3

  The following day arrives as Karthuras sits to view the rising sun. He felt his fingers against his exposed teeth and hollow cheeks to remind himself of his disfigurement. He waited for the others to rise from their slumber; boredom, however, contented his patience to a high degree, thus moving onward with his casual stroll. In his time of isolation, he took his time admiring the view of horrific tranquility: The hills he recalled being lavished with wildlife and vegetation are now dry, cracked, lavished in that perpetual crimson shade. Stone pillars that were once hard to see from afar now draw distance eyes, a variation from the long draws of reappearance.

  He looks onward to the sky, viewing the ring of Sleeper hovering above this endless crimson sea—staring evermore into the darkness as he spoke: "To why have you cast me here? Why must I live among the disordered dunes I created unwillingly… The temptress fooled me… Did you not see yourself—all-seeing eye?" Sleeper did not respond to his sudden words of quandary.

  Surrendering his own time led him nowhere, so he had to return. He rested against the hollow tree, waiting for everyone else to get up and begin their routine. The long hours spiral ever deliberately until everyone else rises. Everyone eventually wanders into their destined places, speaking causally about the Flexenmires who may never venture out here again. After all, there is a demon among them. Still, Gatlis worried about such events unfolding when he least expected it to happen; not only that, but he also pondered the merging of the Phantom prince—who will arrive either next week or the next month. He was not sure when it was inevitable that he needed to prepare. With Karthuras by his side, there may be Hope. He asked Karthuras about his fighting techniques, and his response was 'None.' So thus, he concluded that he and the Demon needed training.

  From there, In between the bundle of lifeless trees, he insisted the Demon test his strength against the stones and branches. It was simple enough with his single hand, and too did he carry a bundle. Then he dropped it all at once, leaving only one stone in his palm. Correcting his stance firmly, he throws the stone against the tree, hoping it will leave a deep mark; this is an understatement. He did not leave a mark; he shattered the tree's base with such force that it toppled over, leaving behind a mess of broken twigs and splitting the years of growth.

  Gatlis became more curious, thus allowing Karthuras to hold on to a makeshift bone sword. With his heavy swing, the fibers that bound the hilt and bone were immediately ripped as the bone launched into one of the few remaining trees, penetrating the bark. From this point onward, Karthuras learned the basis of his current strength. For now, he had to move with Gatlis back into the campsite. After some time in the many steps of cold silence, he asked the warrior:

  "You mentioned before that—you leave bodies for the great beyond with their blood and tools intact. But your weapons, shelter, clothes, and food are from human remains. Why is that?”

  "They are not ours, Phader. Tools from Flexenmires and others… but those others are gone now.”

  "Others—stolen tools—I suppose you had nothing more to use?”

  "That is our way of surviving! What else is there?"

  Karthuras was left with more questions than answers, and now he grew more curious about these 'others.' To ask this question, he knew it would not give any more ideas of thought, thus remaining in his oblivious state—having to rely on his intuition by the methods of nature via separation from the weak and strong. Furthermore, Karthuras is tested by his physical limitations. He placed his single hand against the hilt of every tool and tried to replicate Gatlis's work in making weapons. His arrowheads were barely shaped distinctly, nor could they penetrate the skin. As for his 'warrior spirit,' Gatlis found the Demon lacking in this aspect. His idea of peace cannot be seen no matter which outcome the Flexenmires choose. Their numbers were great, and their weapons and armor were more advanced. Their tributes are more than willing to move on. He considered help from a witch who may be able to cure this disease of the 'kind spirit,' turning Karthuras onto the warrior path instead—this became his final decision.

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  Not far from the campsite, a gravel path descends beneath the soil as the faint light flickers within the infested darkness. Infested by objects of morbid design, hanging, impaled, replications of human and beast—half fake and real, skeletons wrapped in oil-soaked leather. The hums resonated with the whaling tune from an older voice. Gatlis and Karthuras enter the main to meet with the source, finding the witch well-adjusted in her throne of sticks and bones. She looks through her face mask, made from a man's face and bound by her grey hair strands—her rippled white cloak stains in crusted black. Beneath it, at her lower abdomen, something moves from underneath. With long fingers pressed against it, she gently rubs it as she says:

  "Do not fret my child, the outsider we have been waiting for is here," she then presses her fingers against the mask, "Husband, let us bring comfort to our guests." Taking the clay bowl from her side, she pinches the dust within, flinging the substance into a small cloud. Though the motion was comical to Karthuras, the smell was enticing.

  Gatlis spoke with worship at the witch: "Hathor, eldest witch of the dry lands. Will you hear my words?"

  She cackled: "Yes—yes, of course!”

  "The Demon must possess the power of stone, a warrior’s will! Do you have such remedies?”

  "He does not require medicine…”

  "What are you asking her for, Gatlis?" Karthuras asked.

  His reply: "To make you strong! A demon of true worth.”

  "Such wickedness stems elsewhere," She added, "Karthuras knows well, for he is a relic of a bygone era.”

  "You know me?" he asked.

  "Not much, but your friend often mentions your name in conversation," she pointed to the opening gap where an object wrapped in tarnished fabric is placed.

  "No, don't let him take her away!" a muffled voice said.

  "Oh, hush now…" she replied, unveiling the growth at her stomach: A development of disorder formed of an infant child, though wrinkly, leathered like an old man with grey streaks of hair laying against his twisted ears. His uneven red eyes look at Karthuras with dismay.

  His voice was hollow, deep, youthful in expression: "You cannot have her. She is with us. Not you! Us!”

  "Hush!" the witch demanded.

  As Karthuras was conflicted, so was Gatlis, who remained still and doubtful of his situation. However, he ignored the words of the mutant, thus unwrapping the object in question, finding not only his withered left arm but the scarf that bound itself to it—the black fabric shivers as the red letters glow from anticipation. Immediately, Karthuras was penetrated by the fabric, and it pulled his back into place! The pain was not existent, but the dreadful encounter made him cower for a short moment. He watches as the flesh ripens, allowing his limb to bind with his body again. The withering decay vanishes with circulation, which matches the tone and color of his body. Now, he was whole again, and more was he connected with a familiar presence. The gentle warmth of the scarf glows as the angelic voice whispers in his thoughts:

  "Finally, we are together again…"

  He opens his eyes to the lovely scenery: lands filled with bright green vegetation, flowers in full bloom, the dim sky infested with red stars. From a swift breeze of black clouds, the woman reveals her contradicting aspects of macabre and exquisiteness—a ghost among this vista, her smooth face shifts in many shapes without revealing an eye, nose, or lips. Her lengthy red hair flows with her blackened gown, which is ashen by the touch of the wind.

  She presses her hand gently on his cheek, "The longing of separation has rid the sanctity of our souls. Together in our shattered state, we shall cross this world through the chaos that Demon left behind… Karthuras, you and I can abandon all and live in absolute freedom."

  For a moment, he was silent, grasping the sight of her once more after so many years of isolation, "… I'm afraid I cannot commit to such fear—these people need me. I must bring order to rebuild ourselves and the world surrounding us.”

  "They already remain at the pinnacle; have you not seen their ways of life?”

  "I have, and yet—there is still more to see. Perhaps indefinitely, I will find remnants that will make our future brighter. I only need time.”

  "Time is all we have known, my love… Will the others have similar patience?”

  "With my determination, I will face these hardships and Hettalies once more.”

  "What about your son?"

  He pondered, "I shall deal with this tribal warfare. He and his mother will come soon after.”

  "Very well," she accepted, "As long there is no one to separate us, we will overcome these obstacles."

  As Karthuras opened his eyes, he directed himself towards Gatlis and asked: "Take me to the Flexenmires; I will do what I can to end this conflict."