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PART II: THE REVENANT
A revenant is a forsaken creature. Driven mad by immortality, it craves only death...for itself and all others.
The morning was fading into afternoon, and the sun was very bright this day, casting down rays the large field of Honshaw crops was more than willing to soak up.
James rode through the field in his Honshaw-Reaper. The ride wasn't very comfortable, and it certainly wasn't quiet, but it got the job done, he supposed.
Honshaw plants were well known for being stubborn and tough. It took a lot of work and a lot of processing, but they were made into many different foods all by themselves and used as ingredients in even more, so they were a staple, a rock-bottom necessity here in Kelland. The profits were there if you put in the work.
Or at least the profits used to be there, James thought as he continued his bumpy, noisy ride.
He'd been doing this for his whole life, over 60 seasons now, and it seemed things were getting worse and worse here. Costs were going up, but farmers like him were being forced to reduce prices. You just couldn't get the same payout from the same volume of crops.
And what was the President doing? Nothing, of course. He just took anything the Il'Dorani felt like giving. They were sitting on literal mountains of Raefite mineral that they weren't even using. Why not let Kelland have it for a fair price?
But no, they were always bringing up the old days, trying to make Kelland feel bad about the actions of their ancestors. What about the actions of the Il'Dorani today? They were hurting people, too, with their selfishness.
Just then James felt the Reaper jerk to the side and he heard a loud knocking noise from the front engine. Even louder than the damned machine was normally.
He quickly pulled the stop lever. If you let it go on too long, the whole engine might seize up, and then you'll be in for at least 6,000 Kael just to repair it. Might as well get a new one at that point.
James knew he couldn't afford to buy or repair a Honshaw-Reaper, so he hopped out of the driver's cabin to inspect the damage up front, hoping that it didn't look as bad as it had sounded.
Must've been a damned rock or something, he thought.
He hoped that one day he'd earn enough to pick up one of the newer models that floated above the ground. He'd been hoping that for fifteen years now, though, and he never got any closer to having that sum of money on hand.
I guess I'm just stuck with the rolling model forever, he thought.
As he got up front toward the engine, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye.
He snapped his head up and looked harder. Yeah, he really did see it.
A ways across the long field of Honshaw, there was figure standing there, waist deep in the crop. Just standing there. It looked like a man, and he was silhouetted, a dark outline of a man.
Except, from the direction of the light, he really shouldn't be that dark, thought James. But what did he know?
He couldn't stop staring. Who was this, and why were they in his field?
He started to move toward the figure, to demand answers from the stranger, but in between one moment and the next the man was gone.
James stared for a long time but the figure did not return.
It hadn't looked like a child playing games as sometimes happened with the bored youth these days. James hadn't seen the figure duck down to take refuge in the crop either, so what happened?
He forced himself to turn away. He had bigger problems, namely the possibly broken Honshaw-Reaper. When he turned back to it, he felt his heart thump up into his throat when he was confronted with a man, standing quietly behind him.
He had been so momentarily frightened, that his sharp scream had come out as silence.
He gathered his breath and held his chest. "Mister! Mister, you'd better explain what you're doing on my land, creepin' up on a person like this!" He'd stepped forward in anger, but as he took in more of the stranger, he regretted moving closer.
The man did not look healthy. He was thin and gaunt, bordering on emaciated. His gray clothes were not of a fashion worn in Kelland. More like something seen worn by outlanders from other parts of the world.
His skin was a dark brown, similar to the skin coloring of the Il'Dorani. Except, to James the man's skin color did not look a healthy shade of brown. It was...pale brown, leeched of saturation. It didn't look good, nor did the patchwork of hair growing above the hollowed out face of the man.
The eyes were very cold. They kept staring, and the man said nothing. James felt a strong sense of menace coming from this man.
Forcing himself to move, he lurched toward his driver cabin and pulled the large machete he used when a personal cut was necessary in the field. He brandished it in front of him.
"Mister. I don't care who you are, but you'd better be moving away from here before I call the Reg. Agents!", James tried to sound forceful when he said it but he was already withering under the cold stare of the strange man.
Kelland Regulatory Agents were not seen much in these outlying rural areas, but James was hoping the man didn't know that as he seemed to not be from around there.
"James", the man said. James didn't know why the man saying his name made him even more afraid, but it did.
"James, if you were to die, how long would it take for your wife to get home and realize? How long before it was known to your authorities?" The voice was flat and dull, but there was a whisper, a very faint hint of an echo that accompanied it.
That was all James needed to hear. He turned and flat out ran, cutting crosswise through the crop, heading back to his house to call the Reg. Agents.
The crop was only waist high, but it still slowed him down more than he wanted, and he wasn't as young as he used to be. He didn't want to look back but he couldn't hear anything behind him.
He chanced a look back. He screamed as he realized the thin man was directly behind him. He made no noise or even appeared to run, but he was right there.
Then James tripped up in an indentation in the ground and he fell forward, crashing through the thick crops and rolling over a few times on the ground.
He tried to make his old body move but it was slow going trying to stand up.
Then the man was there over him, blocking the sun.
In a flash, a thin hand shot forward and grasped the old farmer's forearm, yanking him to his feet. He screamed again as the fingers touched his flesh. He was being burned by the fingers, but not by heat. The man's hand was so cold it was literally freezing his flesh solid.
In desperation, James realized he still held the machete in his other hand. He used the strength of his fear to shove the entire blade deep into the man's stomach.
"OOHHH!", the thin man buckled and dropped to the ground. "AAAAAAHHH!! You...you've killed me! Aaahhhhh!" He fell to the ground and began writhing around, screaming all the while.
James could not help but be transfixed by the man's gyrations, but he tore himself away. He had to get to the house and call the Reg. Agents to pick up this body.
But when he turned around the man was standing there calmly, with the blade still buried deep in his midsection.
"Sorry, James. I was just having some sport." He pulled the blade out of his stomach in a casual manner and held it out to James, handle first. "If it will make you feel better, you can have this back." Then the man smiled a horrible, malevolent smile.
Now James was so frightened he was operating only on instinct. He ran past the man as fast as he could, which wasn't very fast at this point. The thin man just smiled and seemed content to move to the side and let James pass.
Cradling his arm as he staggered into his home, James slammed the door shut and set all the locks, backing away quickly from the door all the way through his front room. He had to get to his com-set to call the regulators.
He looked down at his arm as he moved, where the fingers had grabbed him were black gouges in his skin. The pain was terrible. At least his wife wasn't home. She would be safe. James kept moving.
A knock at the door stopped him.
James knew he needed to be moving, needed to call for help, but he couldn't stop staring at the door.
Now there were two knocks in quick succession. Then the voice of the man.
"James, I know you hear me knocking. Let me in and I promise you I'll make your death quick."
Just when James thought he couldn't be any more frightened, the man kept upping the game. And yet, he had asked to be let in? Maybe this thing couldn't enter unless invited? It must be!
James steeled himself. "NO!! No, I won't let you in. You can't come in!"
There was a pause. Then the voice again. "You're not going to let me in?"
James had a terrible case of dry-mouth. He swallowed and licked his lips. "No! You can't come in!"
Again a pause. James took this time to turn and again make his way to his com-set.
Then there was thunder. A loud sound:
THOOOM!
and James was thrown backwards as his front door exploded inwards into shards. There was light and smoke along with the overpowering sound, and now James was half-blind and partially deafened in one ear, knocked to the floor and having trouble getting up.
He saw the dark figure framed in the fire of the doorway. In less than an instant the figure was standing over him, again blocking the light. The hand snaked out and caught James by the front of his shirt, hauling him into the air and bringing him face to face with the gaunt man.
He was smiling that horrible smile. And then that horrible flat voice and the whispered, half-heard echo.
"James, you should have let me in. I wasn't lying, I would have killed you quickly."
James started to stutter, tried to speak but the man cut him off.
"You had your chance, old man. Now I guess I get to do things the fun way."
At this point, James truly did not have long to live, but what he did have left felt like years. Years and years of terrible, burning agony.
Click to read Chapter 11 - Flying Lessons |
