One Step

Tyrval looked about nervously, uncertain. In the sky above, the sun had just passed its noonday zenith. A warm breeze brushed his skin, played through his dark, curly hair. Inside, his blood pounded. It was all he could do to not turn and run, to race away from this blighted place as fast as his legs would carry him. And he was a strong runner. Just last fall he had won both the short and long distance foot races. He could be away from here, he could be home again with his Da. Nobody would know. But he was so close now. Just one more step, one step and it would be done. One step and everyone would know. But his foot would not move. He would not move.

Behind the youth, rolling green hills spread out, the fresh growth of spring blossoming upon them. Brilliant green grassess interspersed with splotches of colored flowers or interrupted by the deep brown of tree trunks and the lighter brown of the shrub bushes. In the meadow where he stood, vibrant blue flowers called azure bells, which took their name from the bell-shaped buds, and spikey lupines, a deeper, fuller blue were mixed with the pink prim blossoms of spring roses. Their sweet smells filled the air, joining the sound of birdsong. So many different birds, but the whistling chick-birds and the thrumming red-headed wood borers were his favorites.

Standing there, in the beautiful meadow, warmed by the noonday sun, Tyrval found he was panting. One step is all it would take. He had come all this way, and now he needed take just one last step. But he could not move. Instead his entire body quivered and shook. Inside, stark terror held him transfixed. All of his life he had heard the stories. All of his life he had been warned. He bent forward, hands resting on his knees as he drew air in great gulps. He could do this, he had to do this. If Jarn could do it, he could do it. Slowly he lifted his heel from the ground. He could take that step, he could!

Before him, as far as he could see in any direction, a dead world. Just a dull, gray expanse of dust and nothing. Flat and still, no wind stirred in that forsaken patch of ground. No breeze lifted even the smallest particles of the fine gray powder from where they lay. No birds called. No grasses grew. No trees broke that empty flat expanse nor even the ruined wrecks of long-dead trees. Nothing. Just open ground and gray silt as far as the eye could see. Bleak and unwelcoming, a wound upon the world itself. It was a voidscar.

For as long as Tyrval could recall, his Ma had taught him that these scars were places where the Lifeblighter had touched the world. In some age long ago, Velantia had been corrupted. The will of the Twin Gods twisted and turned against life and death alike. In the wake of that corruption the voidscars remained, where within all that remained was the long lingering nothingness of life without death or meaning. From these blighted lands, it was said, no one ever returned.

But Jarn did. Tyrval had known Jarn his entire life. When they were just boys, they had played together on the shores of the old Darnythal River. They had run through the Deep Woods. They had gone all the way to the Fangs of the Sovereign and not many in their village could make that claim. If Jarn could go in and come back out, Tyrval could too. Right? Sure, Jarn did a lot of bragging, and he did like to brag that he climbed the southern peak out at the Fangs, but Tryval had been with him that day. And Jarn never even started up the base of the peak, let alone ascended to its summit. But he wouldn’t lie about something like this would he? Surely not.

His right foot settled in the gray silt of the voidscar. His left foot still firmly on the green grass of the meadow. There, half in and half out he stopped again. His mind raced. He wondered if it was already too late. Was he already gone? Already missing. Just one more in the long line of people who vanished into the voidscars. Never to be seen or heard from again. Surely there was still time to turn back. A voice in his head screamed at him, shrieked at him, to do just that. To withdraw that foot and run home. He had never been so scared in his life. If he turned back now he would be a coward. Everyone would know he was a coward. He could not turn away.

Ahead and beside him, in that great, gray expanse, something moved. It was just a blur. At the edge of sight. A blur of dark against the unending sea of gray. He turned his head towards it, eyes darting about. Seeking the source. Yet, look as he might, there was nothing. Just gray silt, undisturbed and unmoving. And no place for anything to hide. It was just his nerves. It had to be his nerves. If there was anything out here, he’d have seen it. Heard it. He could hear the sound of his heart as it beat its rhythm inside him. Hear it and feel it. His body tingled all over. The sound of blood rushing through his ears made him deaf. He lifted his left foot. He stepped into the voidscar.

In a great rush his breath left him. A delirious laugh bubbled out from his lips. He was not dead. He was inside a voidscar. He spun about. On the one side, the gray expanse of the scar. On the other, just one step away, the green meadow with its grasses and flowers and trees and birds. Oddly, he could not hear the chick-birds singing, nor the thrum-thrum-thrum of the wood borers.

A sound came to him. Like a breath, a long, ragged breath and so close. Just behind his left ear. Almost he could feel the fetid breath upon his flesh. Feel the hairs on his head as the breathing disturbed them. Terror welled up within him. He spun around. Nothing. There was nothing there. Nothing save the bleak gray expanse of the voidscar.

Tyrval turned again, his gaze taking in the lush green meadow filled with sunlight. He had done it. Blast that Jarn and his stupid dare, but he had done it. He had done it! Jarn boasted about stepping one foot into the scar, but Tyrval was all the way in. Both feet planted solidly on the gray silt of the voidscar. Just one step now would carry him to freedom. Why was everything in front of him so blurry? It was just one step. Yet it seemed as if the world were stretching away from him.

Fear rising within him once more, he lifted his foot to step out. One step is all he needed. He took that step. But when he did the world bent, twisted, and pulled away from him. His foot came down in the dusty gray silt of the voidscar. Freedom remained just one step away. “No!” Tyrval screamed. “No!” he repeated.

He leapt into motion. Jumping that one step, but the meadow was receding now. Pulling back and away from him, taking with it the warmth of the sun and the tranquility of the new spring day. “No.” Tyrval breathed, “This can’t be happening.”

He ran. He ran like he had never run before. He ran as if the Hounds of Grym were at his heels. As fast as his legs could carry him, he raced towards the receding grass. Too fast. He stumbled, staggered, and pitched forward, landing on belly in the gray silt. He was just a few inches from the green grasses of the meadow. Feebly he reached out, his hand clawing towards it. So close. It was so close. Tears rolled down his face, drawing runnels in the dust which covered him now. Even as his fingers reached the grasses they slipped backwards and away. So close but so utterly unreachable. “Da? Da help me.” he moaned as he wept. “Help me please.”

Energy flooded him. Freedom was right there. Right in front of him. Wildly he flailed forward, scrabbling on all fours towards the meadow. Towards the sunlight. He would get out! Jarn would be so impressed. Everyone would be amazed. They’d circle around him as he regaled them with his story. As he told them how he had stepped into the voidscar, all the way in, and then back out. They’d all forget about Jarn and his story. Everyone knew Jarn made stuff up. But not Tryval. Tyrval told the truth.

For all his scrabbling he was no closer to freedom and in his mad dashing he staggered again and fell, rolling through the gray silt. Clouds of it billowed up about him like dust, but it was not dust. No, this was something else. Something worse. His eyes turned towards the meadow and his heart sank. He was not closer, in fact, for all his trying, he was further away now. So far that almost he could not see the rolling hills and green grasses. Everything was just blurred splotches of color at the horizon.

Tyrval struggled to his feet. He looked at the distant hills and shouted, “Help me!” As loud as he could he repeated his cry, “Help me! Please help me!” Again he called. Again. And again. Again. His throat became raw. His words were hoarse. The sky was darkening. How long had he been trapped here? Soon it would be night. He could not be here in the dark. He could not.

He heard voices behind him again. Eager voices. Waiting voices. He spun about searching for them. But there was nothing to see. Just the open expanse of gray. No sound, no place for anything to hide. Just gray silt and flat ground. But he knew, he could hear them still, whispering to him. Promising him that soon, soon they would come. The sun was beginning its fall.

He turned back towards the hills, towards freedom, he would reach them! A strangled gurgle escaped his lips and his shoulders slumped. There was nothing. No hills. No grass. Nothing all around him. Just the gray, flat ground of the voidscar.

Hopelessness filling him, Tyrval fell to his knees and began to wail. A bone-chilling wail of despair. “Why?” he howled as tears choked his vision and spittle flew from his mouth, “Why?” he shouted. Why had he come here? It was just one step. Why did he do it? As the sun sank towards the horizon and darkness crept across the land he sat on his knees in the silt, shoulders heaving with his quiet sobs.

Soon the last bit of the sun slid behind the curving earth and with it went the last rays of light. As darkness swallowed Tyrval, they came.

---

A few miles from the voidscar, Yolan stood on his porch and looked out towards the hills. It had been hours since he watched his son vanish over the crest of that nearby hillock. He loved that boy more than life itself and the old affineur was growing concerned. Tyrval should have been back by now, in truth, he should have been back an hour past. But he was a good lad, if a touch too worried about what the others thought of him, a good lad. He’d be back soon. Yolan would wait for him to come home.