The Marenon Chronicles Collection

Chapter Nine





Silas woke up flat on his face and freezing. When his eyes opened he realized the cold was produced by snow blanketing the ground. It was deep, still falling and people stood all around him, but they weren’t paying him any attention. They seemed as lost and confused as he, just as they all had been in the corridor. These were the ones that had gone through the fiery gate before him. He noticed a crowd to his left sifting through something, he was not sure what. His feet felt numb and he knew he would freeze to death if he didn't get warmer somehow. But wasn't he already dead? If so, why was he shivering so badly?

He felt someone grab his shoulder and he rolled on his back. It was Dink. In his right hand he held a wad of brown cloth.

“Here, I got this for you.”

Silas accepted it graciously and began wrapping his exposed skin. With some extra cloth he was able to form crude shoes to at least keep his feet from being frostbitten.

“Where did you get them?” Silas asked.

Dink glanced at the crowd of people examining a pile. When Silas took another look he could see a mound of dead bodies, those who didn't make it far from the gate. Silas looked back at Dink, sick to his stomach. Dink seemed adequately covered and warm enough.

“Thank you,” Silas said as he took Dink's arm and stood.

“People are gathering over there.” Dink pointed to a trio of soldiers standing nearby. Two of them were clothed in warm garments and boots meant for the snow. They looked quite comfortable with their swords and bows strapped to their sides and backs. They did not seem to be expecting any sort of fight. People just wanted heat. In between the two stood a man dressed in leather armor. His bald head and bulging arms were exposed to the cold, but he seemed to prefer this. An ax the size of Silas was strapped tightly to his back. He was not a man to fool with, Silas could tell. Slowly, Silas and Dink made their way with the crowd in front of the bald man who stood on a wooden platform towering above the rest. His arms were crossed and his look remained severe with eyebrows darting forward as he surveyed those standing in front of him. Silas heard one of the soldiers to Baldy's side say that the last of them were through for the afternoon. The mean, bald one didn't move.

There was a hush over the crowd and the only noise was the icy air soaring past their ears, biting every inch of the way. Finally, the bald one spoke.

“As you have probably realized, all of you are dead,” he said in a low, gruff voice. “There's nothing you can do about it. Everything you knew, everything you've ever known no longer matters. You are not in heaven; you are not in hell. You are in Marenon.”

The people glanced around at each other, confused but silent.

“Marenon is your life after life. While here, you can die and I promise you that many of you will die before day's end. Do not ask what the next life is because I don't know and I don't care. All I can tell you is that you died on Earth and that you were sent here, so get used to it.”

“What is to happen to us, and why can I not remember my death?” a man next to Silas asked.

At that moment, Baldy nodded at the soldier on his left. The soldier lifted his bow and sent an arrow flying through the crowd and between the man's eyes. Blood shot to the ground before the man's body fell limp, inches from Silas' feet.

“Your memory of your previous life will eventually come back to you. There are those who remember every detail of their lives before and there are those that remember nothing.” He nodded to the man he had just shot. “He is obviously one that remembers nothing.” Baldy chuckled at his own sick joke. “Are there any more questions?”

Apart from the uncontrollable shivering, no one moved or even considered speaking.

“By order of Morgan Hobbes, King of Marenon, I, Commander Barron, have been assigned to weed through new Human arrivals in Marenon.”

Barron gestured to his right at a path leading down the mountainside.

“All of you will take that path downward. At the bottom, you will come to a river. You will then cross a bridge. If you make it across the bridge, then you are accepted into Marenon. It's that easy.”

Silas exchanged a sideways glance with Dink.

“Many people have gone on to do great things here,” Barron continued. “Many have gone on to do nothing but die again. Personally, I couldn't care less what happens to any of you.”

Barron pointed at Silas. “You there.”

Silas froze in place, unsure of whether to answer in acknowledgment or to stay quiet.

“Come here.”

Silas' legs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds as he moved slowly through the snow. He gave another fleeting glance to Dink who seemed to be saying good luck with his expression, or perhaps goodbye. Silas stood in front of the immense figure. Fear would not let go of his heart and the thought of dying again was too much to handle. But Silas’ death was not Barron's intention.

“I'm designating you to be the leader of this rabble. Their lives are in your hands. If you can get them past the bridge at the bottom of the mountain then you all may live wonderful lives. Otherwise, you'll die before even making it into the mainland. Do you have any questions?”

Silas shook his head, knowing if he said anything he too would be met with an arrow to the head.

“Then go,” Barron said. Silas turned quickly and gave the crowd of a hundred or more a look telling them to follow. He did not know why he had been chosen for this, but it didn't matter. Their fate was not in his hands. They were all dead anyway. What could be the point of a second life in a different world? By now, most of them were looking for someone to tell them what to do. Many of them were so confused they barely knew their right from their left.

Silas motioned Dink to walk next to him. Once out of earshot, Silas whispered to him from the side of his mouth.

“I’m going to need your help.”

“Any way I can,” Dink said as he tried to wrap himself tightly against the freezing wind. “I’m not sure why Barron thinks we need a leader.”

They followed the path silently and they were soon out of view from Barron and his two cronies. The snow fell thicker and the cold bit harder. Silas wasn’t sure they would make it to the bridge at all. Perhaps Barron’s way of ‘weeding out’ people was by making them walk through the deadly storm. Maybe there was no bridge.

Eventually the path leveled off into a flatter terrain, but they were still high up. Several stragglers stopped along the way to wait for their second death, even while others prodded them forward. Silas encouraged them to keep moving, but there was little motivation to keep going. After a while, he began to lose his own enthusiasm. Dink too had gone quiet. The endless sea of white scattered with a few trees in the distance foretold only death for the nomadic sufferers. The path before them was only apparent because of the snow that had been trodden by previous travelers. To his surprise, Silas never noticed any bodies of others. Perhaps Barron and his band came through and disposed of them. Maybe animals ate them. Whatever the case, his own group would be leaving their trail of dead bodies, even if only temporarily. After an hour of slogging through the ice, those eighty or so that were still breathing began to complain more. One man, who had a scruffy, red beard with clumps of ice forming and tangling within it, spoke out to everyone.

“Barron’s just marching us to our deaths! I don’t think any of us are meant to survive.”

The crowd began to murmur among themselves asking each other if they thought it was true or not. Silas looked around at the weary group. They shouldn’t be stopping. They needed to keep going so their blood would pump. Silas quickly moved within inches of the man’s icy face.

“What do you expect to gain from announcing there’s no hope?” he said quietly. “Do you think we should just sit here and give up, or do you think we should keep walking to the river?”

“The river isn’t there! I’m telling you, he’s sending us to our graves!”

“We’re in our graves!” Dink snapped, standing next to Silas. “In case you haven’t noticed, we all died a few minutes ago. If we don’t keep moving we’ll face the same fate again.”

“Are you proposing that we do something different?” Silas asked the man. His question was drowned by a cold tremor in his body’s attempt to ward off the numbing pain.

The man had nothing to say. Silas could tell he was trying to formulate a plan in his mind, but nothing would come. They were resigned to move forward and if every last one of them were to die once more, there was nothing that could be done. Silas and Dink moved to the front of the group and everyone followed. Their pace lagged and their bodies were ready to give out. Silas was beginning to accept the inevitable: a second death.

Silas shivered violently as he walked, hardly noticing the once knee-deep snow now only covering his ankles. His delirium nearly caused him to walk face-first into a rock wall.

“A cave?” someone shouted in the wind.

Past the haze of a chilly fog, the wall could be seen, and through the wall, the path led to a cave, and hopefully to the other side. The cave would have to be warmer than the environment they were confronting now. A new energy came over the group and their pace accelerated. When they finally reached the cave, they could see that the path spiraled downward. This was good news. The further down they went, the warmer it would become. At least, this was what Silas was hoping. Downward they traveled and the longer they walked the more feeling their limbs gained. The shivering wasn’t so uncontrollable. Along the way, breaks in the shallow cave let in some light from the outside.

After about fifteen minutes they came to a spot that seemed like a good place to rest. It was still freezing, but they had to take a moment. Silas told everyone to sit and many immediately dropped to the muddy floor and began to rub their cold, aching limbs. Silas sat and rubbed his toes fervently as Dink sat next to him.

“You hanging in there?” he asked, pulling his clothes tight to his chest.

Silas nodded. “As best as I can I suppose.” He scanned the group, wondering what had sent them all there. There were young, old, men, and women. What were their stories? He barely understood his own. Bits and pieces made pictures in his mind, but it was still confusing.

“So, what about you?” Silas asked. “How did you die? Any memories coming back to you?”

Dink sat for a moment, thinking. “I remember driving a large truck, but I can’t remember what I was hauling, it’s all kind of blurry. It was dark and my lights weren’t working, I remember that. Next thing I know I was floating above my truck and it was on fire. I then woke up in some room and I went into a corridor. That’s where I met you. What’s your story?”

Silas wished he could remember the details. His story was bizarre, he knew that much. He could remember creatures all around his body and that he was killed by some man, but the details were fuzzy.

“I was killed,” he said. “I can’t remember why I was killed, but I was.” He decided to leave the evil creatures out of his description for obvious reasons. He wasn’t even sure if it was real.

Dink’s eyes brightened and he sat up intently. “How?” he asked almost too excited.

“I think,” he hesitated. “I think I was stabbed with a sword.” This triggered something in his mind, a memory, a person. Kaden Osric? This was the man that killed him. Silas stood in realization, forgetting to conceal his thoughts from Dink.

“That’s right! It was Kaden. Kaden stabbed me?” Why? Then it hit him. “The Stühocs!”

“The what?” Dink’s look of surprise instantly turned to confusion.

Silas realized his error immediately and tried to recover. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s just … I realized now why I’m here. A man named Kaden Osric killed me.”

Dink snorted. “You seem happy about it.”

Silas was not angry for some reason. He remembered that Kaden said it was better to be dead than captured by the Stühocs. The Stühocs … Maroke! Yes, it was all coming back to him quickly as if his head were opened from the top and someone was pouring his memories in from a pitcher. He was in Marenon, Barron had confirmed this. Kaden had said that he was from Marenon and his grandfather Garland was there too. It was all part of some plan. What that plan was, Silas still had no clue, but it had gone horribly wrong. Silas was not supposed to die. The plan had not being carried out like it should have been.

Silas stood and began to walk away from Dink, lost in his thoughts.

“I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m just remembering what happened,” Silas answered, pacing. His thoughts led him to where he was now.

Silas was dead and Kaden had been captured according to what Silas had seen just before his flight through space, to the room and corridor. Unless he had been killed, Kaden was a prisoner of Maroke and the Stühocs. But if Kaden were dead, then wouldn’t he be with Silas now? If this were true, then it would be possible for Maroke and the others to make it into Marenon through the gate that had been opened in the cave. But none of this would matter if Silas didn’t survive to make it beyond the river into Marenon.

Silas came out of his dazed state when Dink tapped him on the shoulder. He shook his head. “What?”

“I said, I think everyone is ready to move on,” Dink answered.

Silas nodded and moved to the front of the group again, his mind not completely on their current situation, but on things to come and what his next steps should be.

The cave kept leading down. The group slid along the icy slope with few handholds, but the air was gradually getting warmer. Slowly, they descended and after a couple of hours and a few more breaks to rest, the cave ended and they walked out into the open. There were still patches of snow on the ground, but most of it was melting, revealing a rich green earth with a forest that surrounded their path. Silas could hear the sounds of birds in the trees, calling to each other to join in song of the newborn spring. It was now conceivable that Barron had not been lying about the river after all. Perhaps there was hope.

Silas felt his first pang of hunger. Did people eat in the afterlife? He supposed they did if there was hunger. Curious. As he led them down, the path began to level off a bit. With lush green trees and several snowcapped mountains in the distance, the view nearly brought tears to Silas’ eyes as it showed promise that Marenon may not be such a dreadful place after all. Although, getting there had been horrible. Why would the king implement a system to eradicate as many people as possible before allowing them in? Barron had said the king had ordered it. Some king, Silas thought. First impressions showed that Marenon was not quite the welcoming place it could be.

The clouds still covered the sunlight, but at least the diffused rays were able to warm their skin. After another hour or so they finally reached the bottom of the mountain where the air was now warm. At the bottom there was no river, but the path continued on. Silas caught a glimpse from Dink. Neither was sure of what needed to be done next. Obviously the only choice was to follow the path. The forest to their right was so thick that trying to navigate through would be impossible. The mountain was on their left and none of them wanted to go back. The only way was forward.

They had been traveling all afternoon. Exhaustion had set in long before they made it to the cave and many were now on the verge of collapse. Silas was ready for this journey to be over as well. He thought of what he would do when he finally made it to the bridge and into Marenon. He knew he had to find his grandfather, but how would he accomplish that? No solution came to mind. His thoughts then drifted to the plan. Did Garland know about Marenon before his death? All signs pointed to the fact that he did. He knew of the Stühocs. So, the question was, if Garland did know about Marenon, then why did he never say anything about it to Silas? Why would he have kept it a secret all these years? He thought about his training. Was it all in vain, or would the skills he learned benefit him in this new life? He felt so clueless as well as angry. Being left out of the loop on such a large-scale plan was wrong, especially since he was now dead and a new death was awaiting him at every turn. His grandfather had told him that he was destined for great things. Apparently this was not to be on Earth. But was the plan for him to do great things in Marenon?

As they walked along the grassy path, Silas wondered when it would end and the bridge would reveal itself. They rounded what felt to be the entire base of the mountain when he finally saw it. Flowing, tumbling, white-capped water splashed against rocks and gushed into the distance down the winding river. What stood above the water was not a bridge like Silas had ever seen before. It was more like a dam with its base allowing water to pass through. On the side nearest him, connected to the dam-like structure, stood a massive wooden door. The dam seemed ten times larger than any conventional bridge, making the door one of the largest Silas had ever seen. Soldiers, dressed similar to the ones that accompanied Barron, stood at attention in front of the structure. Across the path, opposite the huge door were several shacks that Silas presumed were the soldier’s barracks.

A horn blew in the distance and a bell started ringing, announcing to all, the arrival of the group. He could see people scrambling around, but could not tell what they were up to. The hunger pit in his stomach turned into a tumbling roar as he watched. Perhaps it was not as simple as crossing a bridge. He desperately wished it were. Despite their apprehension, they kept walking.

Wordlessly they were flagged to a position, only yards from the wooden door that all of them hoped would be their easy entrance into Marenon. A guard, another man in a soldier’s outfit, but much less intimidating than Barron, stepped on his own wooden platform and prepared to address the battered crowd as they approached.

“Who is the leader designated among you?” the man asked.

All eyes fell on Silas. He looked at Dink almost as if to ask what he was supposed to do. Dink shrugged and Silas stepped forward. “I am.”

The guard looked down at him for a moment then sighed. “Choose your nineteen strongest.”

“What?” Silas asked confused.

“I said, choose your nineteen strongest individuals.”

“I heard what you said,” Silas replied angrily. “What do you mean?”

“Either you choose your best nineteen people or I will kill you where you stand.”

Slowly, he turned to the crowd of people. He couldn’t believe this was happening. What was he supposed to do? They were all battered and torn. Was he to choose the strongest people simply to help open the wooden door? After moments of hesitation he heard the guard give an order and five other guards immediately had their arrows pulled back and trained on Silas.

“Do it now, or you die!”

“Dink,” Silas said. He then pointed to red-beard and seventeen others, picking out those that would be strong enough to help push open the wooden door. He hated having to do this.

The guard smiled and said, “Now was that so hard?” He looked at the other guards. “Take the rest!”

“Where are you taking them?”

The crowd of fifty or sixty people that Silas had not chosen was herded away like cattle by several soldiers. A few tried to protest, but were beaten into submission while the others were led behind a couple of buildings in the distance. The remaining twenty people looked up at the guard, staggered.

He spoke. “You will now enter in through the wooden gate,” he said. “Through the gate is the gauntlet. If you survive this, you may enter into Marenon. If not, well, then I don’t have to worry about you.”

Silas could hear screaming in the distance. Pain, fear. They were screams of death. He had unwittingly sentenced the others to be executed, simply by not choosing them. What sort of place was this? A new wave of nausea came over Silas, his dry heaving producing no vomit, for he had eaten nothing in his new life. Whatever king decided this was the best way to welcome newcomers deserved no less of a punishment. The thought then occurred to him that his grandfather might not have survived the selection! But surely he did. Garland Ainsley was a master fighter.

All thoughts fled from Silas’ mind as the wooden gate slowly opened. In the darkness beyond, waited the gauntlet, reeking of death. Silas knew he would either have to survive this, or face his second passing.