It came when the world was old. A writhing mass of darkness, with subtle shades of black. It spread slowly through the kingdom. Some whispered it had devoured the neighboring nations, but none were daring enough to check. That would have required entering the void—if such a thing was possible. Or perhaps going around its edges, but that seemed even less likely, as no one could find an end to this thing. Some had looked and had returned defeated, if they had returned at all.
When the expanding darkness stopped expanding, people sighed a sigh of relief. The nightmare was over. At least, until it’d start moving again, argued the most cynical. Others shrugged it off as something they should not worry about, as they had no control over it. All were wary not to travel too close to the edge, lest it sucked you in. Aside from this, life went on as if nothing had happened.
Commerce was crippled by this unfortunate occurrence. Still, there were other lands to the north and east. New routes were traced, new accords established.
Years passed, then decades.
***
Bridghen was not a bright man. He lived on a farm with his wife—who was not much brighter—a dozen sheep, six chickens, five pigs, three cows, two daughters, and one horse.
Some in the village argued a single sheep had more brains than the entire family combined, but those were spiteful tongues.
One sunny summer day, as Bridghen brought the sheep back from their grazing, he noticed one was missing. After locking the others in the pen, he went back to look for the stray.
As he reached the top of a hill, he spotted the animal wandering in the valley below. He called out and waved, hoping it would see him and come back.
While it did see him, it bleated, turned its head, and headed in the opposite direction.
Bridghen looked toward the horizon and saw black shapes swirling inside an even starker black.
His precious sheep was going toward the void.
Now the farmer had no preconceived notions and cared little for this thing. To him, it was just part of the landscape. He’d heard stories, of course. Some argued it was a curse sent by the gods. Others claimed it was some sort of magical weapon that had gone out of control, engulfing those who had created it.
Bridghen did not know what was true or what was not, nor did he care. What he did know—and cared about—was that he wanted his sheep back.
So he ran down the hill and followed the ram as best he could, trying to keep it within his sight.
As if feeling it was trailed and not liking it one bit, the animal sped up and rushed toward the darkness.
Bridghen saw it disappear into the writhing mass.
Without even thinking, he rushed in after the animal.
***
There was no sky, here. Only more darkness. A darkness devoid of stars.
The farmer still had solid ground under his feet, so he kept running, while wondering what this place was.
For it was something, for sure.
He could see rocks, plants, and even a path before him.
Of course, the rocks were black, as were the plants and the earthen path, but still...
One advantage of so much darkness was that it made his white ram much easier to spot. He could see it from afar. But it ran faster than he could, so the distance between them grew fast, and the sheep grew smaller.
Well, he figured, the ram would eventually grow tired—or hungry—and it would have to stop to rest or graze. It would also be easy to spot, here. So there was no point exhausting himself. He was quite tired already.
Bridghen decided he would take a short break to catch his breath.
He stopped running and sat on a rock.
Even as he sat, he heard a distant rumble and peered into the distance.
All he saw were writhing shapes of black.
One of them twisted, swirled, and slowly drifted toward him.
Bridghen did not scare easily—even less so when he was as tired as he was now. So he put his elbows on his knees, lay his chin in his hands, and waited patiently as the shape came closer.
Soon, the shape stopped a few feet from him, though it continued to swirl, as if subject to constant turmoil.
Bridghen ventured an approach.
“Hello,” he said.
The swirling stopped suddenly. After a few seconds, the shape changed into a more humanoid-looking one. A face appeared above it, complete with two eyes, one nose, and two mouths. Bridghen thought that was a splendid idea, as it would allow you to eat and speak at the same time. He wished he had thought of this before... though he would never have known how to give himself an extra mouth. Not that he even thought of this particular inconvenience.
“You should not be here,” said a gravely voice from within the black man-shaped form.
“I just came to get my sheep. I will go home as soon as I get my hands on that little rascal!”
The form frowned—at least, that was what it looked like to the farmer.
“There is no sheep in the Gleaming.”
Bridghen thought it was strange the creature would know what a sheep was if there was none here, but he did not press the issue.
“Well, there is now. It came in before I could catch it, so I ran after it.”
“That was not wise of you.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t stay long. As soon as I—”
“You are assuming you can leave. You cannot.”
“Oh, that’s alright,” said Bridghen as he gestured in the direction he had come. “The edge is right over there, I know the way. But thank you for your concern.”
“You can not leave,” insisted his strange visitor. “It is not permitted.”
Now it was Bridghen’s turn to frown. That was mighty rich, he thought.
“Why would you allow people to come in but not to go out?” he asked. “You should not let people visit if you won’t even let them return home. That’s very rude.”
The farmer was tired of the conversation, more so than he was tired from the running. So he stood and resumed his walk.
“I’m sorry,” he added before the other could respond, “but I have to go.”
He was hoping to be rid of this unpleasant companion, but the creature followed him.
“You should not be wandering about. It is not safe.”
“Thank you for your concern, but this—”
“I care little for your safety, but I would not want your humanity to contaminate the Gleaming.”
Bridghen thought that was an offending thing to say.
“Humans are not a contagious disease!”
He would have sworn the humanoid-shaped mass of writhing black had snorted.
“You spread fear, hatred, and war everywhere you go, do you not?”
The farmer didn’t know how to respond to that, so he remained quiet, his eyes focused on the road before him, trying to ignore his unwelcome companion.
“We know these things here too,” continued the creature, “but we thrive on them. They are in our nature. However, we care little about what you call kindness, love, or mercy. You shall be stripped of them.”
Bridghen stopped in his steps and spun to face the black mass.
“Excuse me?”
“Such useless emotions will be sucked out of you, then you shall be absorbed into the ether.”
“Look, I just want my sheep. I have no intention of sticking around, or contaminating anyone with anything.”
He started walking again.
“We care little for ‘intentions.’ We have rules, and they shall be enforced.”
Bridghen’s patience was wearing thin.
“Aha!” he cried out when he saw a glimmer of white flash in the distance and disappear into a thicket of darkness on the right side of the road.
Had his ram just strayed off the path? It would be just like it, wouldn’t it?
He quickened his pace.
“They come,” growled the man-shaped thing that still followed him.
Bridghen had decided to ignore the strange creature. He had other and more pressing matters that required his attention. Although he did idly wonder who ‘they’ were supposed to be.
After a few minutes, he reached a crossroads, with one trail leading in the direction the sheep had taken, straight into a grove of black trees.
The farmer started down this path and sensed the blackness behind him was growing agitated.
“Do not go there!” called out the gravely voice.
“I need to get my sheep,” said Bridghen without stopping.
He reached the woods and went in.
After a few minutes, he realized the creature had stopped talking. He paused and looked around him, but it was nowhere to be seen.
Good riddance, he thought with a shrug as he resumed his walk.
He eventually reached a clearing.
Again, he paused, this time in shock.
After all the darkness he’d seen everywhere, an explosion of colors assaulted his eyes.
Blues, greens, reds, yellows... Flowers covered the grayish earth, butterflies danced, and glimmering lights flickered in the air.
It took a few seconds for his sight to adjust, and this was when he noticed the well.
At the very center of the clearing, it rose a few feet above the ground.
His precious ram had somehow jumped on the ledge and was treading along its circumference. Bridghen gasped, worried the animal would fall down the hole.
“Stop moving, sheep!”
The farmer had never bothered to name any of his animals and simply called them what they were.
The ram twisted its head to look at him. The movement made it shift its weight in the wrong direction. It lost its balance and stumbled, one hoof slipping off the edge.
Bridghen watched in horror as the sheep tumbled into the hole and fell down the well.
He ran over and looked inside.
What he saw was not what anyone would have expected to see inside a well.
There was no water here. Nor did it seem too deep.
The bottom was a shifting, writhing mass of white light that engulfed the ram as it baaed and vanished from sight.
“I’m coming, sheep!”
Without a second of hesitation, the farmer stepped over the ledge and jumped in.
***
He had assumed the well was not deep, but he was wrong.
The fall went on and on and on...
After a long moment, he worried it would never end at all.
What would become of him and his poor ram?
But then he heard a sound from somewhere beneath him, like that of a body falling into water. Shortly after, the sound came again as he splashed into a white and bubbly liquid.
He wriggled his arms and legs, very worried because he had never learned to swim. But then he realized this was not water at all. In fact, he could breathe just fine.
Startled, he stopped gesticulating and looked around.
Everything was white, with different shades of glowing light. It would be much harder to spot his sheep down here—wherever ‘here’ was.
He tried to call out, forgetting he was plunged into some form of liquid, but his voice came out muffled as the substance rushed down his throat. But he did not choke. It rather felt warm and sustaining.
Realizing he had stopped falling, he looked down and saw there was something solid under his feet, of only a slightly darker shade of white. It was rugged and hard as stone.
Yellow lights drifted toward him, danced for a moment, then merged into a man-like form.
“Hello,” said the farmer.
A head took shape, with two eyes, one nose, and two mouths. Again, Bridghen marveled at the ingenuity of these people.
“You should not be here,” said a gravely voice from within the yellow man-shaped form.
“I shall not linger,” he promised. “I am looking for my sheep.”
Only then did he realize his speech was no longer perturbed by the liquid, though it still slipped into him, but his words came out unaffected.
“It is not safe,” added the creature.
The farmer grew irritated.
“If you worry I will contaminate you, then perhaps you should stop wasting time and help me find my sheep instead!”
The yellow face frowned.
“It is not safe for you,” it remarked. “Magic bathes this place. It shall gnaw at your flesh and shatter your bones.”
Bridghen blinked a couple of times, confused. This was all much too complicated for him.
“I just want my sheep back,” he said.
“Then find it fast, before your body withers and dissolves.”
“Have you seen it?”
The voice did not answer. The shape faded and the lights flew off in every direction.
Bridghen sighed as he started walking again, scanning his surroundings with great attention.
He caught movement from the corner of his eye.
“Ah!” he beamed. “There you are!”
He hurried toward the ram.
When it spotted him, it tried to run off, but the white liquid stalled its movements.
Bridghen leaned down and grabbed the sheep in his arms. The animal stopped struggling as it let out a baa of defeat.
“Well, you made me run quite a bit, didn’t you? Now, how ever will we get out of here?”
He looked around him, then up.
Bending his knees, he pushed down on his feet to propel himself upward. He floated a moment, then slowly drifted back down.
Lights shifted around him, and another human-shaped form appeared.
“Magic has seeped through your pores,” said the voice. “You must go now, before it consumes you.”
“I wish nothing less, but how can I leave?”
Bridghen pointed upward.
“Use your magic.”
“I have none!”
“You do now.”
The farmer frowned at this, then shook his head.
“I would not know how to use it, even if this was true.”
“Picture your home in your mind, close your eyes, and call your wife’s name. When you open your eyes, you shall have returned.”
Bridghen followed the yellow creature’s instructions.
A few minutes later, he was back at the farm, with a startled expression on his face.
He shrugged and took the sheep to the pen.
***
In the weeks that followed, many strange things occurred. But none had anything to do with the black void, and all had to do with the brainless farmer.
Bridghen would walk, and a cobbled path would appear under his feet.
Bridghen would get angry, and lightning would strike a few feet from him.
Bridghen would go swimming, and rain would pour in the countryside around him.
He was very confused about all of this—even more so his wife, his twelve sheep, his six chickens, his five pigs, his three cows, his two daughters, and his one horse.
It was not so bad when it happened outdoors, or even in his home. But people in town became wary of him when odd things would happen every time he visited. Soon, they asked him to stay away. This made him sad.
With sadness came a storm, which kept all villagers indoors for three days.
Bridghen got over his sorrow when his wife announced she was pregnant again. The sun shone, the rain stopped, flowers bloomed, and birds sang all day.
Their newborn was a boy they named Hedrin.
As he grew, Hedrin showed a natural predisposition for magic. He eventually helped his father dampen the powers that imbued him, and later became a renowned wizard.
When he turned forty, Hedrin returned to the farm.
“Father,” he told Bridghen, “you must come with me.”
“Where to, son? I tire easily now. It must be from so much running after the sheep.”
Hedrin smiled as he grabbed the old man’s arm and helped him stand.
“Don’t worry, I will make sure you do not ache while we travel.”
Five minutes later, the father realized they were headed straight for the shifting wall of nothingness that loomed above the land.
Still not one to scare, he threw a puzzled look at his son.
“Why do you take me there? Have I not told you many times what was within?”
“You have. But I am tired of hearing others treat it as a curse or as a punishment from the gods. I know it is not. I can feel it in my bones. If anything, your story only confirms it. There are people there—”
“I don’t know that I’d call them ‘people’...”
“Either way, it is a place of life and death. I do not think it came to destroy, or it would have continued to expand, and there would be nothing left of our kingdom.”
As often was the case, Bridghen had trouble understanding the logic of his son. It was all much too complicated for him. So he simply shrugged and remained quiet as they walked on.
When they reached the wall, Hedrin hesitated no more than his father had four decades prior—or than he did now.
Both of them stepped through, and darkness engulfed them.
***
Darkness came to them in gusts of black. Threads of void danced a frenzy dance of death. They surrounded them, bursting angrily, as if to scold them for some perceived slight.
The two men walked on, unperturbed.
The patches of somber light dispersed, irked by the intruders’ apparent indifference.
Not only were there no stars in the sky above them—but was it truly sky?—there was no wind either. Something Bridghen had failed to notice the first time he had come here, so intent had he been on finding his sheep.
And yet, whispers drifted to their ears, as if carried by some non-existent breeze. The sound grew louder as they marched, until soon the voices seemed to come from all around them. Even so, they could not make out the words... Or rather, the words they perceived meant nothing to them, as if spoken in some arcane tongue.
“Who goes there?” cried out Bridghen.
The voices faded instantly, and a heavy silence bathed them for a moment.
Then a shape formed before them. A sphere. Of reddish and greenish black hues. It shifted before them, hovering a few inches above the ground, though it was large enough to engulf them both.
“Why do you come here, pitiful fools?”
Hedrin spoke before his father could respond.
“We seek answers.”
Laughter emanated from the sphere.
“Humans always seek answers.”
“What is this place?”
“It is what it is not. It is everything, and nothing at all. It is the source and the term. It is what it is. The Gleaming is what we call our home.”
“Why have you come to us?”
Again, laughter boomed through the air.
“It was you who came to us. We seek not your company, pitiful fools.”
“And yet you spread through our lands, consuming everything in your path. Entire kingdoms have vanished, erased from existence. Why is this?”
There was a long silence before a response came.
“The Gleaming does not move. The Gleaming is immutable and ever-expanding. It is nothing and everything. It is infinite and finite.”
Bridghen, whose brain was aching, let out a grunt.
“You ate up our neighbors!” he said.
Brighter colors shifted within the sphere.
“Humans perceive what they wish to perceive.”
“That makes no sense...”
Hedrin had fallen quiet, with a thoughtful expression on his face. He frowned upon hearing his father’s words and shook his head.
“Were we not at war with our neighbors?” he asked.
Bridghen looked at his son and shrugged.
“We were always at war with someone, though I cared little for such matters.”
“Perhaps a wizard summoned the Gleaming...”
The sphere grew agitated.
“The Gleaming cannot be summoned! It simply is. But chaos begets chaos. Human wars are an instrument of chaos.”
Hedrin looked into the shifting colors, that were darkening once again.
“But there have always been wars among men, and yet never had darkness spread across our lands as it did when my father was a child. Why now?”
The sphere spun upon itself, like a spinning wheel, and the colors within swirled in quicker motions. Colors returned. The motion gave them shapes, and soon images formed.
They saw soldiers battling in a field near the farm, in the middle of a storm. Lightning streaked a crimson-red sky as bodies fell on both sides. A roar resonated as a giant yellow dragon swooped from above. It opened its jaws and fire rained on the invaders.
But those flames were black.
They consumed flesh as normal fire would, but that was not all they did.
The blackness rose and spread, shifting shades darkening and expanding, until it became the black void that loomed above their lands.
“But that’s not how it happened!” cried out Bridghen.
His son shook his head.
“History remembers what it wishes to remember. But I do not understand how a dragon could have created this place...”
The images vanished and the sphere resumed its swirling motion. Its booming voice soon returned.
“It did no such thing! The Gleaming always was, is, and ever shall be. It cannot be made. The dragon’s breath merely opened a way.”
Hedrin’s eyes grew wide.
“It’s a wall!”
Bridghen threw a confused look at his son.
“The darkness,” explained the wizard, “we always thought it had spread across the land and engulfed the other kingdoms, but that’s not it at all. It’s more like a wall, a barrier between us. We can’t see them anymore, just like they can’t see us either.”
“Then why can’t we go through to the other side?”
“Because going into the darkness brings us here instead. I’m guessing the same thing happens if you go into it coming from the other side.” Hedrin looked back at the sphere. “How do we remove the wall?”
“What for would you do this? To once more wage war upon your enemies?”
“While it is true we have warred, we have also been allies time and again. Most of all, we did commerce with each other. Without commerce, we cannot thrive as we once did. We must reopen those old routes!”
“It comes,” said the sphere in a softer voice.
The flapping of wings startled the two men.
They turned and looked up.
From out of the starless and pit black sky, the huge shape of a yellow dragon flew down and landed before them. Its color was a stark contrast with the darkness all around. From up close, they could see it had streaks of orange with darker patches of red.
Its head came down and swayed a moment between the two men.
Bridghen could sense the tension in his son, though he himself could not understand his distress. This was only a slightly bigger chicken, after all, was it not?
“It was you,” whispered Hedrin. “You were the one who brought this curse upon us!”
“A curse?” The dragon’s voice was surprisingly soft and even musical. “It was a blessing. To keep your people safe. To stop the war. Would you rather have all died?”
“You cannot save us from ourselves,” said the wizard. “Humans will kill, no matter what you do. If it is not one nation against another, it is one man against another. Would you erect walls around each of us? But more than that, your action has set us apart, cut us off from other kingdoms we needed to trade with. We are poorer for it. In the long run, this will cause more harm than good. Peace will settle again between our people if you let us be. But you must allow us to find our own path to get there.”
The dragon growled.
“Very well. But know this. Your wars damage the world around you as well. I shall lift the wall, but if you continue to ravage the lands, the next time I breathe fire it shall consume your flesh until you breathe no more.”
Lifting a wing, the creature blocked out the view of the surrounding blackness for a second. When it moved away, they were back in the plains near the farm.
The dragon flew off into the morning sky, heading toward the black wall. It opened its jaws, but instead of spitting fire, it sucked in the dark mass. It only took a few seconds for the shifting void to swirl away and disappear.
Beyond reappeared the lands of the neighboring kingdom.
***
A long time ago, deep inside the Gleaming, the Council of Beasts gathered. It was a rare sight to behold—though few were allowed to at all, other than those convened for the event.
The purpose of the meeting was to decide the fate of these frail creatures known as ‘humans.’
There were those who thought them weak and useless and argued they served little purpose in the greater scheme of things, and thus claimed they should be wiped out. This group was led by Grenjath, one of the most ancient creatures among them.
Opposing them were the advocates of humanity. These believed all living creatures had a role to play and it was not their place to act as gods—which, they reminded their opponents, they were not. The most vocal among them was the wily Sheparth, a young and rash being of a darker complexion.
Over the years, Grenjath had grown increasingly frustrated and annoyed with the humans. He argued they were spineless and would only fight those weaker than themselves.
To prove his point, he presented as evidence the fact that no human had ever set foot in the Gleaming. They were much too terrified by the dark.
Sheparth had straightened in his seat, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“But, my dear friend,” had he said, “how could they come if they do not know we even exist?”
The other had dismissed the argument with a wave of his hand.
“That is irrelevant. They would never come, even if they knew.”
“On the contrary.” He had smiled. “In fact, I bet you I can get a human to come into the Gleaming. Not only a human, but the most simple-minded of them all. If I lose, I will bend to your wisdom and accept your ruling.”
Sheparth’s friends had shifted uncomfortably, casting worried glances toward him.
The older creature had squinted.
“And if you win?”
“Would you not agree that they would then have earned to be left in peace?”
Grenjath had thought over this for a minute, then had nodded.
“That sounds fair to me.”
All that was needed to test the humans, was to open a gateway upon their lands and leave it there for only two days. Grenjath was welcome to make it as frightening as he wanted, it mattered little.
And so the ancient creature took on the appearance he most favored—that of a powerful yellow dragon—and swooped down upon a battlefield. Using its magic, it breathed out a permanent pathway, convinced humans would flee it in fear.
But Sheparth had a plan. And he had time. They had agreed upon two days, but he knew time flowed much faster in the realm of men. He would have years—decades, even—to put his plan in motion.
And now that everything was done, a lone sheep watched the departing darkness. It happened to be the same sheep that Bridghen had chased forty years ago. Despite its great age, it seemed as young as it had been before. For there was more to this sheep than met the eye.
Sheparth bleated happily, turned, and headed back toward the farm.
Want to read more free stories? Check out:
By he Light of a Weeping Moon (a tale of Varushka, who once ruled over the Gleaming)
Deathbringer (Reikk faces a minotaur and a dragon…)
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Text (c) 2022 by Alex S. Garcia.
Header: royalty-free stock images, edited by me.
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I really like Bridghen. He may not be bright, but I don’t think he would’ve been successful in getting his “sheep” back if he had a habit of overthinking. Other farmers would’ve probably been like “nah, the void can have my sheep”.
Pretty spiffy little story! Love how it ended. Thanks!