A Boy's Darkness

The owl’s shriek pierced the twilight gloom as its wings beat a soft thump against the air. The ghostly noise frightened the boy, who shot up from his place against a tree. His breath came short and fast, and his eyes darted about in unease. His rest had been fitful, and waking to the owl’s alarum only heightened his agitation.

A few moments passed before the boy let himself loosen. He sank back down against the tree, only now taking note of how dark the wood had grown since he’d sat down for a rest. The dark and solitude pressed against him, a coverlet of danger and the unknown. Swallowing away his trepidation, the boy reached out for something to steady him. His hand found a gnarled branch, and he grasped it tight as though clutching a claymore.

He sat there awhile, branch in hand should he be attacked by a creature of the night. But nothing came. The darkness simply grew closer and closer, deeper and deeper, as night fell in earnest. A chill wind brushed its way through the canopy above, making a chorus of groans as the boughs above swayed. And slowly, the groans became words: “They’ve abandoned you, boy.”

The boy stood again, raising his branch. The wind died back down, but the words continued. “They’ve gone on without you. Why would they wait? You’re weak. You slow them. You get in the way. You’re a useless liability.”

“Shut up!” The boy swung the stick in an attempt to seem brave. It tasted a lie. “They’ll be back!”

“You can believe that.” Though faceless, the voice sneered through the blackness. “You’ll only have yourself to blame when you lose them for good.”

“Shut up!” The boy began running away from the tree, trying to escape the voice that crept its way from nothingness. He tore his already ragged clothes on the brush, and nearly tripped over roots. But the voice did not leave him.

“You think you can find them? You can barely find your own supper. They’re long gone, boy.”

The boy said nothing, but he felt his cheeks dampen. He kept running, almost crashing into trees as the light grew even dimmer. Another owl let out a cry somewhere above, and its voice sounded like the shriek of a spirit. The boy ran faster, and the voice laughed.

“Just stop running, fool. You’re dead already, no point in prolonging your uselessness.”

Letting out a single, choked sob of loneliness and fright, the boy ran three more steps before crashing through a tall bush. Toppling over, the boy fell through it onto a gravel beach along a river. The faint crescent moon shimmered in the waters, and the boy sighed with relief at the light. He pulled himself to his feet, leaning on the branch he still carried, and walked to the riverside. Kneeling, he bent down for a drink, only to start back.

His reflection, dark and distorted though it was, stared back at him with glowing eyes. The voice laughed. “I told you, running is useless. I, unlike your friends, cannot abandon you. You’ll always be alone, save for me.”

The boy clutched his head. “Shut up!”

“Why? Does the truth hurt?” The eyes flared in the river. “You’re a failure, boy. You’re a burden to everyone, and everyone abandons you. And me, well...if it weren't for me, you’d be long dead. I am the only thing that gives you worth, Énna. You may as well embrace it.”

“No!” The boy leapt to his feet, and began striking the water with his branch. The splashes startled yet more birds, sending them into the air with varied cries becoming a ghastly chorus. And between them all, the voice laughed. The boy kept striking the water until the moon was covered by a cloud, and his reflection vanished. Panting, the boy fell to his knees.

“Énna.”

The voice seemed to come from behind him. Screaming, the boy shot to his feet, lifting his branch again. The evil, burning eyes gazed out at him from the trees. Still crying out in anger and terrible sadness, the boy charged the eyes, only to have his branch caught in an iron grip. The boy began sobbing from desperation as he pitifully kicked and hammered at the figure with the eyes. ‘You’re wrong! You’re wrong! You’re wrong!”

“Énna!”

Suddenly, the voice was different. The boy looked up into the eyes as the moon reappeared. The dark face of his companion was revealed, almost black in the night. The eyes, though still fiery, showed concern. The boy’s sobs overcame him, and he pressed himself against the man. The dark-skinned man hesitated before resting his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Énna, what is—”

“You left me.” The boy barely made himself heard over his tears. “Where were you?”

“You were sleeping, so Taimi and I scouted ahead.” The man blinked slowly. “But you weren’t where we’d left you.”

The boy drew a shaky breath, and stepped back from the man. “Melas…”

Uncomfortable, the man released the boy. “Taimi will find us soon. Come on.”
The boy nodded, and began to follow the man back into the wood. Before he did, he dried his eyes and looked back at the river. “You’re wrong.”

Barely had the boy and the man left the river to find their companion than a faint black mist formed over the river, flaming eyes staring after the boy. “I’m never wrong. Wait and see, boy.”