To See The Light

This story was written as an entry in the 2012 NYCMidnight Short Story Contest. I had week to write a <2,500 word story with the following prompts:

Genre = Fantasy // Subject = An Attack // Character = A Singer

* * *

It was night. 

It was always night.

A swarm of black approached out of the darkness, tainting the white snow as it progressed closer and closer. The Tribal Elder watched from high upon a cliff overlooking the tundra that would soon become a graveyard… The graveyard of his people.

Far below, he could see the Everburning Fire in the center of his village, the only light left in the world—even the sun had been quenched centuries ago. He brushed a seal-skin gloved hand against his weathered skin, trying to transfer the warmth of the flame to his frost-bitten face.

But the warmth didn’t come.

Ever since the Singers crept up from the underworld, there was no warmth. They fed on it, sucked it from the air, and devoured it out of existence. His people had been battling the Singers for centuries. And finally, after all that time, his tribe was the last one remaining.

The Tribal Elder looked back to the churning black army in the distance. The Singers’ numbers had grown exponentially, while his people died. He looked down the edge of the cliff. The drop was tempting—begging him to take the fateful step. He almost wanted to get it over with. The war was done. He had lost.

But there was no point in jumping.

“How could it have come to this?” one of his warriors, Suluk, wondered aloud as he approached from behind.

The Tribal Elder knew that Suluk intended the question to be rhetorical. But for him… It was all too real. 

And he knew the answer.

It all started almost three centuries ago…

* * *

Kaskae pulled the bear-skin hood tighter over his head, protecting his face from the piercing crystals of ice swirling around him. The storm was worsening. He felt like a dingy trapped in the swells of a restless sea, being pushed and prodded by the frozen winds.

He had to keep going. His destination was close.

Nothing would stop him.

And nothing could stop him.

“Is this all you’ve got?” he shouted up into the gray sky. “I’ve survived swimming two days in the Arctic Circle! I’ve stood my ground against the very polar bear I now wear on my back! Hah! A storm? This is nothing!”

As if on cue, he heard it. The song. It started out low in pitch, like a didgeridoo, but melded into a beautiful soprano note. The tune was almost always the same, an ebullient crescendo, followed by a richly soothing conclusion. Kaskae stopped for a moment, allowing the singing to fill him up.

But he knew better.

This was their namesake. This was how the Singers pacified their prey, hypnotizing them with magnificent song—then they would strike. Unlike others who ran or hid in fear of the Singers, Kaskae would play along. He looked forward to the battle.

The song began again, this time louder. Closer.

Kaskae looked to the left—then the right. It was impossible to determine from which direction the beast was approaching. He tried to listen attentively, as the melody was carried and distorted by the turbulent winds and echoed off the nearby cliffs. The Singer could be anywhere, but Kaskae knew that in the end it truly didn’t matter. He would let his hunter make the first move to reveal itself. Then he would strike it down. He drew a long ceramic knife from his belt and brushed the warm blade against his cheek. This wasn’t just any knife. It was carved from the horn of the first Singer he had slain.

The song began again, still louder than before, but not quite close enough.

It had only been twelve days ago that the first Singers arrived. After the great shaking of the Earth, a massive crack formed between the surface and the underworld. The Singers crept from the rift wailing their song, slowly tainting the world. And the more they sang, the darker the world became, until all light had been consumed. The sun evaporated from the sky, the moon dissolved into oblivion, and the stars… The stars blinked out. One by one.

As the strongest and the bravest, Kaskae had been sent by his Tribal Elder to seek assistance from the Spirit in the Temple of Kinguyakkii high upon the mountainside. The journey had been long and arduous, but for Kaskae, this was nothing.

Suddenly, a shuffling of snow came from Kaskae’s right. He turned just in time to see the beast barreling towards him through the wall of snow and wind. The song followed the Singer, almost lagging behind its impossible speed.

But that speed wouldn’t be enough.

Kaskae tucked his shoulder and rolled to the left, dodging the black creature by expertly calculated inches. They both recovered and turned to face one another, sizing up their respective opponent. This was Kaskae’s favorite part. He stared into the Singer’s crimson eyes; all the while observing it’s movements in his peripheral vision. This one was larger than any he’d fought before. It lumbered slowly sideways as they circled one another. Its snout stretched down, almost to the ground, hiding hideously sharp teeth. Upon its head the giant white horn skewered the sky. Then, the scales on its back ruffled and spread like frills. It was preparing to attack.

Instead of being afraid, Kaskae smiled. He had already decided how he would kill this Singer.

The beast charged forward, bursting a fierce song from its throat as it lowered its horn. But Kaskae had a horn of his own. He flipped the knife, blade down in his hand and sprinted straight at his foe. They ran at full speed, toward an imminent head-on collision.

At least that’s what he wanted the Singer to think.

At the last possible second, Kaskae let his feet fall forward from underneath his body and he slid into the snow, watching the horn and the teeth pass over his head. In a flash of agility, he swung his knife up, catching the Singer between what he imagined must be ribs.

The massive creature slowed in pain, but didn’t stop; its song evolving from fierce to furious. Kaskae held on tight as he rode the underbelly of his victim and dug his knife into its chest, searching for the heart. Moments later, he was rewarded with an acute squeal of pain. Releasing the knife, he fell to safety as the beast tumbled forward and crashed its massive bulk into the snow, creating a mist of flakes that exploded from the ground.

Weaponless, Kaskae found his footing and readied himself, just in case. He watched the black mound, examining for any sign of motion.

There was none. It was over.

Kaskae made his way to the slain beast and retrieved his knife, wiping the dark blood off in the snow. He brushed the white dust from his shoulder and took in his surroundings. Somewhere up the mountainside he could see a faint light. Excluding the red glimmer of the Signer’s eyes, it was the first light he’d seen since he left the village two days ago.

Surging through the heavy powder, Kaskae continued onwards. He could tell it wouldn’t be long now. The golden glow of light reflected off the flakes of snow hovering in the air, creating a luminous fog that grew denser as Kaskae approached. Moments later, he stood beneath a colossal archway with columns sheathed in a polished yellow metal. Beyond the apex of the arch, the temple spired upwards through the storm and penetrated the heavens. For a moment, Kaskae felt humbled. Almost.

Temple of Kinguyakkii or not, he had a mission to accomplish. He collected himself and stepped unwavering into the temple.

A wave of warmth engulfed Kaskae, instantaneously melting the ice from his clothes and drying them all at once. Steam billowed and weaved its way from his body and up into the eternally high ceiling of the temple tower.

“So this is where all the heat has been hiding…” Kaskae joked aloud to himself.

“So this is the mortal they sent to beg for my help…” a booming voice retorted.

On the far wall, an average-looking old man sat upon a massive golden throne. The only extraordinary features that Kaskae observed were his eyes. The man’s black pupils were circled by irises so yellow they nearly glowed, just like the temple. The remainder of his face was typical, peppered with dark aging spots spread among a sea of wrinkles. From the mostly bald head, a gangly white beard slithered its way downward, ending in the man’s lap. He couldn’t possibly be the source of the authoritative words Kaskae had just heard. But then—

“Well, ask away!” the man said with the same vigor as before. “Your friends down there are running out of time, son!”

Kaskae knelt to one knee abruptly, taken aback by the man’s candor. “Spirit of Light… Kinguyakkii… I am Kaskae, strongest warrior in the land. The Singers have come up from the world below. They attack my people, killing hundreds of innocents. All I ask for is assistance in this battle so we may be victorious!”

The Spirit sighed. “Look at me, young warrior.” Kaskae did as he was asked. “I am old. My strength is weak. There is nothing I can do. There is, how—”

Kaskae rose to his feet violently, interrupting the Spirit. “I came all this way! I risked my life! All so you could tell me that you are too old and feeble to help us? What kind of Spirit are you?”

Kinguyakkii released a devilish smirk from his lips, as if he had won some sort of game. “Ah, Kaskae, you may be a strong warrior, but it will take more than strength to lead your people. You speak too soon. There is, indeed, nothing I can do. However, there is something you can do.”

Kaskae raised an eyebrow, still fuming.

“You have two choices.” Kinguyakkii stood from his seat and stepped to the side. “If you sit upon this throne you will take my place. You will become the Spirit of Light and the world will be bathed in your youth. Your strength and pride will finally be put to good use for all. When you become the Spirit of Light a new era shall begin. The world will regain its brilliance and a new light will shine, closing the rift to the underworld. In one glorious flash the Singers will be gone.”

Kaskae made a step toward the throne. “However, be warned. Nothing comes without sacrifice. If you decide this path you will be forever trapped here, never to step another foot outside this temple.”

Hesitating, Kaskae stepped backwards. “And the other option?”

Kinguyakkii spread out his right hand and pointed to a pedestal of silvery water. “If you drink from this pool you will live forever. No disease, no creature, no weapon will ever end your life. You will be free to protect your people using your own attributes for all time.”

Kaskae once again stepped forward, this time towards the water. Invincibility? Could it truly be? If it were so, he would become a legend. He would save his people from destruction.

“But again, be warned,” Kinguyakkii started. “Some tasks are beyond mortal skills.”

Kaskae continued and dipped his cupped palms into the viscous water. “With this I will be no mortal. I’ll be a god.”

Kinguyakkii lowered his head. “Keep in mind, this is a one-time offer. Once you decide, there is no turning back. Not ever.” Kaskae paused momentarily to look at the silvery water pooled in his palms, and then raised it to his chin. “I see you have made your choice. So be it.”

Kaskae pursed his lips into the tepid liquid and sipped. A tingle followed the elixir down his throat, but then nothing. He felt no different. He looked to the old man, silently questioning if he’d been fooled.

“No. It truly is that simple,” Kinguyakkii answered. “You are invincible, Kaskae. Now pray your people can be too.”

* * *

The Tribal Elder dropped to his knees in the snow and a tear crystalized on his cheek.

“Elder Kaskae!” Suluk shouted. “Are you alright?”

Kaskae motioned the warrior away with a wave of his hand. He crawled to the edge of the cliff, wiping more tears from his face. After all this time, the world was still dark, but now he finally saw the light. It was because of him that this darkness had continued. The Singers did not truly defeat his people…

“It was I who failed to protect them… I could have ended it all,” he cried in a whisper and looked over the edge. “Why? Why can’t I just do it? Please, Kinguyakkii… Let me die… Let me try…”

The ground lay far below, but at the same time, not nearly far enough. Kaskae inched closer, so his head and chest hovered over nothingness. He couldn’t bear to watch his people suffer any longer. He had already seen too much of it. It was time for him to leave.

“Elder Kaskae…” Suluk started.

Ignoring the warrior, Kaskae pushed out with his legs. A moment of weightlessness followed and the edge of the cliff disappeared from beneath him.

Even with this act, the Tribal Elder knew that he was selfish—a coward. If only he had been a true leader, a true hero… It was all as Kinguyakkii knew it would be. The gift he had received those many years ago was no gift, but a curse. It was a curse he brought upon himself—the curse of life, the curse of failure, and the curse of realizing he was wrong. 

As he fell, Kaskae knew that surviving would be his punishment: He was destined to watch his people end, blinked out like the stars.

One by one.

(c) Kade Kessler 2012

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