The Fall of Illidrandon, part 1

Vexa’tu walked through the alleyways of his hometown, avoiding any and all possible contact. He had already had enough of judgmental looks and whispered words for one day. Darkness was what he wanted to find, a place to hide; to sit down and breathe without the pressure of the others’ thoughts to press down upon his small shoulders and simple mind. A few quick steps, pressing himself through a small opening between carved building walls, not seen from the streets but still splattered with beauty in the style that engrossed this glamoured city. Spotting the small cavity he had been looking for under one of the buildings he got down on his fours and crawled through, deeper below. As his eyes quickly adjusted he took in the sights of mud and roots decorating the hole he had chosen to call home-before-home. He inhaled the smells of earth and the sinister air that lingered down here and sat down smiling — a grin that spread from ear to ear and housed yellowed, sharp teeth. The dirt grounded him as he sprawled his fingers over the soft earthen floor. He grabbed a handful, spit in his hand and massaged the wet silt over his long ears, turning his light green skin a deep brown. Embracing the darkness he closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of silent void. As his mind calmed and suppressed the stresses of his life he opened his eyes once again and stared at the pile of roots and twigs stacked in the corner. That’s where he had hidden it. An audible laugh escaped his throat. Why had he stolen it again? He couldn’t even read. Another laugh. Sounds continued to escape and came in burst as he started toward his hidden treasure; placing the torn twigs and ripped roots in a neat stack next to the now-revealed black book. Gently draping his fingers over its cover he felt the leathery exterior, pausing as he reached the black, metal clasps at the book’s side. With purpose he pressed down slowly, each one unlocked with a soft click.
     Vexa’tu had tried reading before, but the Curator had always said he was too stupid, or moronically inclined as she put it, to be able to enter the archives and so he had never learned how. Now he sat with the book in his lap and flipped the pages, looking at the images instead. They were pretty and strange. Sometimes they looked like letters but weren’t. Other times they were just shapes put together in strange ways that created this odd pressure — like someone pressed a sharp blade into his temple, trying to open up his skull to look at all the nothing that was in there. He got annoyed. Angry even. Why did his brother keep saying that? Vexa’tu knew he had a brain in there. His fingers wandered over the scar at the top of his head, it dipped down slightly, itching in all the annoying ways. It must have been ten years now, when he didn’t pass the placement exam. His father had been so angry that he had ordered the Medicine man to check, just to find an easy explanation. But the brain was there and the Councilman has denied father’s request to end the suffering. If it was Vexa’tu’s or father’s suffering he did not know, not that it mattered much. Too dumb to learn to read and join the archivists, too weak to train and join the hunters, and too ugly in mind — whatever that meant — to join the artists. He supposed he was just good enough to sit here in the dark, covered in dirt and looking at the moving pictures of this book. Moving. He froze, charmed by the now ever-changing symbols on the pages before him. They swirled, connected and disconnected; opening dimensions not seen but felt. The pressure on his temple increased, the invisible blade pressing into his skin, deeper and deeper. His vision flickered and blurred as darkness grew before him, a roaring scream started in his mind and all went black as he slumped to the ground.
     A pungent rot awoke him. Vexa’tu opened his eyes and the head of a great ox filled his vision. It was enormous, looming over him with a stink of decay and mold, its face pale and at the same time full of life. A great beard draped down on the soggy ground and spread out like roots of a Myrkwood tree, nerve-like system ever-reaching. It did not speak but still Vexa’tu heard. Feelings, smells, visions of the mind and without sped past and ingrained themselves into the space behind his eyes and the cavities of his pointy nose, lingering and waiting to be understood. He was there for what felt like days until he passed out from exhaustion, letting the smelly visions grow inside of him.

***

Vexa’tu sat in his room, the white moon’s light shone in through his tall window, creating shadows reaching for door. He knew he was supposed to go out there, across the hallway into his brother’s room. The shadows pointed him towards his future. A tingling fear sat at the back of his head — he didn’t dare think of the things he would be subject to if he was caught. The shadows pulled on him, a sharp pull that blistered his wrists and made his throat itchy. He scratched ferociously at his neck in defiance, the skin swelled, turning red. Throwing his head into the bedding he let out a muffled scream of pain. The red bulged, made skin split and puss mingle with the scratching of his sharp nails digging into the skin-turned-mire. Tears of sludge stained his pillow. The cold, wet strands of hair stretched out across his bare back, wrapping around his chest and Vexatu felt the air escape his lungs. Gasping for breath the blackness encroached his vision. Not tonight. He needed courage first. The pain was excruciating. Pain of the mind he knew, but this was something completely different. Still. This night he would endure.

***

The sun had yet to rise completely above the trees as Vexa’tu made his way west, towards The Pale. His knuckles whitened from the tight grip he had round the large, black book. His once light-green skin had splodges of yellow and brown, his entire body turning a green more like the leaves of trees in autumn. His neck was still swollen from the night before and he had had to leave before anyone woke up. He needed to think, clear his head and then — He was not sure what was going to happen after that. As he walked further the trees around him slowly lost their leaves, their trunks and branches twisting in ever-reaching fashion; the brush became lower, their roots wandering over the dark dirt; the sun a pale smudge in the grey-turned sky, cloud and mist covering most of it. He stopped. The green forests of The Deep Tree behind him, the grey lands of The Pale before him. This was it. This was the march-in-between. The pestilent scent of the bearded ox hit the back of his head. Vexa’tu took a deep breath and turned to face him.