The Bridge of Fate

A note on pronunciation: There are some specific names in this short story. In an attempt to familiarize the reader with how they should be pronounced, I am providing you with a rough guide to the sounding of the names. Letters in bold are the sounds, as they should be said. If you have a better way of explaining phonology than I do, please, do help me and offer me your suggestions.
* Ellya is read as ee-lee-a ("ee" sounds as eel; the "a" reads as in tan);
* Ashra'than is read as ah-sh-rah-th-an (first and second "a" sounds as in water; soft "sh" and "th" sounds; last syllable reads like tan);
* Dhun Ira'thun is read as dune-ee-rah-th-une (dhun is read as the word dune; "ee", "rah" and "th" sounds read as explained above; "une" is, again, read as in dune);
* Ihra'aar is read as ee-rah-a-ar ("ee" and "rah" sounds as before; "a" sound as in "water")

THE BRIDGE OF FATE

         The cycle of birth and death is eternal, the certainty of time and the power of fate forever companions. This is a world where the fate of one becomes the fate of all, where the strength of will and of faith signifies the future of an entire people. The cycle goes on and on, unchallenged, unending, until the time fate conspires to break it by the hand of a single being. The Chosen.

         The day the cycle reaches its conclusion is yet to come, its promise but a dream, a hope, a thought. The Gods laugh, playing their games. The people cry, knowing their doom lies in darkness. For all cycles begin brightly with the birth of hope and life but end in sorrow with the demise of a single individual that means the downfall of all.

         A new cycle has begun. A new hope has dawned. We await its deliverance and wish for its triumph, once and for all.

* * * * *

         Come, child, come. You have nearly reached the last trial. But you do not have much time, so hurry and meet your destiny.

         The voice was smooth and kind but preoccupied, anxiety mingling with hope. It held all the wisdom and knowledge of the ages and the weariness that is ever present in those who have seen too much and lived for far too long. It spoke with all the sureness and understanding that only comes from those who experience a profound connection to the past and present. The future, however, remained much of an unknown still, and not even the one from whom this wise voice belonged could see beyond what was to what could be.

         The girl sighed softly, feeling the comfort that always came with hearing this much respected voice, a permanent companion, always there, gentle but unyielding, guiding her since the beginning of her trials. It was the guide she was promised and trained to listen, to accept and to trust. It would steer her to the right path, she was told early on, and it would advise and encourage, even without telling her how she should proceed and what she needed to achieve; of that she was well aware, for there was no doubt in her mind of the consequences her failure would bring.

         And yet, no one told her the voice would demand of her far more than she thought herself capable of. No one warned her that it would hold all her people's hopes and prayers together, in one insistent chorus that would speak as if for all those she was leaving behind, constant reminders of what she left when she came to this place, and what she would have expecting her upon her return. No one taught her how to ignore the voice, how to quiet its unrelenting expectations. No matter how much training she thought herself to have endured in the past, the present was far, far more than whatever she could have imagined in her sleepless nights, cuddled between the rough sheets of her bed in the Temple she lived for almost all her life.

         She was so exhausted and she could barely breathe, her chest threatening to explode from the pressure she felt in her lungs. Every step she took was heavier than the previous one, and she felt as if the entire weight of the world rested on her slim, fragile shoulders. That, much to her sadness, was not far from the truth. She did carry such weight and had been carrying it since the Choosing, fourteen long springs ago, when her mother gave birth to her. The Gods must have been laughing that moonless night for she was told she almost died then, a thin red-skinned tiny baby that could not find the breath to breathe, let alone cry. She survived, though, to take a responsibility no child ever ought to carry upon her shoulders.

         Her quest was nearing its end. Only one trial remained still and she hoped it would not be as hard as the ones that had come before. She did not think herself prepared to face much more, for she was weary of mind and of body beyond anything she remembered feeling in the past. Ages, it seemed, she had walked this path, fought both the phantoms of her mind and of this place, real or imagined.

         But the last trial was the most difficult of all, she suspected, and it was the only one no texts or scrolls spoke about. The Sages, even in their infinite wisdom, did not remember anything at all concerning this final test. Their memories of the past, of the cycles and ages long gone, were greater than any other's but they still remembered not. It was the only trial never passed by any of those who had come before, in the eras long lost to the knowledge of all but a few. It was the only trial she did not receive training for, because there was none to give. It was the only one she truly feared.

         So tired was she now, at the end of her quest, that she could not guarantee she possessed the strength to face it. Or the courage to fight whatever ghosts, forces or powers sent her way. Breathless, weak, dispirited... that was how she felt. Yet she knew there was no going back, not now when she was so near her quest's conclusion. The choice of whether to carry on or to remain behind was unthinkable. Not when the fate of a world rested with her. Not when she knew what might happen and what the darkness would bring.

         It will be over soon, if you but believe in yourself. Come, Ellya, come!

         The voice gave her the bravery she needed to carry on, but ignoring her exhaustion was not as easy a task as she might have thought. The hardships faced before marked her still. Ellya did not consider herself physically strong, nor would she ever, and endurance was not her forte. She was as fragile as her petite frame implied but what she lacked in strength she made up for in spirit. She thought herself to possess a strong resolve and as tireless a mind as she could possible own. Ellya promised herself she would not fail where others had. Not as long as she lived and her soul persisted.

         Thus, ever so slowly, she walked and walked across the path laid down for her until she could ask no more of her drained body, no matter how strong a will reigned over it, and collapsed on the soft green forest floor, tangled dark hair covering her miserable countenance. She took a deep cleansing breath, trying to hold back tears of sheer desperation at her own weakness. Up here the air was so much fresher, she realized with surprise, so much cooler and soothing than anywhere else. Ellya felt her might renew itself, even as her body rested on the supple ground.

         Closing her eyes she allowed herself this small respite, for otherwise she would be unable to find the strength needed to go further. She knew her own limits now and she had reached them far too many times during this quest. Her body could not take for much longer the amount of exertion she demanded of it.

         Ellya... Ellya...

         The voice called her name, insistent in its urgency. Time was running out. Ellya knew it as well as the one who cried out for her. She could feel it in her heart, as if sharp claws were plunging themselves into her chest, ripping her heart open and leaving it in shreds. She could feel it as if it was something burned into her very soul. The cycle would end soon in darkness and pain, leaving but anguish and death in its wake until the next time it came, if she did not stop it. Were she unable to succeed then no one would live to see another sunrise. No one would ever draw another breath, would never see a loved face and would never experience bliss again. With such responsibility upon her one wonders how she did not break there and then. But Ellya was the one chosen for training, the one who was called The Deliverer, and she alone could try and hope to pass the trials of the Ashra'than, the Dreamscape.

         There was no more time to rest. She needed to move on.

         With a mighty effort on her part, and the help of the tree bark by her side, Ellya rose to her feet. Fatigue still claimed her every muscle and limbs but her resolve was stronger still. Teeth clenched, eyebrows knitted together, she stumbled away from the forest that had been a constant companion these days... moons... or mayhap, seasons....

         Releasing a bitter laugh, Ellya wondered about time. She might have been here, in the Dreamscape, for no more than a fortnight but she could as easily been treading this path for over a year. Time passed differently in this realm of lucid dreams. In the real world, where her body currently rested, no more than a few moments passed in all the time she was in here facing the myriad of trials in her journey, which sometimes seemed as long as an eternity. And yet, although time flowed ever so differently in this plane, it still passed away swiftly and inexorably. She could not stand idle at any time during her quest, for every single moment of every pause, of every breathing space, counted. Every instant she lost was a step closer to annihilation.

         But time was not the only thing that differed between these two worlds, these two planes of consciousness. Everything was so strange and overwhelming in the Dreamscape. The colors seemed so much brighter, vibrant and strong. Forests, valleys and mountains appeared at first as any other, but upon closer inspection one noticed small differences. The leaves changed colors more quickly than the eye could follow - from green to yellow to brown - as if the seasons themselves battled for supremacy and refused to let another reign for more than a heartbeat. Tree barks were warm to the touch almost as if they were alive, and sometimes, strangest of all still, one could almost think to have heard muffled sounds. It was easy to believe the trees were murmuring to one another, in their own peculiar and mysterious tongue.

         Distances, for example, did not have any meaning at all within this plane. Ellya could well remember having thought herself to be so very close to a destination, feeling particularly relieved to be able to stop and rest, after long days of traveling. But she often came to realize, in these instances, that she still had a long way to go and her goal was farther than she had thought at first. Few things made sense in the Dreamscape, least of all how far or how close one thing was to another. It was mystifying to see something appear so near and yet remain so distant.

         It was also very wearisome, both on the body and on the spirit.

         Ellya found that oftentimes she would wish she could just go home, return to her family and play with her brothers and sisters, whom she had not seen for a long, long time. She imagined herself sitting by the hearth with her family in the little house they had built themselves. She had called it home, but then the time came for her to be renamed under the Gods' watchful eyes and prepared for her future. The Sages came and took her to be taught and trained to face the great journey into the Ashra'than. Her mind's eye remembered. She could picture so vividly that day. She was a small fearful wisp of a girl, so skinny she almost looked sick, and barely six springs old. Ellya could see herself being taken away from her crying parents and siblings just because some Goddess chose to mark her with Her Symbol; it made her the only hope of her people, fated to either succeed where none had before or perish with the knowledge she would bring her world's downfall.

         It was no thing a child should be forced to hear and accept at such young age. Ever.

         Her mind recalled exactly the time when the Sages spoke of her future, telling her in exact detail what she needed to do once she reached the proper age to face her destiny. They told a child she held the fate of all in her tiny little hands, mindless of the terror they instilled. She had cried herself to sleep that night, wanting more than anything to be home, comforted in her mother's arms.

         For the rest of her days, until the morning of her fourteenth spring, she never returned home. She never saw her family again.

         A single tear slid down her pale face. Memory could be the best of companions, but it could also bring so much ache and longing with it.

         Do not let the pain take you, child. You need only cross the bridge and you will find your family again.

         Bridge? What bridge?

         She looked up, realizing that she was out of the forest at last. She had been so caught up in her own thoughts she did not even notice where she was going, that she was walking towards the edge of the woods and out of them. But she was aware now, and she saw before her the most breathtaking vision she had ever seen. The first thing her eye's caught was the precipice immediately in front of her, emptiness calling from below, its depths covered by a thick mist, refusing to show any of the secrets it held. Only now did she understand she was so very high, standing above the clouds themselves.

         There were only two choices left to her now. She could either return through the forest and go back to wherever the Dreamscape might take her, or she could go onward through the bridge her guardian's voice warned her of. Because indeed, there it stood a mighty, ancient stone passageway suspended as if by the hands of the Gods themselves. Across the columns that marked the bridge's entrance were beautiful characters of the Gods' own language, forming words she could not comprehend. The sacred tongue was taught to very few; only the Sages had any understanding of the language in this day and age.

         The bridge was magnificent and imposing but frightening as well, for Ellya could not perceive an end to it. There was no other side of the bridge that she could see, only clouds hiding from her whatever she might want to know. Or perhaps, concealing what she might not wish to.

         How can I cross something that has no ending? How does it stand, when nothing holds it? What kind of bridge is this?

         It is the Bridge of Fate. The Dhun Ira'thun. It is your destiny.

         "Destiny?" she spoke aloud, the sound of her voice strange in the silence around her, "Is this the final trial?"

         No answer came, but she knew the truth.

         "I must succeed," Ellya whispered to herself, almost as a mantra, "I cannot fail. I have to be strong. It is the last trial. I am almost at the end of the journey. I cannot fail. Too much rests on me. It is what I have been trained for."

         She trailed off and then took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself to what would become the greatest challenge of her young life.

         I cannot fail.

         In games played by children failure was taken as a natural part of growing up. It was just something children did and then laughed about with their friends, forgetting the mistakes but remembering the lessons learned. Parents usually stopped and shook their heads in these occasions, gentle reproach on their faces but a small smile creeping up their mouths. In children's games there were neither winners nor losers. Ellya was of an age she could still have played such games, even if at fourteen she would already be called a woman. And yet, whereas most of those her age still played simple games with their friends, Ellya played one mighty Game where she could not loose, for if she did the punishment would not simply be a reproving stare from a parent, but something far greater. Far worse.

         Not for the first time since she had learned of her fate she wished to have been born at another day, in another age... as another person.

         "The bridge awaits for no one. Either you cross it or you do not. But do not just stand there carelessly. You have a quest to accomplish."

         This was no voice in her mind. It was no Guardian advising her on how to proceed. It was far too real and far too near. She gazed around, trying to find the one who had spoken. She discovered no one. No living being. Only the bridge in all its immensity and mystic power stood before her. Statues of gryphons were at the sides holding in their beaks long, thick chords that held the bridge's two columns upright. Ellya felt awed as she looked upon them, beautiful creatures of myth and of imaginings, part of the legends told to children to brighten their hearts. The two gryphons were built of the same dark, shimmering mineral the pillars were made of. They looked like strong ageless keepers of the ancient passage.

         As Ellya approached one of them, a thought crossed her mind leaving a frown on her delicate features. Could it be?

         "The cycle is almost at an end," it suddenly said, the stone moving, writhing, and looking more alive than even she felt at the moment. Ellya took a step backwards, surprise on her face, although she should not have felt it. After all this time there ought to be nothing at all in the Dreamscape that shocked her. Anything was possible in this world that was so real and yet not real at all.

         "Soon darkness will come," the statue continued, in a raspy primeval voice, dark eyes blinking and focusing on her. "Cross the bridge. Face your destiny. Become The Deliverer." It then turned its head back to its former position, gazing straight ahead onto the nothingness of the other side. "Or fail", the gryphon added after a moment, the graveness in its voice so great it made Ellya shiver, "and let the wheel turn and the cycle begin anew. You fail and you let your people die."

         No more words came from the statue. It was as lifeless now as it seemed before. Ellya sighed softly and wondered why she was given this message when she knew so well what she must do.

         Then do it. Her mind's voice was as powerful and persistent as that of the Guardian or even that of the gryphon, and equally demanding. So, with her head held high and her spirit's strength renewed in hope and resolve, she walked forth and crossed the entrance to the bridge.

         But her crossing would not be easy. Not only was she unable to perceive an end to her path, something that cast a desperate gloom to her soul and darkened any faith she might have possessed, but nature itself proved to be a great obstacle in her way. It hit her with all its formidable might and Ellya barely managed not to be thrown off her feet and down the empty chasm below her. Never could she have been considered at any time in her life physically strong, robust or muscled, so she was very hard-pressed to fight this greater power that now attacked her with little mercy. She was but a girl of fourteen, small even for her age, whip-like thin and far too brittle for the trials she was forced to face. She did consider herself agile and flexible and even quick on her feet, but that availed her little when she finally came face to face with the natural strength of the gusting wind.

         Ellya tried to contain tears of frustration but she could not prevent them from falling. She did not believe she could cross the bridge under such conditions and there were no side balustrades providing the safety she would have wanted to feel, nothing to hold on to if anything stronger still came hurtling towards her. There was apparently nothing at all suspending the bridge that she could see. The clouds were thicker here, much more than they seemed from afar, and Ellya's walk was agonizingly slow. She often stumbled and in some occasions she only did not fall out of sheer luck. In her mind she could almost hear the Gods laughing at her quandary, as if this was all a big entertainment, a diversion to them. Perhaps it was a game, humorous in its simplicity. But what kind of higher beings would allow their worshippers, the people they had created, to die? And not once, not twice, but endlessly for as long as eternity lasted, as the cycles came and went, as life began and ended and began again, never the same.

         She remembered reading the antique tomes full of history and listening to the tales of the Sages. She had learned that every new beginning was darker than the preceding one. Every ending was more painful and bloody than the one before. All her predecessors had failed and with their failure came darkness and despair, painfully stronger every single time. It would continue to eternity until the day one succeeded to put an end to it. That was what the prophecy told. But no one had been able to finish the trials and survive. No one ever succeeded. And all those who had tried died knowing they were guilty of their world's destruction.

         It was a more bitter end than anyone could possibly imagine. She would not allow it to happen. Ellya promised herself she would be the first one to ever fulfill the prophecy and bring peace at last.

         She believed.

         In spite of the wind's strength and her own tiredness, and even though she felt the gnawing touch of dread, she gradually proceeded, drawing strength from her will rather than her body. She battled the forces of nature with all that she was. She walked and walked and when she could walk no more she dropped to her knees and crawled, dark hair caught in the wild, blustery weather, light eyes narrowed in concentration and great effort. More than once she was nearly thrown off her path and in one occasion Ellya was forced to call upon all agility, speed and courage she might have possessed to grab onto something, anything, when she was swept almost off her feet by more violent winds. She felt its sheer power, as if nature itself was enraged. It got increasingly worse as she continued. She went stubbornly on for what appeared to be long, long years. Would she crawl forever and ever and never reach her destination?

         Why was she being denied this? What did she do to not deserve even a glimpse of the other side?

         Abruptly she stopped, the slick shrewd fingers of uncertainty touching her heart and throwing shadows over her faith. Perhaps that was it, she thought. Perhaps she was hated, for how else could the wind blow so strongly against her, stopping her and refusing her passage? Why would nature rebel and attack her as if she was unwanted, uninvited. Perhaps she was unworthy of this. Maybe she was not the one called by the Gods to save her people. How could she be the Chosen when she could not even cross a simple bridge? The Guardian seemed to think she was the one but how could anyone really tell? Maybe someone made a mistake and confused her with some other child born in the Ihra'aar, the Day of the Gods. Maybe, just maybe, all her life had been a lie, a blunder so great that she was now here, in this place, in this plane, trying to fulfill a fate not her own.

         What other answer could there be? Were not heroes or heroines supposed to have the strength of body and of will to accomplish anything, survive everything, and defeat all kinds of monsters and evil beings? Would not a true hero pass over a simple stone pathway and reach the other side without such toil and fear?

         Darkness came and spread its tainted touch upon her mind, heart and soul, as it was wont to, here, in the Bridge of Fate. Doubt settled, fear sprang from wherever it lay in wait, the flame of faith diminished until there was little of self-worth within her, and hope... hope simply fled.

         Ellya... Ellya...

         The voice called out to her but Ellya did not listen. The Bridge of Fate had fulfilled its duty and brought to her heart uncertainty and self-loathing. She was finally facing the truth of the last trial. This final battle would be with her own self.

         Disheartened, she looked at what lay before her, a last attempt to see if anything at all was on the other side. But no, there was no end in sight and little hope left. She could barely see her own surroundings and she dared not look back lest she die of pure despair right there, right then. Tears filled Ellya's eyes and she let dejection settle in her soul. In front of her there was nothing but the bridge's pathway and the endless unknown, so frighteningly real.

         She knew then that she was not going to survive, a sudden revelation that hit her so swiftly she could not brace herself for its impact. She could not deny it. No matter how much she wanted to she could do no more than see death in her future. She was tired. She was weak. She was afraid.

         She believed no longer.

         She wrapped her arms around herself, crying openly and rocking back and forth as if she were a child once again, one who wished no more than her mother's love and comfort and protection. She whimpered as the wind slapped her with all its might, feeling that yes, she was hated by it. It seemed to enjoy hurting her and she could not take this for much longer.

         Ellya... believe... you are so close. Come... Ellya... come.

         But Ellya would not come. She would not listen to the voice that remained her faithful companion even now.

         You can reach the end of the bridge. I believe in you. Now you must believe in yourself. Ellya... there is not much time left. The cycle is ending.

         She heard the voice now. It invaded her thoughts soothingly, giving her some of the faith she thought lost. She looked up, clearing her tears.

         "But how?" she shouted at the ever present bodiless voice. "How can I believe in myself when I am not sure I am strong enough to do this you ask of me? All my life I have only done what was requested of me. Never did I have a moment to myself, to choose for myself. I could have no desires, for they were selfish. I was taught how to face death but I do not wish to die!"

         You will not die.

         "Can you say for certain I will succeed? Can you promise me that?"

         For a moment there was silence. Only the wind's voice could be heard, loudly wailing, the cry of a furious force that would not leave her alone.

         Then the Guardian spoke.

         The cycle is ending. Time is of essence. Run, Ellya, run now. Or you will not reach the other side in time to stop the end. Your world will perish.

         The voice seemed fainter now, as if it came from a great distance, and the wind did not help at all for its strength overpowered everything else. The sense of urgency she felt and had been feeling from the moment she entered the Dreamscape only intensified. She knew that the end was here, threatening, awaiting for the moment it could thrust the world into chaos.

         Her time was up.

         All of a sudden the bridge shook violently, sending Ellya crashing dangerously close to its edge. Her heart beating frantically, she jumped to her feet and started to run forward as quickly as she could, trying to maintain her balance. A white dense fog gathered around her, making her flight even more difficult. She could not see her way. The ground trembled, making it hard to keep herself on her feet, and she was certain she heard the sound of stone breaking.

         The bridge was collapsing upon itself. If Ellya did not leave immediately she would fall to her death, and there would be no way out of it. Her guardian's last words came back to her. Run. She had to run. So she did, needing to reach the other side no matter how far it was. It was her last chance. She took it and darted across the stone passage, never looking back, trying to ignore the falling bridge.

         Despite her desperate attempts to escape, the bridge had other plans for her. She had not succeeded in the last trial and now it was too late. Without seeing her way, Ellya did not notice the great gap in the stone right in front of her. She did not have the time to stop, to jump or to even pray not to fall. The nothingness below greeted her with ravenous clutches and took her into its awaiting arms. The failure was now complete.

         Another one defeated.

         The cycle would continue and nothing or anyone would be able to prevent its course.

         In the Ashra'than only silence remained afterwards. Once the bridge ceased to exist no sound could was heard at all. A blanket of pure stillness fell over the realm of dreams. The cycle reached its end and into darkness it threw all life. The Dreamscape felt it to its core, as its final moments finally approached... that is, until the next cycle began and life returned to the world. The history scrolls told always of a world much darker than the one before. Silence reigned then and no one would have thought it possible for any sound to be heard in such quietness.

         But then one discordant note reverberated, unexpected, in the distance. It was the sound of weeping. Someone cried ever so softly, hesitantly almost, as if tears were something unknown to the one who shed them.

         It was the Guardian. In all his wisdom and strength he had been unable to prevent what came to be. Even with all his long years he had been powerless to stop this cycle and every other that came before. Always he had been unable to stop the deaths they brought with them.

         Never before, though, had he felt such confidence in a Chosen. Never had he felt that salvation was near. The girl, Ellya, had been his greatest hope but she proved him wrong. He did not think he would ever hold such great belief for a second time. It did not bode well for his eternal soul to do so again. It only made him feel so tired and aged. But he would remain forevermore a silent shadow, a guardian to those who came thereafter.

         And he would suffer the trials as they were met by the Chosen. And he would cry bitter tears when the end came and the Chosen died, for he believed not that the prophecy would ever be fulfilled. Hundreds of cycles had passed since the Seer foretold their end and none had ever been stopped. The Guardian did not think it would happen as long as he existed, and he knew that would be until the end of time itself.

         Like Ellya, the Guardian believed no longer.

* * * * *

         The cycle comes and goes, leaving death and destruction in its wake. It has been so for countless eras, it will continue to be so for many more. It will only stop if the Chosen of the current age takes upon herself the burden of saving her world and succeeds in the endeavor. But until the prophecy uttered so long ago is fulfilled, many more cycles of birth, death and rebirth the world shall know, each one bringing more darkness with it. They brought everlasting shadows.

         Time flows relentless, and the cycles of the world ride on its wings. Until the day the cycle is ended by the Chosen, and the Gods themselves look upon the world of mortals, their games forgotten, there will be no happiness for its people.

         The end has finally come for this one cycle but a new one will commence as it is preordained to; a new dawn will spread its tainted fingers upon this world reborn.

         And apart from all that goes on, but ever connected to all there was, there is and will one day be, time continues its endless path.