His father…
Tyral had been fighting Kobin before the attack. Why were they fighting? Was it because Jaden had been selected to go to war? Was it because the force they brought had turned against them? Jaden stepped back from the ledge. He had never trusted Kobin, but even he could not be foolish enough to bring a hostile military unit into the village. It didn’t make sense. What had happened? Was his father still alive? He would be captured, but he could still be alive.
Jaden sat down, crossing his legs as he rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, trying to make sense of it all. He wanted the pain to end, but he now realised that he didn’t want to die. He couldn’t. His family had given him everything so that he would live on, no matter what happened. He understood now why his grandfather had spent so much time speaking with him, readying him for fears he had never known, horrors that didn’t seem to exist. It was all for this. Vennoss had known war would come to them some day. He had wanted to make sure Jaden was ready, but he must have known nothing could have prepared him for this. Everything had been destroyed in a matter of hours. Everything had been lost in an instant. All the wisdom in the world could not have done battle with the emotions he now felt. He was beaten, empty and alone. Aches were rampant throughout his entire body as his head throbbed with the echo of gunfire from the night before. There was nothing left, nothing he could do.
It was no longer safe in Callibra so close to the military force. Jaden knew he would have to leave, if he wished to live. His grandfather had wanted him to go north, but there was nothing for him there. He could go west and seek shelter in one of the safe nations, but knowing that the military force had come from that way, he wasn’t sure if any of them would be friendly anymore.
Jaden looked up into the trees again, now seeing the droplets and their chaotic rhythm as they danced down through the leaves.
What is this world? He suddenly found himself wondering. He knew of the beauty that it possessed, yet it all seemed so alien now. These trees had grown tall on the mountain from its dirt. They had been sculptured by their environment; by the amount of rain in the seasons, the many vines that threatened to choke them and the various insects that made them their home. They could just as easily not have existed, and yet here they were, standing tall, defying the laws of uncertainty with their presence alone. They were beautiful, the highest expression of what they were.
A shudder of pain washed over him. He could run from the tragedy only for so long before questions and memories began to take control of his mind again. His mother was dead. His family was lost. They were gone. Why? Why had it happened? Why now? How could such cruelty be real?
For all the beauty there was, it was bitterness that seemed to reign in his thoughts. The marvel of the wilderness, the Earth and its rings and all the wildlife that roamed in between, all of it meant nothing. There was only the tainted memory of what was, what he thought had been, and all of it had been a lie.
This world was evil.
He felt himself falling inside as he curled over onto the hard wet stone, the pain unbearable. Tears were coming freely to his eyes as everything replayed over and over, making him want to scream, to cry out for someone or something to come and save him, to take him away from this and put an end to the misery. He couldn’t go on like this. He couldn’t hold these memories if his sanity was to be left intact.
The seconds turned into minutes as he lay broken outside of the cave, his eyes drained and voice a frail whisper as he mouthed the question “Why?” a final time.
When he could find no answers and cry no more, he sat up, staring downward into the trees. The aches had not left. The visions still seemed real. The questions ever present.
Why? Anger began to surface. Why were his emotions tormenting him so? Why couldn’t he escape this pain? Why couldn’t he break free of its hold?
He had to do something. Anything. He needed to move, to be heard or to see something outside the small space he had found himself trapped within. He stood up and walked past the cave, heading east. He didn’t care what he was doing, all he knew was that he would go now, and walk to wherever the road would take him. He would travel until he found a low ridge he could cross easily, and then he would make his way around the mountains to the south. Unless there were men stationed around the entire area, he would be safe on this route.
It felt good to be moving. It distracted him. By having to navigate over the slippery rocks and mudslides, he was forced to use all of his concentration just to remain upright. There were no manmade trails set through the mountains; he had to force his way through the shrubs, fallen trees and greyed, collapsed branches as he went, welcoming each challenge as a means of escape. Finally he could be free of the torment, as long as he kept moving.