Udine
11th Day of Autumn
767 Karloman’s Peace
Ekkehard stared into the inky waters, their depths mirroring the vacant despair in his eyes. The surface shimmered as unnoticed tears struck the water, falling unbidden from Ekkehard's face.
On all fours, he clung to the edge of a boulder overlooking the pond. The weather had calmed and left behind the secret, wet, earthy smells that only rain uncovered. The quiet rustling of trees framed his thoughts. He felt weightless, as though the waters had devoured his troubled memories.
He was empty and hollow.
His breath grew ragged, panic clawing at his chest as something stirred beneath the water. Ekkehard flinched, lurching backwards as a pale face emerged, stopping just beneath the surface. The visage merged with his reflection, a parody of his own soul staring back from the abyss.
Shock dragged Ekkehard from his thoughts, and he blinked hard, refocusing on the water. Bright spots fuzzed his vision, clearing as he looked again.
The face was gone—a mere trick of the moonlight, nothing more.
He rolled onto his back, squinting at a patchwork of stars through the partly clouded sky. Ekkehard took comfort in the expanse of the universe, in the realm of the heavens.
Slowly, Ekkehard's racing thoughts gave way to a fragile calm.
He thought he no longer wanted to live, but the strength to end his own life eluded Ekkehard. When his family was slain, he found solace in prayer. Now, gazing at the starlit heavens, that solace returned.
His jaw tightened. Defiance flickered within him.
“No,” he spat angrily at the skies. “I need nothing from you.”
He sat upright, tearing his gaze from the night sky. He would never again be beholden to deceitful gods. The sudden surge of anger burned through him, driving away the night’s chill and stilling his shivers. Though his drenched tunic and hair clung to him, the fire within kept him warm.
Yet, he still had no idea what to do, the weight of indecision bearing down on him. Returning to his brothers felt pointless—it would mean defeat, and he’d find no warmth or comfort there. For half a cycle they’d fled without supplies, and now, with the storm gone, their pursuers would soon close in.
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There would be no time to hunt or forage and there were no nearby settlements to steal from. Ekkehard couldn’t face returning to his brothers only to watch them fall to starvation or the sword. Even if their fate was sealed without him, he could at least spare himself being witness to it.
Lost, Ekkehard’s eyes climbed upward along the slopes of the Udine Mountains, drawn to their silent strength. Tall and unyielding, they weathered relentless assaults of wind, rain, and snow. They jutted into the sky, defiant against its vast dominion and a kinship in them called to him. Ekkehard climbed down from the boulder and renewed his ascent.
Perhaps, at the very least, the mountain air would clear his mind and help him think of a plan.
Hours later, Ekkehard emerged from the forest’s edge, dwarfed by the towering silhouette of one of the Udine giants. He turned to glance down the mountainside and realised he was only a quarter of the way up, the sheer scale of the climb dawning upon him.
The Udine Range boasted four summits. Ekkehard stood on the slopes of a middle peak, with one summit rising to the west and the other two to the east. As the clouds parted, moonlight spilt over the landscape, illuminating the forest that stretched endlessly into the distance.
The night sky shimmered on the surface of the Danzig River, another of the region’s natural marvels, which flowed for thousands of miles, skirting one edge of the Hastfala. Born in the Frozen Wastes of the Northeast beyond the Empire’s borders, the river wound south through the Northern Mountains and past the forest. It carved through the Empire’s heartlands, stretching all the way to the Medician Sea. The longest river in the known world, its immense scale struck Ekkehard—he had never seen so much of it in one view before. It seemed to go on into eternity, and gazing upon it, Ekkehard could imagine life itself flowing from its origin.
As he looked south over the treetops and across the Empire’s vast expanse, a fleeting sense of peace washed over him. The darkness cloaked the land in an illusion of tranquillity. For a moment, he could almost believe the land wasn’t riddled with the corruption of selfish, heartless men. He could pretend that out there in the darkness, the atrocities of cruel rulers weren’t unfolding. That the meek weren’t made to suffer.
The peace was fleeting. It twisted inside him. Whispers of past torments slithered into his mind, pulling him back into anguish. He stared at the tranquil land, his stomach churning as bile rose in his throat.
The tranquillity sickened him as it mocked his pain.
How dare this land be so abasing.
It should burn with outrage, white hot with anger, seething with hatred for the evil it harboured. It should not mindlessly tolerate the daily obscenity and atrocity that afflicted its every corner. A land of sheep shackled by fat, diseased wolves. A land of despair.
Ekkehard turned from the vile sight and strode up the mountain, desperate to leave it behind. Something glinted at the corner of his eye. In the distance, a small orange glow was nestled about halfway up the summit. He stared, puzzled.
What could it be?
A campfire, perhaps—but who would brave these unforgiving conditions? Their pursuers? No, they couldn’t have gotten this far ahead of the Reubkes unnoticed. It had to be someone else—someone new.
“Perhaps they have food,” Ekkehard said to himself, his hunger suddenly gnawing at him. “Perhaps they will share—or if not, I can take it from them.”
With a new curious resolve, he moved toward the light, but as he approached, eyes fixed on the light, he started to discern figures in the flicker of fire. They moved and danced, and soon, he recognised familiar shapes and shadows. Memories from his past played out once again before him––a performance in flames.
