He ran across the bridge spanning the gap between the outer ring of islands and the inner core. Most Therans scrambled out of the Master Wizard's way, while the few who failed to see him coming were tossed aside like leaves on a tree. Lenora's screams were like hot needles through his heart. She was in need, and he had to get to her before it was too late-- Alzar awoke from his nightmare. He surveyed his surroundings, finally remembering where he was. The mountains ringing the plain of Thessaly were bathed in shadow; the sun was quickly sinking toward the Grecian shore. He looked down at the bundle in his arms. The infant was still sleeping from the draught he'd given it back at the village. He used to sneak into town and carry out his missions with very little difficulty. But now he was old, ancient beyond imagining, weighted down with weariness. Blinking had become a labor, while breathing was almost an unwanted nuisance. He considered lying down right there and waiting for Death to come claim him.

But then the child stirred. Even through the heavy blankets he could feel its life-force, strong and vibrant, burning with a fire like the heart of the sun. Alzar's own desires to live were rekindled, at least for a while longer.

He stood. He'd only sat down for a brief rest after his long trek through the mountains. He hadn't intended to sleep, to give the nightmares an opportunity to catch up to him. But like the rabbit that eventually falls prey to the ever-vigilant hawk, Lenora's cries had quickly seized the opportunity to descend upon him again.

He strode through the underbrush, his limbs feeling as if they were turning into stone. His tiny hut wasn't far away, and he put all thought into that fact as he traveled the last two miles. When he arrived, he stopped just outside the door and closed his eyes. No one has been here, thank the gods! He didn't know if he had the strength to fend off attackers right now.

Alzar stepped inside, quickly closing the door behind him and binding it with protection spells that would only hold it against intruders for a short time. But in the end, it didn't matter. It would all be over soon.

He unwrapped the baby and laid him in the crib he had created long ago. The child began to cry. Alzar stretched his hands over it, mumbling in a language so old that even the earth itself had forgotten its existence. His flesh began to glow, the aura around him lending a blush to his age-paled skin. The baby soon grew quiet, and Alzar leaned over to peer into its face. The infant stared up at him with sightless eyes.

Alzar walked across the room, stopping before a mirror. It was tall, an elongated oval structure carved in ivory and encrusted with jewels of sapphire and jade, gems purer than any seen by today's world. It was his only relic from the isle of his birth, the one physical item saved from the devastation of his homeland. He often asked himself why he had indulged in such foolishness when there were countless other things he could have carried away, things that would've been far more useful to him over the years. He had considered destroying it several times, even gone as far as to raise a stone before its crystal-clear surface. But then her face would appear, beautiful, sad. Lenora--fairest of all women--mother of his never-born son and keeper of his soul. The mirror was all that was left of her. Whenever he remembered this, the stone would slip from his hand, forgotten in his renewed grief.

He stared at his reflection. Lines covered his face, as if the passage of each year had left a whip-scar upon his flesh. His eyes were like wells, dark and sunken, almost impossible to see beneath his heavy brows. But if the light caught them just right, one could still see the glint of his eyes, which were as blue as the Mediterranean Sea.

Like the rest of his hair, his beard was the color of sun-bleached bone. His complexion was gray, as if his blood had turned to dust long ago. He no longer knew how many centuries had passed him by. They had piled up like discarded clothing tossed into a corner, their purposes now meaningless and their existence like lost memories.

Why had he chosen to prolong his life all these years? Perhaps a part of him had hoped to one day find others of his race, people who, like him, wept each night for the lost lives of their brothers and sisters, praying that at least a few had survived. Perhaps a part of him did it as a form of self-punishment for failing his people, dragging out his suffering so he could mourn for all eternity.

If only he hadn't allowed his sorrow to blind him back then! As Master Wizard and First Oracle of his kingdom, it had been his job to recognize the portents, to heed the earth's rumblings. But its cries had fallen upon deaf ears, and Thera had been destroyed by a long-dormant volcano.

He turned away from the mirror and walked back to the crib. The infant's breathing was a gentle whisper as it slept. Alzar flicked his wrist and fire erupted in the hearth across the room, the flames casting shadows along the bare walls. He paused, sensing the creatures of the night as they emerged from their lairs. The baying of hounds echoed in the distance as they searched for him and the child he had stolen just hours ago. Normally he masked his scent, preventing anyone from ever tracking him to his home. But tonight he'd been too tired. Soon, they would come.

No matter, he thought. Tonight will be the last time.

He had told himself that many times before. But whenever his body began to hunger and all his years descended upon him like a hail of daggers, he would stumble out into the world and find yet another victim. For many centuries he had used adults, elderly men and women whose lives were near an end. But as Alzar got older, they didn't sustain him for long. He began seeking out younger and younger victims until eventually only a newborn infant's life-force could satiate his needs. He always picked babies born with some affliction; some flaw that he assured himself would result in the child living a life of suffering. He convinced himself that he was actually preserving them, allowing them to live on forever within his body.

Was that really such a terrible thing?

The Sacrifice was forbidden by his people long ago. At one time nearly all his people engaged in it, using either peasants or prisoners from those they had conquered to rejuvenate themselves. It could not only be used to extend one's life, but also to heal illnesses and injuries. Through the Sacrifice, one could simply exchange his infirmities with another, leaving the recipient of the procedure cured while the victim was burdened with the malady for the rest of his days.

Yet it was the ultimate Sacrifice, the complete draining of another's life-force, which brought on a euphoria that washed over you like a tidal wave. Most had used the process merely to prolong their lives, but others, the most privileged of his people, did it solely for the rapture of it all. Alzar had conducted countless Sacrifices for the nobility until the eldest son of Poseidon, their kingdom's founder, had assumed the throne. Under Alzar's direction, the young king Atlas declared the practice barbaric, and pronounced that from then on the penalty for engaging in it would be death. Alzar had once been disgusted by those who so callously destroyed others' lives for their own pleasure. He considered them cowards, because the truly noble and bold should stand tall when confronting death, knowing that their souls would never truly die. But when finally faced with his own mortality, Alzar had chosen to live on, proving to be no better than the rest.

The dogs were drawing near, their howls like the cries of the dead, beckoning him to join them. Alzar closed his eyes. He cast all other thoughts from his mind as he drew in his will. He became aware of every fiber of his body, felt his blood coursing through his veins like a tiny spring that had nearly run dry. His heart strained to keep him alive, each beat like a tired groan. He envisioned his life-force flickering like a dying star, and a chill spread through his limbs.

He reached outward, slowly probing for the infant's energy. When he touched it, fire shot through him, nearly buckling his knees. He trembled, unable to contain the exhilaration, the overwhelming power that surged through every pore. Never had he touched one so strong, so vibrant, so alive. Surely this was a direct descendant of Thera, a kinsman from his beloved homeland now referred to as the mythical Atlantis. Unlike the others, this child could restore him to full vigor, give him back a vitality he hadn't known in three millennia. Here's my chance to be born again!

Something struck the door. Outside, shouts of anger intermingled with a chorus of barking. The spells he'd cast upon the door were weakening fast. He quickly glanced at the child, whose blind eyes shone like pearls in the dimness. Its face was serene as it murmured softly. He thought of Lenora and the child she had carried, the lives that were stolen from them, the countless lives he wished he could give back.

Another blow, and the door swayed inward, its timbers beginning to crack.

He started chanting, joining with the infant's life-force, struggling to remain focused as he bobbed on a sea of ecstasy. His voice rose and fell, one moment rumbling like an earthquake, the next whistling like the cry of a bird. The crescendo continued until the very foundations of the hut rocked. The door fell as he uttered the final line of his spell. Windows shattered. Shards from the mirror scattered across the floor. A brief flash of blue seared the air. A gust of wind swept the room, throwing the men pouring into the hut off their feet. The roar of the Words of Power was like a thunderclap before its echoes slowly faded into the distance.

The lone gunshot the officer fired went unheard.

Alzar staggered away from the crib to face the policemen coming toward him. He could not see them, but he could taste their hatred of him. His hand strayed to the hole in his chest, and he noted how little blood trickled from his wound. He fell to his knees as a river of ice swept through his body. Voices soft, jovial, familiar, began to sing to him. Their songs were ones he hadn't heard in over three thousand years. Among them were the sweet tones of his beloved Lenora.

He died with a smile on his lips.

~

The policemen swarmed the hut. They swept the room, making sure no one else was hiding in the one-room structure. When they were done, one of the officers stepped outside, returning with a woman wrapped in a dark cloak. She ran across the room to the baby, glass and debris crunching beneath her worn boots. She gathered the infant in her arms, her tears baptizing its tiny, pink head. She spoke softly to the little girl, kissing her on the forehead, looking into her face. The young mother gasped, then screamed.

The child's eyes were the color of the Mediterranean Sea.

 

 

I am one of the site administrators for Scrawl: The Writer's Asylum , a writers' workshop, and webmaster for the WRITER and MARKET Literary Search Engine.

I am fascinated by the various facets of the human condition, and am always attempting to discover more about myself and the world around me. I hope that through my writing I can take my readers along on my journey as I continue to learn and grow.