The Last Beat: A Memoir

Prologue
I stood, watching the sun rise, wanting to rip my tongue out.
It did not land us in this mess, but certainly worsened it.
A conjurer, a musician, my tongue.  Creating hope in times of hopelessness, power and unfathomable strength in hearts full of fear and foreboding.
I am not the instigator of this inevitable darkness, but I am the last king standing and have no one to blame but myself.

It began with a fruit smashed by a booted foot, then a village slaughtered by monsters.....


Chapter One
I was young then, naive and inconsequential.  How I miss that boy and hate to remember what he found that summer afternoon.
The sky was clear blue with not a smudge of black or red, the ground was soft, fertile, and so very alive, the forest made a trillion noises.
But I didn't notice any of that; had long since taken it for granted.  I was walking down a well worn path, not really seeing anything, sulking over a boy.
He didn't mean anything to me, just another conquest, something I desired but refused me.  Dalahn was his name.  He of the blue eyes and golden hair.
He'd told me I was heartless, that I didn't really see him when I looked at him.  Dalahn wanted somebody with eyes that showed recognition, which saw him when he looked at them.  I cursed him as a fool and had gone off to sulk and avoid looking too closely at myself.
Distraction soon came.

I'd walked for quite some time and hadn't felt like thinking anymore, so I stopped to have a look around.
And that's when I noticed it; the fruit.
A nice, ripe, green one.  The same kind I saw all the time and would later curse myself for having taken it for granted.
It was smooshed, the pulp running out in all directions like the guts of a frog smashed by a rock.
The sight was eerie.  Like waking in the middle of the night to find a large spider in your mouth.  You have that moment of simultaneously being terrified beyond reason and trying to calm yourself down.
That is how I felt, that’s how it moved me.  Why, you may ask, would such a mundane occurrence like smashed fruit frighten you that way?  Smashed fruit couldn't possibly be anywhere near as dangerous as a large poisonous spider in your mouth.
You're wrong.  It was much more dangerous than any poison, than any spider.
At a closer look, the fruit had clearly been smashed by a boot.  I will tell you why I find this fact frightening.
My village was a relatively small one, and the only one in that area.  Living there was the equivalent being the only living society in the world; we were that isolated.
Foreigners trickled in from time to time, so I knew what a boot was.
The thing is, my people didn't wear boots.  We didn't have the sort of rough terrain that required boots.
So what, you might say.  Maybe it's just one of the few foreigners that trickle in wandering around.
But that's when I heard the screams.

Chapter Two
I've heard worse since then, and now all the screams seem to run together.  But I'll never forget those screams, the first screams I'd ever heard.

How to say it.  If you'd asked me then, I probably would have told you how horrible and soul scarring it was and how I hoped to never hear anything like it again.
Now I can say that the screams were shrill, sudden, and short lived.
I did not run to their rescue, sword in hand, to rise up as a great warrior.  I did not own a sword, and did not yet know the dance of the warrior.
But I did run to the outskirts of my village to watch them die.  For I knew they were dying; why else were their screams so shrill, sudden, and short?
The sun rise was beautiful once; a moment of great majesty and wonder.
Now it is a grotesque thing.  A sight that makes you tense and listen for the no doubt inevitable screaming of the world.
Maybe the infection has gone as deep as that, to silence the world.  Maybe the world is dead.
Yes.  I could believe that.
The world is dead and I soon with it.

I say the sun rise is now grotesque, to get you in that line of thinking.  Grotesque.  The perfect word for what came next.

I saw something grotesque as I watched them die, and it wasn't their deaths that disturbed me; it was the dealer of them.
They were like a man in shape, but there the resemblance ended.
Three knobby columns on the head like the spine on a lizards back.  Green-black skin with red hues.  Claws and a mouthful of fangs the color of old bones.  A slimy, lipless leer and black orbs for eyes.  And a tail like a whip, covered in spikes.

No fight lasts long, not if the participants have the intention of killing each other.
Soon enough, one is dead and the other triumphant.  Sometimes they both die.
Minutes, just minutes is the measure of a mans soul; whether it stays in their body or leaves him.
This occurs in battle, two well equipped fighters.
What I saw was a slaughter, armed creatures against the defenseless, it only lasted seconds.

I'm sure I can guess where you think this is going.  I'll be devastated at my parents’ death, of course, and a great unquenching fire will burn in my breast for Dalahn, whom I now realized I loved deeply all the while.
I find that amusing.
I had no parents and as I've told you already, I had no shred of affection for Dalahn and I wasn't going to develop any.

So what did I do?  My village had been slaughtered by creatures I'd never seen before; my mundane life had been completely shattered.
Did I just stand there and watch as they dragged the bodies off somewhere?  No.  I ran.
I ran as far as my legs and feet could carry me before I fell flat on my face.
I wandered for a few weeks, making sure to never be seen, always hiding.
Until someone found me.

His name was Okar the Golden.  In his fifties maybe, but still sturdy and firm with muscle.  Gold hair like the metal that he wore short with one long braided tail in the back that reached his hips.
Just a moment.

My commander just informed me that the men are ready.  Ready to serve, ready to die.  And all because of my malicious, magical tongue.
Anyhow, I was ahead of myself, as I often get sometimes now, when describing Okar.
I hadn't met him yet, but as I said, my days of wandering would soon be over.

I took in my surroundings.  I was in an unfamiliar forest that was dry, not as fertile as the forest of my village.
I did not know how to forage in my new surroundings, and I was tired.
I couldn't remember when I'd slept, if I'd slept, and my body was so exhausted that I couldn't walk anymore.
So I crawled into a cluster of brambly bushes, told myself I was just going to rest awhile, them abruptly passed out.




I awoke later to cold, wet noses and a swish-crack sound.
The brambles were being cut away quickly and efficiently.  I didn't have the strength to move anymore, so it wasn't long before a tall figure eclipsed by shadow stood over me.
"It's not safe.  You shouldn't be out here alone." it said.
I just blinked in response; I was beginning to feel light-headed.
The dark figure squatted and I saw Okar as I described him to you.
"I am Okar, Okar the Golden.  What is your name?"
"Hakai of No one." I mumbled through numb lips just before passing out again.

Living without parents or siblings is a completely different experience from living with such burdens.
I never had a craving for parents.  In fact, you can pretty much count on me doing or feeling the complete opposite of what you think in most situations in the early parts of my life.
In my eyes, family restricted you.  If you're a part of a group mind, you have no individuality.
I guess I should tell you that such skirmishes as happened upon my village were taking place elsewhere and had been for a little while.
But that's hindsight, and this is more or less about me and how I came to be in my current situation.
A King and the last one alive.

Eventually, I achieved a state of wakefulness to find myself on a rug, in a cabin, in the middle of a lounging wolf pack, and in front of a hearth fire.
Okar fed me all I could eat and took it upon himself to teach me the dance of the warrior and the ways of battle.
I was an apt pupil and rarely spoke.  I had spent a little more than a month staying silent and unseen, a habit I'd never break.

I won't spend much time, in this written account, with Okar.  All you need to know of him, I have told you.
The rest is trivial for, as I said, this is about me.

The day came when I would be pushed further down along the path to my current predicament.
It started with just a few words.  Simple words, but weighted.

"Tell me, Hakai, what is your purpose?"
I glanced up from my play with the wolf pup.  I remember my mentor’s eyes being very stern and blank.
"How does one know ones purpose?" I asked him.
Okar had sighed.  The kind of sigh you make when you're doing all you can and getting nowhere.
"A mans purpose is what he feels in his heart to do."
"I do not wish to do anything and there is nothing in my heart."
Okar stood and began walking around the room.
"You do not want revenge?"
"Why should I?  The dead are dead and gain nothing from revenge."
"Revenge is for you, not the dead."
I had raised my eyebrows at that, as if he were the dense one.
"I am not dead, what need for revenge?"
He had glared at me, anger no doubt boiling in his chest.
"What are you saying to me?  And speak carefully."
I had sighed then.  The put upon kind the young often use.
"I am saying, Okar, that those creatures killed those villagers; not me.  The fact that they are dead does not bother me nor anger me; the circumstances don't either.  Why should I deliberately put myself in that kind of danger for the sake of people already dead?"
Okar seemed to teleport across the room and then he backhanded me hard enough for my neck to be painfully sore the next few days.

I simply hadn't cared about those villagers, so their deaths had meant nothing.
It would be the same if a complete grieving stranger told you his faithful hunting dog had been mauled by a bear.  Shocking, but you don't really care.  On the other hand, if it had been your faithful dog mauled by the bear, well, that would be another story.
I would soon learn the hard way.


Chapter Three
Once Okar knew my views on the subject, he didn't bother trying to change them.
We settled into a semi-domestic life and he would soon warm to me again.
I remember his great, bellowing laughter, as golden as his hair.
I would've fought for Okar, died for him.  I loved him.
And it seemed Fate had been waiting for the cold blood in my body to warm again.
My love for Okar killed him and I swore never to love again.
As if it's voluntary.

I'd gone out to hunt, you see, as I usually did.  My life had become routine again.
I was pulling the deer carcass home when I heard Okar’s roar.
I ran back home to him as fast as I could, but I wasn't fast enough.
The pressure in the air seemed heavier as I ran to where Okar lay, next to two of the dead creatures.
He spit the blood out of his mouth as I rested his head on my lap.
"Okar.", I whispered.
He looked at me, blue eyes more vibrant than ever, almost lavender and glowing in their intensity.
"Won't be long.", he grumbled.
I stared into his eyes, not blinking, his shirt held tight in my fists.
I knew I had to say it.  I wouldn't let Fate take everything away from me; I'd keep something for us.
"I love you."
He raised a hand, and caressed the side of my face.
"I know, little one."
And then he died.

They say that you remember all of your firsts, but I've found that to be false.
I've found that you only remember what matters.  The first in something doesn’t always matter to a person.  And you're lucky if the important moment is the first moment, but that sort of luck is rare.
Thinking of Okar always hurts, and the pain is all the sharper because the hurt matters.
And so did the anger.

I cried, I screamed, I yelled.
My first loss had been an important loss; I did not feel lucky.
My insides felt like a twisting cyclone of air.  My heart felt strained like it had been squeezed in someone’s fist.  The muscles in my stomach hurt because of the clenching during all the crying, screaming, and yelling.
No, I did not feel lucky.

I can't say that I calmed, it was more like I sobered.
Sobered enough to realize that Okar’s body needed to be taken care of.
So I drug his body into the cabin, poured oil all over his body and his cabin, and then lit everything on fire.
But not before I cut off his one long golden braid and took his sword for my own.

I stood and watched them burn, Okar and his cabin, to make sure the job was done.
I'd had something all my own.  Love, a home, happiness; and I was watching it all burn away.
Someone had caused this to happen, someone told these creatures what to do, and I promised myself that I would find the arsonist and destroy everything they loved, everything they worked for.
I then understood what Okar had meant, revenge is for the living.
The creatures were the kindling, my rage was the flame, and I would do anything, destroy anyone to make that spark.



Chapter Four
And so I did.  I made that spark, me and my magic tongue, and that’s how I got to where I am now.
I needed that spark then, coveted it, because I wanted to burn as hot and destructively as I could.  But a fire can only burn so long and I'm feeling snuffed out.

So I found more of the dead creatures in the woods, surrounded by the dead bodies of Okar’s wolf pack.
I silently congratulated them on obtaining their revenge so quickly.  Mine would take much longer.
I walked until I reached the stream, sat down, and then examined Okar’s golden braid.
It was unmarred by blood or dirt.  I unbraided it, and then braided it again into my own abyss black locks.
When I was done, I had two black gold streaked braids, one on each side of my face.

I still have them, you know.  I had a mage meld Okar’s hair with mine so it would not deteriate.
I only take the braids out to brush them, so I'm rarely seen without them.
He's forever a part of me now.
Even that is no comfort, with what I now have to face.


Chapter Five
I could write about, in detail, all the long horrible days I traveled.  About my unfruitful foraging, the sleepless nights.
I could, but none of those matters.  Some say the journey is what's important, not the destination, but I bet their destination wasn't the first step in an intricate plan of soul searing revenge.

So, fifteen days had passed before I made it to civilization.  The city kind.
I, myself, had no place in the city; too many restrictions in all the wrong places, but the only thing that mattered was my revenge and if selling my soul was what it took, so be it.

I don't want to describe the city; I don't like to remember what things used to look like.
Carriages, paved streets, buildings of white and tan stone, and lots of people not paying any attention to their surroundings.
I'll tell you the name though, you deserve that much.

Laelin, was its name; the kings capital.  The first king who would fall prey to my tongue and the only man I would ever call brother.

He was a prince then, but his Father would soon be dead and by then, I would have already whispered in the new king’s ear.
His name was Twilain, but I would know him first as Luke.

"You don't look like you're from around here."
I hadn't bothered turning to face the speaker.
"How can you tell?"
"You're looking around too much."
I then turned around to see a young man around my height and size.  What I could see of his hair was blue-purple and so were his eyes.
He smiled.
"Call me Luke."
And I did, but only for a day.

That day was spent with him showing me around and explaining the city life and culture.
That night, well, truth was spoken.  We were in an Inn, eating, when he asked about my past.
I told him all of it, even up to Okar’s death.  He wasn't as surprised as I had imagined he'd be.
"Have they moved so close as that?  And they left before you did so that's plenty of time to get here."  He stood, dropping his napkin in his bowl and finishing off his drink.  "I have to tell my Father."
"Wait a moment, friend."  I had grabbed his arm before he had a chance to run off.  "You can tell him the news later, I still have questions."
He had ripped his arm out of my grasp with more strength than was physically accounted for.  Then he leaned down to whisper in my ear.
"My Father is the king.  I am Prince Twilain."
He then leaned back a bit to search my eyes for any number of things, then: "I think you should come with me."

So, we traveled in silence but not to the palace.  We walked back the way I came from until we reached a small pond.
Twilain spoke to the water for a few moments as if pleading for something he knew he had no right to ask for.  He then waved me over and stood when I was beside him.
"She has agreed to become a portal in exchange for pretty rocks in her pond when I come back."  He took my hand and held it tightly, "It will probably be best if you close your eyes and hold your breath.  It's what your body will want to do anyway."
Then he jumped, pulling me after him.

I don't remember what going through the veil felt like.
I just remember opening my eyes and being somewhere else.
The grass was almost blue-green in color and not a blade broken or bent.
The night sky was actually black, not dark blue, with silver stars and two moons.
One moon was silver, the other white.  They both gave the impression of being round and heavy, like the belly of a woman with child.

That was the way of Twilain’s realm/world.  Everything gave that impression; his entire world seemed just lazy and just fit to burst with life and vitality.
The peak in a mans life with the assurance that he will never fall.
The experience was unsettling.


Chapter Six
Twilain’s people were called the Winsye.  I smirk now to think of how unwittingly close I was to my revenge when I jumped through that portal.
You see, the Winsye were the cause of everything.  Their level of arrogance was incomprehensible and they are the ones who are truly to blame.
For everything.

"My Father is the King of Twilight; the In-between.  My name means Son of Twilight."  Twilain had told me this without looking at me.  "The twist is that my Father is also King of Laelin."
I didn't bother objecting in a shocked manner, saying that Twilain’s father couldn't possibly be that king.  I let him explain himself.
"Mortals are easily persuaded by money.  All the mortal King of Laelin had to do was repeat whatever my Father wished and he could live the splendor of a king."
"A mouthpiece."
"Yes."

So we journeyed to his Fathers kingdom.  The journey itself was uneventful, so I will skip to our arrival.

Twilain glanced back at me as I took in the new world I was in.
"You are welcome here.  My Father is King; I have not the authority to welcome you to his court."
"And if he does not accept me?"
He looked into my eyes sternly, a shifting darkness in his gaze that was a sliver of his alien nature.
"Then you will die."

First we walked along a pathway that was like a bridge, but started far inland.  The floor, columns, and ceiling looked as if it had been carved from the surface of their white moon.
My eyes did not take well to the pulsating glow of the Winsye structure.  A ten minute walk saw us crossing over the middle of the bridge, the only part that was built over water, and we were soon standing on soil again.
The castle was made of the same material as the bridge and of some type of crystallized glass.
There were many spires, arches, walkways, and even delicate carvings were seared into its surface.
The Winsye called it Lulina; Gentle Moon.

I've only been once and I had never planned on going back.  Once I had learned what exactly threatened my world, who had caused Okar’s death, I had rushed back to gather what armies I could to kill the Winsye’s darkness, which even they could not contain.

I followed Twilain into the castle and it seemed strangely empty.
There were no servants or guards, no domestic noises.
It did not even seem as if anything even breathed within those pulsating walls.

We walked and walked, seeing no one, and I began to lose time until we finally entered what I assured to be the throne room, as there was a throne at its head with someone sitting on it.

The Winsye are elusive.  You can not see them unless they wish to be seen.  Twilain’s people were of the moonlight, and light bends.
Darkness, however, is always visible; it can not hide. 
And though light sometimes pushes it back, darkness always remains in sight.
Lurking.  Waiting.

The man on the throne was thickly muscled like a warrior.
His eyes were pure white, no color tainting it.  His long hair was silver with white streaks.
His mouth was stern and his jaw muscles clenched as if he were always in a state of frustration.

"Why do you bring that here?" the king roared, hands clenched on the arms of his throne.
Twilain dismissed his Fathers anger/fury/rage with risen brows.  He gestured to me.
"This one has told me something great this day.  He says that he has encountered Zaenok’s minions/creatures two weeks and a few days ago.  His stain will soon have spread so far as Laelin."
The king frowned deeply at me, but spoke to his son.
"He has gone much too far with his, " he gestured harshly, "tantrum.  He has become a purely destructive force and we will no longer waste any effort in trying to stop him."  He waved a hand in dismissal, body already relaxing with a decision made.  "Let him finish with the Humans.  We will start anew when all settles again."

And so that was it.  The Winsye shrugged their shoulders and said that something could be done, but we were nothing worth fighting for.
The Winsye may have been able to start anew, but we only had one mortal lifespan, and once it/we were/ was snuffed out....there was no coming back.


Chapter Seven
"Who is Zaenok?"
Twilain met my gaze as I stood over him.
"He is the opposite of what we are.  We are the moons and he is the sky; horrible yet beautiful in its darkness."
I sat next to him on the couch.
"What is his story?  Why is he doing what he's doing?"
Twilain sighed heavily.
"All Winsye were once at peace.  It was not uncommon to see one of the moon in the place of darkness nor was it uncommon for the moon and the dark to become lovers and raise families.
"It started with a battle.  Zaenok brought a group of men to my Father and demanded that he step down from the throne.
"You see, it was my Father who started the seperation of our people.  He set himself up as King of the Twin Moons, when originally there were no kings and all were equal.
"Zaenok saw what Father had done as an injustice, a stain, and a corruption.  Father was the definite stronger at the time, and he banished Zaenok to the Mortal Realm.  It was decreed that he could only come back after he had learned control and compassion."
The Winsye Prince stared at nothing and I touched his shoulder.
"What did you mean by 'stronger at the time'?”
"Father gets the majority of his power from the Twin Moons.  As you saw, one is silver while the other is white....both should be silver.
"Anyway, Zaenok was known for his contempt for mortals, and most feel that way about them if not an indifference.  Zaenok was gone for a very long time.  He was not even trying to do what was needed.  But love is unexpected; you do not have to try.
"Zaenok fell in love with a mortal woman and so learned compassion.  He lived well with her for two mortal years and so learned control.
"He brought her here, heavy with child.  Her eyes were blue like the deepest water, her skin was pale like our stars, and her hair was deep brown like well tilled soil.  Despite her beauty, most of the Winsye were appalled that one of their own had mated with a mortal.
"Yet there were no public outcries, and Zaenok took his mate to his home.  She gave birth that very night; a hybrid creature had given its very first cries under the Twin Moons.  My Father called/sent for Zaenok to come to him, which he did and Father made a show of congratulating him on his son’s birth.
"Zaenok had left his mate and youngling under guard, but when he came home he found his wife beaten into hysteria and his youngling gone.  He immediately took his mortal mate to her realm where she would be safe.
"Zaenok came back and asked for Fathers help in finding his baby; Father refused.  He said that the child was a mongrel, he hoped it was dead, and he would be wasting no time in looking for it."
Twilain stood up and began to pace.
"Zaenok then committed the greatest of crimes....he killed the moon goddess.  He had the darkness suck the life from Her, bleaching Her white; a pale shadow of Herself.
"This weakened Father, while making Zaenok stronger.  He crowned himself King of the Night, pulled the darkness around his newfound kingdom and lived separate.
"Many battles were fought and Zaenok had men scouring the entire realm looking for his son, but no trace was found.  A year passed and a lull in the fighting was allowed by Zaenok so he could travel to the mortal realm to see his mate.
"He found her dead and mutilated by a clan of savage mortal men.  Zaenok was enraged and offered peace if Father would join with him in destroying the mortals he had once hated and now hated again.
"Father declined to destroy any mortals for killing one unimportant mortal woman and cut Zaenok’s face for the insult of asking him to sully his blade on such filthy creatures."
Twilain took a moment for himself while I began to dislike his Father even more than I hated Zaenok.
"It was all out war then.  Zaenok against the Moon Winsye and Zaenok against all mortals.  In his eyes, each had stolen something very precious to him, and he wants revenge."

The blame could all be laid at the feet of the Winsye.
Their callousness created a monster, a monster they wouldn't even bother trying to stop anymore.
Part of me even felt sorry for Zaenok, but the other part still hated him for being responsible for Okar’s death.


Chapter Eight
"Do you understand that your people are responsible for everything?" I asked with a voice tight with anger.
My magic tongue was doing its work, and it would cause Twilain to do something unspeakable; kill his own Father.
But for now, the magic had only just begun.
He looked at me with faint suprise as we walked over the bridge again.
"I don't understand.  Zaenok is the one killing your kind; he is the one responsible for the killing of you Okar."
"Don't think I don't know that." I hissed.  "This isn't about my loss right now; this is about your Father."
"My Father?"
"How can you not see?  Or is it simply that you do not wish to?  Your Father began the seperation that sent Zaenok to the mortal realm and began to sow discontent among your people.  And then when he came back, the Winsye provoked him to become who he is now by stealing his newborn."  I stared into his eyes.  "Okar’s death is not just Zaenok’s fault, but the fault of all the Winsye, who could have prevented all this before it began."
We stopped before the pond that would take me back to the mortal realm.  All I had to do was jump through; Twilain did not need to accompany me back.
"One can not feel responsible for what one doesn’t care about.  The Winsye do not care about mortals or their deaths."
Twilain had tried to sound haughty and cold, but I could tell he didn't really feel that way.
"Well, Zaenok loved his mortal wife, and was angered by her death." I whispered.
Then I jumped into the pond portal, and back to my world/realm.


Chapter Seven
I had only been in the Winsye realm for a short time, so only a few months had passed in the mortal realm.  Even so, every second matters if there's a powerful and angry Winsye creature set on destroying the very world you live in.

I'm sure you've noticed how turned around I've become.  The uncaring youth was going to save the world from evil.
Very noble.
The cause for the transformation is legitimate of course.  The only person I'd cared about had been killed by monsters owned by a Dark Winsye, and I'd been uprooted before I could actually settle.

A lone wolf doesn’t care about the wolf packs around him being killed.  He feels no urge to unite all wolves and make war against the aggressors.  It's when he finds a pack of his own and sees it get destroyed before his eyes that he might be persuaded.

For me, persuasion was no longer necessary; Okar was dead.
I was the one with the plan; it was the unwary that would need the persuading.