A Shattered World — Part 3 of 3

Lexion heard the dull sounds of metal hitting wood. He felt the heavy scent of ash and burned corpses in the air. He blinked his eyes open and saw a field of black mud all around him. In the mud, a handful of soldiers were going at each other without restraint.

These weren’t the handsome young soldiers of legends — riding mighty warhorses, charging at the enemy in lustrous armour. The men before his eyes were a sorry lot. Their worn leather padding hadn’t been oiled in months. Their blades were crusted with bloody mud. The men looked as if they hadn’t seen a bath or a decent meal in weeks. They seemed exhausted, moving slowly like flies swimming in syrup. Nobody would sing songs about these men. They were no folktale heroes. These were tired, hungry, desperate men doing their best to survive.

Lexion and Sylara found themselves right next to two of the sorry soldiers. Their spears crossed with a brutal thud that shook the ground beneath their feet. Lexion couldn’t help but feel numbness in his hands — as if he was the one holding the spear. The men didn’t seem to notice the two strangers that had just appeared out of nowhere. They were too busy killing.

Lexion stepped away from the spearmen and let his gaze scan the macabre scene before him. His eyes stopped on another feral encounter only a stone-throw away. One man was swinging his rusty sword wildly at another, bashing at his shield with uncontrolled rage. The man taking all the blows was on his knees, holding on to the chiselled piece of wood in his hands — his only hope of staying alive.

With every blow the kneeling soldier took, the shield dropped lower and lower. As his strength failed him, he finally yielded, revealing his head to the opposing blade. Mercy had long abandoned his foe who swung his sword again. The blade found its way into the kneeling man’s forehead. The dirty metal cracked his skull and he collapsed on the floor like a discarded ragdoll. His legs twitched as the final breath left his body.

Horrified, Lexion looked away, clenching his fists, trying to stop his hands from trembling. But there was no kinder place for his eyes to seek refuge. He now noticed the rest of the battlefield. It was the worst he’d ever seen. There was no greenery in sight. Not even a single blade of grass was left untouched. Everything was scorched black.

Apart from the soldiers around them and the vultures circling above, nothing else was moving. Occasionally, one of the fat birds would swoop down to tear the flesh from scattered corpses all around. The ground was littered with the dead. Bodies of thousands of men in various stages of decomposition. Lexion couldn’t get away from the stench — ash, burnt hair and rotting flesh. These men had abandoned the idea of burying their dead long ago.

“Where have you taken me, Sylara?”

“It is one of many battlefields across Vastinia these days. The name is not important anymore. Only two generations have passed since you decided to give up on these people. This particular war here started soon after you abandoned your duties. At first, a minor territorial dispute soon turned into decades of bloody war. Now they barely remember why they fight. But they still do nonetheless.”

“How could they descend to this? Is there no civility left in this world? No diplomacy?”

“Look at them, Lexion,” she pointed to the spearmen still entangled in their skirmish. Grunts and roars followed every movement they made. “They can hardly speak anymore. Their generals and kings are not better. There is no diplomacy left in this new world you’ve left them.”

“But I gave them so much already. Was it all so difficult to keep?”

“Language evolves, Lexion. Definitions change to accommodate the changes in the world. With no one to keep track of that change, the boundaries of right and wrong fade. Truth becomes harder to find. You of all should know this.”

“I understand. I see it now. Take us back Sylara. I beg of you. Take us back.”

“It gets worse.”

“Worse? What can be worse than this place,” Lexion spread his arms out, pointing out the carnage all around them.

“Worse for you. Worse for me,” she said taking his hand once more and snapping her fingers.

They were back in the celestial palace — in Lexion’s study. For a brief moment, Lexion felt relief. But the moment didn’t last very long. He peered through the balcony window and saw fire and smoke. there were no more beautiful sights left. The best landscapes of Vastinia had turned into a fiery ruin. No beauty left in the world, it seemed. No matter how high one climbed looking for it.

Lexion saw a tired old man sitting on the balcony bench. Under droopy eyes and heavy wrinkles, Lexion recognised himself, but older. Much older. On his way to death. Remorse and confusion in his eyes.

“What happened to me? Have I become mortal?” young Lexion asked.

“We all have, Lexion,” Sylara put a hand on his shoulder. “In this vision, I’m already dead.”

“No, it can’t be!”

“You see,” she continued, “it’s all connected. You can’t just decide to stop. It’s your duty to name. Without your work, eventually all will perish, immortal or not.”

“But it’s not fair, Sylara. We are in chains we cannot break.”

“It is our destiny to carry on doing what we were meant to do. Who promised you that destiny is always fair?”

Lexion peered into the eyes of the tired, confused old man before him.

“Alright,” he spoke after a long pause. “I will do what I must.”

Sylara took his hands and brought him closer to her. She leaned in and kissed him as their eyes closed.

In an instant, they were back on his balcony. The cheerful song of birds echoed outside. The trees swayed under gentle winds. Everything was right back in its place. Everything was as it had always been - everything but Lexion.

The lord of names was slumped back on the bench, still holding a harp in hand. His gaze was pointed into the distance, staring at nothing in particular. He rolled his shoulders as if getting used to the weight of the entire world upon his back. He sat there for just a moment longer before springing up from his seat with newly found vigour. There was no time for idling about. He had names to give.