Into The Wildlands: Chapter XIII - Rest In Peace
The aftermath of the chaotic brawl in the arena.
A crushing darkness, and a crushing silence. Just a presence in a void. It was all that could be determined. No senses. No existence. Like being in a sensory deprivation chamber, but intangible. There wasn't even a complete sense of self. It was a riddle, an enigma, a veritable purgatory.
“Where am I? Who am I? What am I?" Spoken with an immaterial mouth. Just a disembodied voice in the void.
I am nowhere. I am nobody. I am nothing.
The darkness answered back his psychic question with absolutely nothing, in his own voice to boot.
“Am I dead? Have I not been born?"
I do not exist.
“Can that be true? I feel like I have existed."
I do not exist.
“Did I not exist? Did I believe I was something that did?"
I do not believe that I existed.
“No. No, I believe that I existed."
I cannot believe that I existed.
“No. More than that. I believe that I exist."
I cannot believe that I exist.
“No. I exist."
A light suddenly shone in the darkness, from up above.
“A light?" To look at it was impossible, it followed his head movements flawlessly, like trying to look at a speck of something in one's eye. He couldn't even be sure he was moving to look at it. It seemed to amble about on its own, completely independent of his thoughts. It shone on nothing, but made itself visible, just a small dot of light, wavering around.
“This... this is something. I am something. I am somewhere."
It is nothing. I am nothing. I am nowhere.
“No. I am something. I am someone. I am somewhere. I have a name."
What is my name?
He attempted to make a sound finally, realizing then that he couldn't. “What is my name? What is a sound?"
My name is nothing. A sound is nothing.
“No, my name is something. A sound is something." He was determined to defeat this lingering doubt that weighed him down. He began to emit sounds, to see if any struck a chord. “R... U... Ch..."
These are nothing.
“J... G... F..."
These are nothing.
“V... L... K-" The light emitted a small spark. “K... K... Ak. Ok. Ik-" Another spark. It was a familiar sound. Ik. “B... J... G... F..."
I cannot remember.
“Yes, I can remember. Y... P... R- R- Rik." Another spark. The sounds were coming back to him.
It is too long. I cannot remember.
“No. I can do this. A... B... C... D... E- Iirik. No. Erik. Erik. It is so familiar..." He finally guessed right. “I am Erik."
I am Erik.
The agreement from the voice of doubt had some memories come back, as his body became visible to him again. “Yes. Yes. I was... doing something. Something important. Fighting. I fought... the government. No. A... monster. No. I fought a man. Just one man."
I cannot fight.
“Yes, I can fight. I fought with a... knife. No, a sword."
I do not have a sword.
“I have a sword. I had a sword. I found a sword, yes. I used it to fight the man." It was coming back to him. But the dubious voice remained skeptical, now posing questions.
Why would I fight the man?
“I... I fought him for... love."
Love?
“Love, yes. Not the man. Who he was... in the way of."
Who was he in the way of?
“It was... her. Her name was... is... K... K-el... Kel-s..." He almost had it. He finally remembered, and murmured out her name. “Kelsey."
The light sparked again, and his memories came flooding back. They hit like a proverbial sack of bricks, and were he in a real space, he would have staggered. “Yes. I remember now. I remember it all. I had to fight to marry Kelsey. Against... Colton."
I remember.
“Did... did I win? Did I die?"
Am I dead?
“I need to know... if I'm dead, I have to see her. If she's okay. Or if I'm not dead... I need to wake up."
I can't wake up.
“No. I have to fight this. Fight this darkness. Fight this weight on me."
This darkness.
“Kelsey. Help me find myself."
The image of Kelsey suddenly appeared, standing before him, clad in her fatigues. Seeing her made him feel as if he had broken this curse, but he was as naive as before.
“Kelsey!"
Hi Erik.
Her voice was just as the rest of the disembodied voice, but not something he could truly recognize as being unusual.
“Kelsey, where are we?"
The world quickly changed to a familiar forest setting.
We have been here the whole time.
“We have?"
Yes. Here in the forest. You must have eaten something funny.
“Right. Something funny."
Yes. Something funny. We belong in this forest.
“Yes, we belong here."
Erik. I have found some salvage. Look.
She held up the gladius.
“Oh, the sword? I thought I had the sword."
You had the sword.
He took it from her fuzzy paws and looked at it curiously. As if it were always there, it was suddenly covered in blood and white tufts of hair.
“Why do I have this here? I was at the arena."
You are at the arena.
He looked up from the sword to see the arena again, Colton lying in a bloody pile, while Kelsey was now wearing her flaxen dress, still standing stoic and emotionless.
“What am I doing here? I was in the forest."
You are killing Colton.
“I don't want to kill Colton."
You are killing Colton.
He looked up at the sword. Sure enough, the sword had always been skewered right through Colton's neck. Colton lay dead on the dirt, eyes dull and blood pooling across the ground. It flowed like water, onto his feet, climbing over them and up his leg, as if it had a mind of its own.
“Blood doesn't do this."
The blood of Colton is good and healthy.
“But health doesn't let blood climb."
The blood is healthy enough to climb.
“No. That makes no sense."
The blood began to sprout off from his legs, turning into leaves and pea pods.
You are a good farmhand. You have reaped the bounty of him.
Erik's mind could scarcely understand this scenario. He was flickering from setting to setting, action to action, without recollection or critical thought.
“Oh. I didn't want to kill him. Just make him get away from you."
He is away from me. You are with me.
“I am with you."
I am with you.
He reached out to touch her, but his hands went through her like water, while she stood before him without any reaction.
I am with you.
He tried to think about this. “No. No you're not."
The scene suddenly changed to them standing in the garden plots, blood turning to green as beans sprouted up around them, climbing the poles and fences while they stood there. She was back in her fatigues, her hair tied up tightly, like when he first met her.
I am with you. You fought for me.
“I fought for you. But you are not real. The real Kelsey would never avoid my touch."
I am real. You fought for me.
“No. Kelsey is real. You are not. I can't touch you."
You can touch me any way you like.
He stuck his hands out again, right through her face.
“I want to touch your face. But I can't. You have no face. You aren't real."
He pulled his hands back out, but found she actually had no face when his arms came out. The face he came to know was gone, only fluff.
“I... I don't like this. You're not who I fell for. You're not real. Leave me!"
The faceless being simply looked into him carefully, head cocked a bit, as if trying to say something.
He crouched down, holding his head. “No. No, this is a dream. A nightmare. You're not the real Kelsey. I want the real Kelsey back. I have to get back to her."
She crouched down with him, looking like she cared for him, but still had no face, no emotion.
“No! The real one!" He began to get angry. The illusion remained, trying to touch him, but passing through him. He stood up and swung, throwing a fist through her. “Begone, illusion! Begone!" This time, the impact broke the illusion, shattering her like prop glass. With her immediate demise, so too did the fake image of the farm. He remained in the dark realm again, with himself.
“It's not real. I'm dreaming. Trapped in my mind. I have to get out." He huffed. “I have to get back to the real world." He struggled against the darkness, with his very soul. He needed something back, a sense, anything. “I need to sense something. Something of the world."
Sense something. The voice came back.
Struggling against the darkness to reclaim his senses, he got one back: taste.
“What do I taste? What is this flavor?"
Iron. Dirt. Apple. Feather.
Visions of these objects as he heard them appeared in the space he existed within. “Why do I taste these?"
They are not useful.
“Maybe they are."
They are not useful.
“No, I must taste them for a reason."
There is no taste.
The objects vanished, fading away from view.
He fought for another. Touch came to him. The crushing pain of a headache suddenly weighed him down. “Urgh. My head. Pounding. My face, on fire... but all around, it... feels cushy. Cushiness. Where am I?"
Bed. Coffin.
An image of Erik tucked into a comfy bed appeared, but tempered by Erik tucked into a hay-filled casket right next to it. Family gathered around him, depressed.
“No... I can't be dead. I just can't. I need more."
The images faded from view and he was once again left to study more.
After a brief struggle, smell came back. “What is that smell? That mustiness. It's so familiar."
Hair. Smoke. Dust. Blood. Onion.
“Why do I smell these? Smoke, dust, blood, hair? Onions?"
Cremation. Mummification.
Ghoulish images of him wrapped in strips of some fabric, his wounds stuffed with onions, and being burnt on a fire appeared before him. Around his funeral pyre, many people gathered. From the crowd, he could pick out the heartbroken Deckers, with Kelsey on the ground.
“She's devastated..."
I am dead.
“No. No, I can't accept that. That isn't right."
The images faded from view again.
It was his hearing that he remembered coming back first when he was frozen.
“What do I hear...?"
... one ... alive ... over...
That again. The sound he first heard. He listened harder. Ringing. Murmuring. Beeping. “No... no, that can't be right."
He remembered the freezer tube. He could see himself in it, from the outside. He was on ice, in the Cryonexus, waiting to be thawed out. Eyes closed, blissfully unaware. Outside of it, the fat man toiled at his job, pushing buttons, beeping with each tap.
Was that right? Was this all some dream? He struggled to regain his final sense, and open his eyes. A force stopped him from doing it.
I cannot open my eyes.
“Yes, I can."
I cannot open my eyes.
“I will open my eyes! My eyes will be open! My eyes are open!"
Slowly, they creaked open, blinded by light, but dulled otherwise. This time, it was sunlight.
His senses finally were all coming back. He was in a bed. A comfortable pillow kept his head padded, while the blankets kept him warm. A cold facecloth was draped over his face, keeping him darkened and moisturized. Meanwhile, his body ached and his head throbbed. What room was this?
“Whuh...? Wav of iv..." He gurgled, groaning out gibberish.
A voice responded. “Whoa! You're finally awake, that's amazing!" He could barely make it out.
“Whuh..." His head suddenly grew warm, then cold. A shock at first, but then, comforting. His cloth was changed, and replaced with a new one.
“You lost a lot of blood, you're recovering. Get your rest, we have all the time in the world."
This wasn't the shed, his bed, the Cryonexus, an arena, nor a hospital. Where was this? He tried his senses again, now that he had, perhaps, freed himself from the void.
His taste was coming to him. Iron, dirt, apple, feather. Iron from blood, dirt from the dust, feather from the pillow his head rested on. The apple, he was sensing finally, he had been fed while he was unconscious.
His head pounded, his face was still on fire, but the cool facecloth helped alleviate some of this pain. The cushiness he felt, he now knew was this bed. The sheets felt nice, he thought. The blankets thin, dirty, perhaps smelling a bit musty.
The air, smoky, dusty, and laced with onion. The smell of a home in the country that brimmed with life in need of flavorful cooking.
The ringing in his ears was dulled now, but the beeping he heard before he could now determine was actually from birds on a window sill outside, barely big enough to chirp at each other.
It was still unfamiliar, but at least, it was no void.