Netherbane: Returns, Part IX
The hooded figure walked, drawn forward by the far away clank of metal against metal. In life he had been many things: student, teacher, husband, friend. Demon hunter. So many aspects combined into a single life. A life he had given for others, in service to a dream from which he had finally awoken.
He was dead. Of that much he was certain. He also knew that his sacrifice had not been in vain. His plan to weaken the demon lord Sraath created an opening his compatriots could use to finally defeat him. And although he had not lived to see their victory, he was as certain of their success as he was of his own demise. He knew it to be true, and this, for a time, was enough.
He walked. Far away, the clanking continued.
This place, whatever it might be, was not his afterlife. He had believed that his soul would return to a realm of chaos and dark magic known as the Twisting Nether. Such was the way of the demonic energies of the Fel. Unless killed within this realm, anyone sufficiently attuned to fel magic would be called to the Nether upon their demise. As a demon hunter, he had chosen to bind that energy to his very soul and turn his enemy’s dark powers against them.
But this was not the Twisting Nether. Nor was it the heavenly realm of the Light, where some he knew believed they would find peace after their demise. No, that heaven was a place of warmth and comfort. And, he assumed, something. Gilded trees and amber waves, perhaps. A place for the honored dead and those they loved in life. Such was not the case here. This was only the emptiness of oblivion, and he was completely and utterly alone.
It was... nothing. In the beginning, it effervesced around him, disintegrated, coalesced again, then broke apart into vast shards of emptiness. Its disjointed components shuddered. It breathed. He did not. The emptiness of it threatened to swallow him whole, and so he walked.
At first, he’d welcomed the silence as a reprieve from the cacophony of a life spent at war. It was good, for a time, to simply cease to be. His responsibilities shed, he wandered without form through the nothingness. The silence grew. It overstayed its welcome, grew imposing, then arresting, then overwhelming. He tried to form thoughts against it only for the silence to swallow them whole.
It hungered.
He fought.
It consumed.
He raged.
It devoured.
He screamed.
The silence broke. Against a demon hunter who defied even death, the silence could find no permanent hold. Instead, echoing through the nothing that stretched in every direction, he heard. It was a familiar clanking sound, short and sharp. It echoed briefly, and the silence returned, but it was enough. Taldarion knew that noise from every village and city he’d ever traveled. The sound of a hammer smashed against an anvil. It gave him direction, and so he followed it.
Taldarion Shatterbound was dead, but he was not alone. Formless and confused, yes. But even here amidst a vast nothingness that creeped toward him from every direction, he finally had evidence of something.
He sought another.
* * *
“You have questions. I cannot promise answers, but I will listen.” The blacksmith hammered as he spoke. The muscles in his arms flexed and strained under blue-gray skin, his veins distinct just under the surface. His dark hair was tied tight in a topknot, the rest of his head bald and covered in sweat. He braced himself on heavy, hooved feet.
In life, Taldarion had known him as Mifuune, an eredar and former demon who defected from Sraath’s army along with his beloved wife, a powerful sorceress named Shazadi. The two had been instrumental in Sraath’s downfall, helping the Netherbane piece together clues and create a plan to weaken and destroy their former master. In life, Mifuune bore the sins of his past in everything he did. Here, he exuded a profound sense of peace.
Taldarion found himself smiling. It was good to hear another voice. “What is this place?”
“My forge.” The blacksmith laid his hammer aside and plunged the metal shard he was shaping into a trough. It hissed and smoked as he replied. “Though I imagine that was not the intent of your question, was it? Tell me when, where do you think we are?”
“It’s not the Twisting Nether,” Taldarion said. “You’re here, though. So maybe it has something to do with Shazadi’s magic. Is this a place of her making?”
“That was my assumption as well. At least, at first. I have started to realize, however, that she did not create this place on her own. Her expression told me that much. This? No, this is not purely of her making.”
“Then who made it?”
Mifuune shrugged. “Who made any of it, demon hunter? Who formed the Twisting Nether? Who formed the Light? Or the Shadow? Who formed this afterlife?”
“Afterlife?” Taldarion frowned. “So you believe this is the Shadowlands, then?”
A smile played across Mifuune’s face. “I do, yes.”
Taldarion considered Mifuune’s words for a moment, then nodded. “And how is it that I am here?”
The blacksmith mused, “Tell me, do you remember how you died?”
Taldarion stiffened briefly. Although he was not surprised by the question, it was new and foreign to be asked about his own death. He hesitated briefly, then answered. “I… I blew up. We had set an explosive on Sraath’s ship, but the timer failed. There were no other options, so I sent the others ahead, to safety, and doubled back to trigger it myself. There were no other options. Sraath found me, but I managed to activate the weapon…”
“And you did not survive. But Sraath did?”
“Briefly. The others, they defeated him. I’m sure of it.”
“As am I, demon hunter.” Mifuune smiled. “Even here, we felt his defeat. That Sraath could no longer work his dark will brought us some measure of peace.” Mifuune smiled at the distant memory. “But… do you remember where the ship was when you destroyed it?”
Taldarion raised an eyebrow. “It was traveling between Argus and the Gate.”
“Ah, yes. The Outer Gates are places of wild and mysterious magics, and Sraath is a being who has cheated death many, many times, yes? Perhaps he intended to take you with him?” Mifuune’s voice remained steady and calm.
Taldarion, on the other hand, was filled with indignation. “He forced me into his afterlife? As what, some final curse?”
The blacksmith pulled a second piece of steel from the fire and placed it against his anvil. “Sraath was far past sane in the end. Whether you are here now because of his insanity or ignorance, does it truly matter any longer?”
Taldarion growled. “Is that it, then? Am I to be stuck here for all eternity?”
But Mifuune did not answer. Instead, both blacksmith and his forge began to fade into the nothingness from which they’d sprung. Everything but Taldarion was swallowed by the vast emptiness. Once again, the demon hunter found himself alone.
* * *
Marking the passage of time was useless in this place. Sometimes Taldarion would walk for what seemed like hours before the distinctive tone of Mifuune’s hammer helped him zero in on the blacksmith’s location. At other times, it felt like the forge reappeared only moments after it had gone. When they were both in the same place, they talked. When they were not, Mifuune worked and Taldarion searched. Try as he might, the demon hunter could not find the peace that Mifuune seemed to find so easily. So instead, they asked one another questions. Over time, they made something of a game out of it. One would question, and the other would do his best to answer in a way that was not an answer. The levity served as a counterbalance to walking alone through the emptiness:
Do you answer the questions of all who come to this place?
I have answered every question of every person I have ever seen here.
What do you intend to do now?
Something, rather than nothing.
Who --or what-- is in charge here?
You are. Or I am. Maybe we take turns.
What is beyond this forge?
There is nothing beyond the forge.
How long do you think you have been here?
Long enough for death. Not long enough for eternity.
What are you forging?
Nothing important. Or perhaps something after all.
Why did I have no bodily form when I first arrived here?
Perhaps you hadn’t chosen one yet.
Why did you choose the form you now wear?
Because it is mine.
Are you the same Mifuune I knew in life?
I am the same Mifuune I knew in life.
Are you the same Taldarion you knew in life?
I am not the same Taldarion I was when we first met here.
When the forge evaporated, Taldarion would walk until he found it again. As he walked, he would reminisce and think about moments in his life, many of which would be insignificant to anyone but himself. He recalled a conversation with his wife, not long before they embarked on the mission to subdue Sraath. Shizukera’s unique worldview was part of her charm, but even here, he found himself laughing aloud at the question she had asked: What happens to the characters in a play when their part is over? Not the actors, the characters themselves. Where do they go when they aren’t on stage any longer?
“Here, my love,” he said into the Nothing. “They come here, they walk, and they slowly go completely mad.”
Then a thought occurred to him. The last piece finally clicked into place. He picked up his pace, hoping to find the blacksmith sooner, rather than much, much later.
There was purpose in his step.
* * *
The next time he found the forge, Mifuune was waiting. With no hammering to zone in on, Taldarion had literally stumbled into a building where there had been nothing a fraction of a moment before.
“Ah, there you are,” Mifuune said. He began working the bellows as he continued, “What shall we discuss today?”
“I’m not staying,” Taldarion said.
“I know,” the blacksmith replied. “This is not your afterlife. You do not belong here. And yet, here you are. Are there still answers you seek?”
“Just one,” said the demon hunter. “I should have asked it sooner, but it took me a while to piece it together. In all my time here, I’ve either been with you or wandering through the Nothing alone. Whatever happened in that explosion, it ripped me from where I was supposed to be and put me here instead. It’s taken me until now to finally pull myself back together. But you… this is what you wanted. The first time we met here, you said that you felt Sraath’s defeat. But you didn’t say “I.” You said, ‘us.’ Tell me, Mifuune… Where is Shazadi?”
The blacksmith turned to his guest and let out a deep sigh. “I felt that today would be the day you brought that question to me. She is gone, Taldarion. She was here before you found me. How long before, I cannot say. But something happened. She was in my arms one moment, but before the next… she was not. Somehow, she was taken out of this place.”
Taldarion studied Mifuune carefully, noticing a sadness within him that had not been apparent previously. Yes, it was true that this place -- whatever it truly was-- held a kind of peace for the old blacksmith, but only with his beloved would he truly find his rest.
“I’m sorry. I should have asked sooner. I can’t believe it never came up, but it only made sense after I started thinking about my own wife. See, this can’t be my afterlife, because Shizukera isn’t here. And it can’t be yours either. Not without Shazadi. Come on, my friend. We’re getting out.”
“Taldarion,” Mifuune said softly. “There is nothing to be sorry for. This experience… it is death, even if it is not the one you were expecting. And I am glad to see that you have finally decided what to do about it. I knew this day would come, but I am not going with you. We have walked towards a similar destination, but here our paths diverge. I believe in Shazadi. She will find me, and I intend to be right here when she does. Besides, who would keep the forge fires burning, hmm?”
* * *
The hooded figure walked, propelled by the fire raging inside him. A fire rekindled in death, due in no small part to the help of a blacksmith who had once crafted swords meant to destroy entire civilizations. He did not know how long it had been since they last spoke, if they had ever spoken at all. After life, this was all uncharted territory. Perhaps everything happened exactly as he remembered, or perhaps there were bits and pieces of truth mixed in among the fiction. Perhaps none of it had ever happened.
Real or imagined, he made his way across uncharted realms towards a place that he knew better than any other. Taldarion Shatterbound was returning home, and nothing would stand in his way.