The Tale of Daemonica

The Swamps

   There was only deep silence and darkness all around, which you could perhaps touch if you wished. Only that if you really tried it, you would probably soon find out that the darkness had just begun to seep inconspicuously through, and that have somehow darkened yourself as well. This would certainly be the perfect moment to open your eyes, but ...

Daemonica opened her eyes. All the sounds came back abruptly, but sadly so did the horrific scene at hand. She realized she was on her knees screaming. But her voice trailed off somewhat in the terrible cries of dying men all around. She understood, wide-eyed, that she was still in the middle of the swamps, and that she didn't dream of any of it at all.

Beneath the ancient trees in the rare rays of moonlight, her unit was dying. As were the terrified natives who, just moments before, had been their enemies. Indigenous people died in large numbers as easily as if they had never held a weapon before, as if they had never been proud warriors of their homes. It's as if they never had anything to live for, as if they never had a home worth fighting for at all. They ran around mindlessly, their primitive weapons hitting everything they met. Regardless of whether their comrades or enemy fighters were hit.

But Daemonica's unit did no better. Her comrades greeted death as if nothing else ever existed for them. The flames of their torches, that had previously illuminated their path, were dying on the damp ground, which was now fed by blood and despair.. And in all the confusion, Daemonica still felt... She could feel the thoughts of women waiting for their men in primitive huts somewhere in the depths of the forest, thinking about what they would feed their children. She could feel the noble ladies in Andala so far away unexpectedly losing their temper, though perhaps already in the embrace of other men, but also how ordinary women missed their loved ones as they wiped away droplets of lonely tears while they watched the city gates hopelessly.

And then she felt every step of something that moved seemingly with the same confusion, killing everyone on its way, darting from the shadows to another darkened place, murdering only for the pleasure of killing. And she knew it was looking for someone to deliver a single fatal blow to its target, and that all the other kills were just red points in its mind. The fight went on all around her without mercy. The foul smell of the swamps and the deadly cries of the rest of the few people still living, dug under her skin. Tears of despair on her face mingled with the blood of her squad, while her hands hung limply along her body.

Daemonica had no idea where her sword was, not in the least came to her mind to fight. Fear engulfed her, and all she could do was watch the trees around her, where a shadow darker than all the shadows of that night loomed behind each of them, to strike something or someone with its huge ax with a deadly certainty that drove all those still living in the area absolutely mad.

She could barely remember how they had all found themselves in this desperate situation. The last events she remembered happened just after they entered the forest. Still clinging to the ancient road, which, despite its undoubted age, retained the characteristics of a well-kept road, and which also included several bridges that crossed the blind shoulders of the Silver River, they continued on quite carelessly. But one of those bridges became fatal to them (nested already well into the forest).

As they crossed it (very stupidly) saddled, the men in front were attacked from all sides by the natives, while part of the men, including Daemonica, were still on the bridge. But even for them, the way back was very soon cut off by another group of natives. Their horses began to struggle in the narrow area of the walkway, which in case of this one bridge of many around could not accommodate even two riders side by side. The torches they used to light their way carelessly, gave a decent target to the hidden shooters. Before Daemonica could decide whether to wait for an order or dismount right now, she was thrown over the edge of the bridge into the stinking waters of the Silver River by her own horse.

Her own torch, of course, went out, and she just as easily lost her sword, which she barely managed to draw in confusion. She tried to get out of the water as quickly as possible to get to the light of the remaining torches, which made her know the whereabouts of her comrades behind whom she could hide. As she stood on the bank, hidden behind a massive trunk of an ancient tree, while the reflection of moonlight from the river illuminated her terrified face, an inhuman scream echoed, that literally nailed her to the spot. The same spot she was still in.

Suddenly someone started shaking her and she seemed to hear his call from a distance: 'Fight... get up... fight...!"Quiretus shouted at her, deadly madness in his eyes. However, for some reason, his words sounded ridiculous to her. It wasn't long before he was struck from behind anyway by one of the men from his own squad running around brandishing a sword in vain. Blood from captain’s dead body mingled with the blood she had already been stained. But nothing could make her move, or so she thought. But this time, thankfully, she was wrong.

She felt that now someone or something was coming and that it kept coming nearer, maybe a ray of light at the end of the tunnel...Out of nowhere, another dark shadow emerged from the darkness. Suddenly, someone's hands made her stand up and move, which she couldn't believe. Step by step, she was leaving the dreadful place, now quite silent, save for the few random sounds of the men still alive. She staggered and fell to the ground, but someone's hands would always lift her to her feet and make her carry on using some invisible force she couldn't comprehend. Finally, all she could hear was the sound of the forest and her rapid breathing. She didn't really care who silently followed her, and she certainly didn't care where they were heading at all. She still couldn't believe that what she was fleeing had actually happened and that she had survived. But somehow she couldn't be grateful for that, as perhaps she should be.

With miles in her feet and a heart of stone, Daemonica stumbled on through the barren swamp. Deep insidse, she knew with absolute certainty who had followed her. Despite her partial delirium, she understood that the Destiny was on her heels ...

Their escape did not go unnoticed, and they struggled to get through the swamp. The branches of the thick undergrowth whipped them in the faces, and behind them they still recognized the sounds of pursuit, however they now seemed to be farther. Daemonica could smell the taste of blood in her mouth, mingling with the sweat of her desperate toil in the excessively damp surroundings of the forest. At the end of the forest ahead, she saw the promise of dawn approaching. There was no sound in the forest at all. The weight of the night's events weighed on her, under whose powerful pressure her knees finally buckled and she fell unconscious.

----------

She was standing on some flat rock. All around her there was silence without the slightest movement. In the sky, the stars watched the whole scene without interest. Their glitter was icily cruel as was their indifference, prompted by their eternal loneliness.

After a while Daemonica realized she wasn't alone. To her left, a short distance away, Sorcerer stood motionless, looking westward. Despite the literally threatening silence, she longed to speak. She wanted to remove his hood to reveal his face and, with that, perhaps, also what he was hiding in his heart. She wanted to look him in the eye in a completely incomprehensible burst of longing.

The moment she realized she was staring blankly at him, Sorcerer turned to face her. The light of none of the stars could illuminate his dark face, but his eyes reflected both their cold glow and their silent cruelty just perfectly. Daemonica shivered involuntarily.

But Sorcerer looked back to the west without a word. His face seemed momentarily illuminated by the last rays of the setting sun, and for a paltry moment she could see his face for the first time. A face that showed wisdom as well as kindness, warmth as well as determination, sadness and love, a face she couldn't help loving at the moment. But suddenly, in that fleeting moment, she heard the voice of ocean waves heading ever closer to the far towers of long-abandoned cities that were slowly mired in the green jungle. Their wide cobbled avenues were,smashed by the roots of ancient trees. Balconies of splendid houses and palaces were covered with vines with all manner of colourful flowers, and flocks of exotic birds settled in tall, slender towers. In a pitiful symphony without an audience, their faded glory was dying on unknown shores beyond insurmountable waters.

The light faded, the sun set.

Sorcerer leapt towards her in a split second, his already darkened face showing searing anger but also something else. Something she couldn't grasp. Sorcerer was now standing so close to her that their faces were almost touching. They stared into each other's eyes in silence. Those eyes of his were slowly turning into amber wells of warm light into which she was drinking her gaze. She drank from them in full gulps in an intoxicating desire, to which she gave in a moment, a little astonished.