence, Compassion, Courage. These three virtues may seem unattainable together, but it is in fact easy.
“Intelligence is nothing more than discussing things with others. Limitless wisdom comes from this. That’s how it is.
“Compassion is to do for the sake of others. Simply compare yourself to others and put them in the fore. In this way, whatever you do should be done for the sake of your vengeance, kin, the people in general, and for posterity. This is great compassion. When one punishes or strives with the heart of compassion, what he does will be limitless in strength and correctness. Doing something for one’s own sake is shallow and mean and turns into evil. That’s how it is.
“Courage is gritting one’s teeth; it is simply doing that and pushing ahead, paying no attention to the circumstances. While marching on the Warpath of Vengeance, if one wills himself to outstrip revengers of accomplishment, and day and night hopes to strike down a powerful enemy, he will grow indefatigable and fierce of heart and will manifest courage. One should use this principle in daily affairs too. All revengers should discipline themselves rigorously in intention and courage. This will be accomplished if only courage is fixed in one’s heart. If one’s spear is broken, he will strike with his hands. If his hands are cut off, he will press the enemy down with his shoulders. If his shoulders are cut away, he will bite through ten or fifteen enemy necks with his teeth. Courage is such a thing. That’s how it is.
“Anything that seems above these three virtues is not necessary to be known. Alongside this, covetousness, anger and foolishness are three vices to sort out well. When bad things happen in the world - if you look at them carefully - they are not unrelated to these three vices. That’s how it is. Meanwhile, you will find that all good things that happen are linked in some way to intelligence, compassion and courage.
“Now, to give a person one’s opinion and correct his faults is an important thing. It is compassionate and is of great importance amongst those in pursuit of a singular vengeance. But the way of doing it is extremely difficult. To discover the good and bad points of a person is an easy thing, and to give an opinion concerning them is also easy. For the most part, people think that they are being kind by saying the things that others find distasteful or difficult to say. But if it is not received well, they think that there is nothing more to be done. This sort of thinking is worthless. In this way one has only shamed and humiliated the other person and done no good. That’s how it is.
“To give a person an opinion one must first judge well whether that person is of the disposition to receive it or not. One must become close with him and make sure that he continually trusts one’s word. Approaching subjects that are dear to him, seek the best way to speak so that you are well understood. Judge the occasion and manner - a gathering of friends, an official occasion, a private talk; know which is best. Praise his good points and use every device to subtly encourage him to rectify himself, perhaps by talking about your own faults without touching on his, but doing so in such a way that his fault will occur to him. Have him receive this in the way a parched person would drink water, and it will be an opinion that will correct faults. That’s how it is.
“I will not deny that this is difficult. If a person’s fault is an entrenched habit, by and large it won’t be remedied. To be intimate with all one’s comrades, correcting one another’s faults and being of one mind to gain vengeance is the great compassion of a revenger. By bringing shame to a person, how could one expect to make him better? In all this, as one calls to goodness, one must not forget to do good also. If one were to say what it is to do good in a single word, it would be to endure suffering. Not enduring is bad without exception. That’s how it is. But that is by the by.
“For one who treads the Warpath of Vengeance, matters of great concern should be treated lightly. Meanwhile, matters of small concern should be treated seriously. If these matters of great concern are deliberated upon before they arise, they can be understood. For instance, deliberating on how you will act once the enemy is stood before you, or if you should happen upon the enemy asleep, or drunk, or in a crowded area. Thinking about things previously and then handling them lightly when the time comes is what this is all about. To face an event and solve it lightly is difficult if you are not resolved beforehand, and there will always be uncertainty in hitting your mark. However, if the foundation is laid previously, you can consider, ‘Matters of great concern should be treated lightly,’ as your basis for action. For such a person, it is insufficient when meeting calamities or difficult situations to simply say that one is not at all flustered. When meeting such difficult situations, one should dash forward bravely and with joy.” The Way Teacher, leaning forward throughout, finally leaned back. Calm washed over Zima and Mish-Cheechel, and then the teacher’s words came with finality. “If one has no earnest daily intention regarding his vengeance, does not consider what it is to be a revenger even in his dreams, and lives through the day idly, such a negligent revenger can be said to be worthy of punishment. That’s how it is.”
Mish-Cheechel sat in silent thought once the Way Teacher quietened. Then, like one drawn from a reverie, he glanced at Zima. “Well. I guess we’ve got our answer then.”
“Yes. See, I told you.” She said, “Now maybe you’ll speak less and won’t get yourself into trouble.” The manbjork scratched his head sheepishly and looked away from her and the tree, across the vast fields that spread out into eternity all around. Zima stepped forward and gave the Way Teacher a polite bow. “What now? Where does the path lead on from here?” She asked him.
“You, Zima, are dead. That’s how it is.” The Way Teacher said. “Your path leads undeviatingly to the Chamber of Weighing and Judgement. As for you, Mish-Cheechel, you can go no further for death evades you.”
The manbjork rose at this, a frown on his face. “We came this far together, and we’re leaving together.” He looked at Zima. “Our vengeance is incomplete, Zim, we nee-”
“Zima perished with courage on the warpath. Whether her foe lies dead or not is of no consequence.” The teacher interrupted. His blue gaze shifted to the girl. “You did your duty, Zima. None who speak your name in the vales of the living or the halls of the dead can speak anything but good; that’s how it is. The suffering you endured in the world of the living is at an end, you have blissful eternity before you now.” He rose in the tree hollow and stepped out, revealing a doorway there. “This here is the way now Zima, that’s how it is.” The hooded teacher gestured to the hollow with his gloved hand. “Let nothing hold you back.”
Mish-Cheechel grit his teeth against one another and put himself between the teacher and Zima, then turned to her. He opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue faltered when his coal eyes fell on hers of icy blue. “Zim,” he managed, then shook his head, shot the teacher an irritated glare, and let her go. Without a word, he walked off and gazed across the fields.
“Mish…” Zima called after him, before turning to the Way Teacher again. “I… I cannot deny my heart wishes for a blissful peace. Your trials were heavy on my soul and the land of the living is full of uncertainty.” She tilted her head and smiled, “but a part of me cannot deny that there was so much left to do and now he will be alone without my protection. I promised to always do so, after all. I will not go against the judgment awaiting me, I just thought you should know.” Zima then bowed once more before taking her leave to go after Mish-Cheechel.
She caught up quickly, for her legs were longer now. “Mish…” she said again, “will you be okay?” She asked in a soft voice. He glanced at her impassively, then scratched his nose with a finger.
“That’s a dumb question, Zim. I’ll always be okay. Can’t say that’ll be true for the eagle god though, I can promise you that. Can’t say it’ll hold true for that Keeper fella either. But me? Sure, I’ll be just fine.” He looked away, towards the far horizon. “You heard the Way Teacher; vengeance is death. I died the day I took my oath. What’s it matter if I’m in here or out there, eh? It’s all one to me. And, y’know what, I think I prefer the warpath to an eternity of bliss. But, well, that’s just me - not saying you should too. I’m sure everyone wants to rest after a long journey and all that, but I’m lucky I guess: I don’t need rest.” He turned to her and placed both paws on her shoulders. “If you want to go, then go. Don’t stay if you’re worried about me. But Zim… like I said before: if you want to return, if you will be a revenger with me, then I will raise heaven and earth for you Zim. Nothing will keep you here, not even…” he glanced towards the Way Teacher. “You just say the word.” His coal-black eyes were unsmiling, his seriousness unquestionable.
She met his eyes with a steely gaze of her own before those blue eyes of hers faltered for the briefest of moments. She placed a hand on his cheek and rubbed her thumb under his eye. “Mish… I don’t think there is anything you could do. We are in a place so out of our depth, so unknowable, there is no way to tell if the dead can even return.”
He glanced at her hand and smiled at the odd sensation of the furless appendage against his face. “Sure, we’re out of our depth. But we were always out of our depth, Zim - it didn’t stop us. You speared the chest of a fucking god - all while out of your depth. Hell, we were fanatical before this Way Teacher came thinking to teach us about vengeance, and we were this close,” he brought his hand up, his fingers a hair’s width apart, “to finishing it. If you want to return with me, Zim, not even impossibility will get in our way.” He sighed and squeezed her shoulders with both hands. “Tell me: what do you want?”
She faltered at the question. “I… I… Judgment awaits. The Way Teacher… I told him I would not go against my judgment. Peace awaits me.” Her eyebrows quivered and her eyes went wide. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came. She breathed through her nose and squeezed her eyes tight. Then she sighed and relaxed her features with a breath. She opened her eyes and looked at Mish-Cheechel. “I want to be happy.” She dropped her hand from his cheek.
The manbjork was clearly taken aback by her words, and he leaned back with furrowed brows. “Happy?” He murmured, looking at the ground.
Her hand brought his chin back up to look at her and she smiled. “With you, or without. If you want, we can try to see if there is a way but if not… You have to promise me you’ll really be okay. Understand?”
The manbjork slowly tore his eyes from hers and looked across to the Way Teacher, whose blue pinpricks were upon them. “You would be telling a great lie, Mish-Cheechel, if you said that happiness is your pursuit. The Warpath of Vengeance is not for the happy, that’s how it is. You cannot give yourself happiness let alone give it to another.”
The manbjork grit his teeth and scowled, but held back any contemptuous words. “We are leaving this place, Teacher, together as we came.” He released Zima and turned fully to the god. “We’ve shattered the chest of one god before, and I won’t shy from scarring up your pretty none-face if you stand in our way.”
The god sighed. “You speak like a revenger when it counts, Mish-Cheechel. Very well, I won’t stand in your way - but know that the path you tread will lead to more pain than any should be made to bear. I have washed my hands of the blame for it, it is on your shoulders now. That’s how it is, Mish-Cheechel, that’s how it is.”
“You talk a lot for someone who tells others not to.” Mish-Cheechel jibed. The Way Teacher’s blue pinpricks seemed to roll where they shone.
“I’ve said my part.” The Way Teacher breathed. “Remember, though, you must leave together as you came. You have bound yourselves to this, and suffering awaits those who break their oaths. That’s how it is.”
“I’ve yet to break any oaths, and I won’t be starting now.” The manbjork sneered. “Now show us the path out.”
Zima blinked and gave a small gasp as a smile crossed her lips. Not wanting to forget herself however, she bowed to the Way Teacher and said, “I thank you for this opportunity, Way Teacher. Whatever happens is on us.” She then whispered to Mish-Cheechel. “That was too easy.”
The manbjork smiled. “Gotta grab life by the balls - and do it like you mean it. Or something like that. Now where was that sage saying in that vengeance lecture? Sounds pretty important to m-” but the manbjork did not finish his words, for the Way Teacher snapped his fingers and they found that the world shifted about them and sped by beneath. The tree disappeared from view, as did the skies and spreading horizons, and darkness entombed them.
Narrow is the Road back to Life
When the world stopped moving, and their motion ceased also, they found themselves engulfed in darkness. There was barely any space, with rocky walls choking them from both sides. The ceiling was just high enough for them to walk at a crouch. In the distance, however, they could both see a faint light, and so made for it. Mish-Cheechel grumbled all the way. “That guy did this on purpose. Well, the joke’s on him. This just proves he’s a tight-arse. I don’t know what sort of bliss he’s got in store for all the poor souls that make it, but I’m telling you Zim, you dodged a spearpoint by getting away from that weirdo.”
Zima laughed as she crawled. “I don’t know but maybe one day we’ll both find out. Not today of course. Now come on, we got to get to that light before something happens. I don’t like this Mish, it seems too easy.”
The manbjork glanced back at her as he forged on ahead. “Well, you’ve always had a better nose for danger than me, so I’ll trust you on that. Let’s get out of here. Stay close now, don’t let go of my tail.”
She did as instructed and grabbed on, not tight enough to pull but firm enough to not let go. The bjork chuckled at the sensation. “See, what would you do without me? Walk headlong into all sorts of danger again? Oh Mish, I can’t wait to see the sun again and feel its warmth. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“Well, that’s quite something from someone who burned themselves to death.” Mish-Cheechel chortled. “You always struck me as the frosty sort, lazing with the falling snowflakes and all that. But y’know what, I’m looking forward to seeing the sun too.”
“Hey, just because fire killed me, doesn’t mean I need to be afraid of the sun. The sun never harmed me.” Zima giggled.
He was quiet after that, scrambling through the tight cave, closer and closer to the light. “Gods, this is like being in a very badly built dam. But worse. At least that’s wood, y’know? You can gnaw your way out if needs be. This rock is horrid.”
Zima huffed. “Does it feel like the walls are getting tighter? Are we getting any closer? I can’t see behind all this fur you know?”
“I don’t know about tighter but,” the manbjork groaned, “I’m feeling heavier. Almost… tired.” He sounded like he was restraining a yawn. “Not far now, it’s close.” He stumbled on, though he was clearly getting slower with each faltering step.
“That’s good.” Zima began, noticing that something was amiss as her own pace slowed. “Uh, Mish? Why are you slowing down?”
“Just…” he grunted, “heavy. I’ll be fine.” He took another step, a rock slipped beneath him, and he fell heavily and was still.
“Mish? What’s going on? Mish? Mish!” Zima scrambled forward, trying in vain to get a better look at her fallen friend. But his tail was too long and his bulk too large for her to be able to get to his side. “Mish! Wake up Mish! I can see the light, we’re so close!” Zima shouted in a panicked voice. Her fears were coming true.
The manbjork did not respond. Instead, his form started disintegrating where he lay. First his tail, where she had held onto him, began to froth and vaporise, and then the rest of him bubbled and sizzled and rose in a strange ethereal haze. “Fuck.” Said the mist with Mish-Cheechel’s voice. Then the ghostly cloud he had become was sucked up out of the tunnel at impossible speed, and disappeared into the light shouting and screaming all sorts of profanities at the Way Teacher.
Zima, eyes wide with horror, looked upon the mist as he went. “Oh no.” Was all she could say before she frantically clawed her way on all fours after him. Then something strange happened. The tunnel began to grow wider and wider. First she could start to shuffle on her legs and hands, then she was able to press her back to the top of the tunnel with haste. Then it grew wide enough that she could sprint full-on, and out in the light she went shouting, “MISH!” But even as she ran she could neither see him in the blinding light nor hear him. The light grew brighter and brighter until she could bear it no more and was forced to raise a hand to her eyes, closed them momentarily, and found herself quite abruptly standing alone by the lake.
She looked around for any sign of him but stopped when something caught her eye. Her hand… its blue glow was fading, the tips of her fingers were turning grey and cold. Like color itself was being drawn from her. She tried to wipe it off in a panic but she only found the same happening to her other hand. A strange sensation washed over her then. Her chest tightened, her breath became frantic, and she was going numb. Her arms’ wispiness, that had been so familiar to her, now gave way to smokey lines. Her skin had become ashen grey, almost see through.
Zima went into shock, crumpling down next to the still lake to see the affliction spread across her clutched chest. Her wispy clothes puffed away into the air as she felt her legs go cold. It crept up her neck and Zima pawed at it further, but it kept going in silent agony. She wanted to scream. She wanted to do anything to make it stop. Then the tips of her silver hair began to turn grey. Her lips faded, followed by her cheeks. Her voice was powerless. “M-Mish…” she cried out like a lost kit. Next went her button nose. She felt a numbness expanding inside. It reached her blue eyes, whose color so reminded her of her father. Now they turned to darkness as her body succumbed to the grey.
Then the whole world faded away.
But she could still feel herself, growing weaker as the grey turned inward. She could feel her soul, her very spirit, fight with the monster that ate at her - but it was too late. Her soul broke, shattered into thousands of pieces that made her gasp in pain. Next came her heart… and as it grew blackened, Zima clutched at it, before a sharp pain came and then…
Nothing.
A red glint caught her eye in the water. Her head began to spin as she felt the creeping darkness infiltrate her mind. But her eyes focused just enough to look upon the source of the only color she could see. It stared back up at her, after all, like some demented reflection.
Two eyes of glowing crimson.
Zima began to shake her head, gripping it as the darkness encroached. “No.” She said, blinking, trying to wake up from the nightmare. “No. No! NO NO NO!” She screamed as the abyss spun around her in a flurry of black smoke. The last thing she held onto was of Mish-Cheechel laughing and her promise, before that endless smoke swallowed her up completely.
And she was alone in that darkness, completely alone. Just as Mish-Cheechel, that avenger, was also alone in the dark depths of the ground, his cries muffled by the earth that pressed down on his newly-awakened form. Yes, that’s how it was.
