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The Beyond Lands

A Boy Condemned by Green Light Makes a Fateful Journey

By Charlie C. Published 3 years ago 6 min read
1

The green lights had condemned Itar sixteen years ago. All in his tribe knew that to disregard the omen would be to earn Aldarist’s punishment. Even now, as he prepared to march to the river, Itar could think only of the withered crops and emaciated herds they might suffer because of him.

Aldarist, god of the White Wastes, was never wrong. When green lights billowed across the night’s sky, it was a warning. Itar had been born under such a spectacle. He’d seen the green lances of light dance across the dark as he’d grown up, and he’d seen others escorted to the river when their time came.

To allow a marked child into adulthood: inconceivable.

Itar finished hacking away the last knots of his hair. With a sigh, he rose from the cushioned floor of his family’s yurt, and walked out into the evening. His mother, father and two younger brothers would be spared seeing his departure. Only Klast waited for him, bearskin cladding his lean frame, two spears on his back, another held like a staff.

“I’m ready,” said Itar.

Klast grunted, teeth grinding against a morsel of seal blubber. Tapping the butt of his spear in the snow, he led Itar out of the village. Even if Itar inexplicably found his way back, the tribe would move on in the night, so he’d never find them.

He wouldn’t led Klast see him cry though. He might not be permitted to reach manhood, but he would act as his father had taught him a man should. He’d show Aldarist his face and be brave against the god’s judgement.

The yurts disappeared soon behind the curtain of dusty snow falling. Klast marched ahead, holding a lantern to guide the way. Itar followed, not rushing, not faltering.

They’d walked for an hour when Klast spoke. “You know where we go?”

“The Beyond Lands,” said Itar, numbed.

Klast grunted. “I take no pleasure in what must be done. I do this for the good of the tribe.”

“I understand,” said Itar, letting the grizzled hunter stalk ahead.

In the absence of conversation, the snowy wind whistled. To their left, great pine forests made a blotch against the white. Itar had always asked his father and mother to take him on the caribou hunts. He’d wanted to slay a bear, to face a pack of wolves with just his spear, to see the tribe turn smiles on him for his prowess.

Of course, he’d never been taught how to survive in the White Wastes. Everyone else had known his fate. What would’ve been the point in training him? He’d been marked by the green lights.

Another sound built through the whisper of wind. Ahead, Klast halted.

Itar hurried to the hunter’s side. The noise deepened. Itar didn’t need Klast’s furrowed brow to tell him what it was.

Seconds later, the silhouette of a massive bear appeared in front of them. Itar’s mouth went dry and his hands clenched into fists. He’d seen the fangs his father kept as trophies, imagined such monstrous beasts, but his imagination had underestimated.

“Aldarist, favour me,” murmured Klast.

The bear reared, twice as tall as the hunter. It slammed back down, the impact shaking under Itar’s feet. Of course, he dared not run. Aldarist would punish his tribe if he didn’t reach the Beyond Lands today.

With another low growl, the bear charged. Klast shoved Itar back. The huntsman spun around, spear darting. A huge paw batted the weapon aside.

Klast tumbled, but righted himself quickly, stabbing out at the beast’s chest. Itar remained frozen, watching the enormous white bear blend in and out of the snow.

The spear snapped as the bear’s jaws clamped around it. Klast leapt back, drawing his second, keeping his eyes on the beast.

The bear roared and charged again. Klast tried to dive aside. A paw raked across his back, sending him down on his front. The spear rolled out of his reach. As he scrabbled across the snow, the bear stamped down on his ankle.

Itar ran at the creature. As he stumbled across the snow, the bear dragged a struggling Klast towards it, claws carving into the hunter’s leg.

Klast drew a knife, lunging. A red line split across the bear’s cheek. Shaking its head, it closed its teeth around Klast’s arm. A horrid tearing noise reached Itar, and he faltered, tripping in the snow.

When he looked up, the bear had turned to him. Itar’s heart froze. Klast lunged with his other hand, but the bear slammed a paw into his head, sending his limp body to the ground. It focused its eyes on Itar, teeth crimson with Klast’s blood.

Would it be better to face the Beyond Lands? Marked as he was, Itar would never be welcomed into Aldarist’s Hall if he died on this side of the river. Dying was dying though, as far as he could see.

Itar had only a small knife his parents had made for him. This would be the weapon used to spill his blood on the other side of the river, at the bank of the Beyond Lands.

He drew the knife, shivering. Klast tried hobbling to his feet, shaking his bloodied head. The bear prowled towards Itar.

“What are you doing, boy?” cried Klast. “You must reach the Beyond Lands before sunrise.”

Itar tightened his grip on his knife. The bear lowered its head, nostrils flared and teeth bared. The closer it stalked, the more terrifying it became, its head the size of a hound, each fang longer than his knife.

“You must run for the river, boy! Let me fight!” Klast struggled forward, then collapsed to one knee.

The bear ambled closer to Itar. His arm shook, the knife hilt growing slick in his hand, but Itar stood tall, ready. The bear roared at his challenge.

Green light bathed them. Blinking, Itar looked up. Between the stars, streaks of ghostly green wavered, glowing bright as the moon. A smaller wisp broke away from the lights. It snaked down towards the snow, and the bear gave a yelp.

Itar watched the bear go shambling into the night. Klast limped over to him, eyes wide in his bloodstained face.

“What does this mean, Klast?” said Itar.

“It means Aldarist favours us,” said Klast.

The wisp of green light continued down. It hovered over Itar, and his stomach tightened. He was more scared of this than he’d been of the bear. Moving lazily, the green light looped into a circle above his head, drifting down until it rested like a crown.

Klast’s face had gone paler. He stared in terror and bewilderment. Itar dared not breath.

Then the light faded. Above them, the emerald streaks sank back into the darkness.

Itar looked to Klast. The old hunter wiped dried blood from his face, breathing harshly.

“It seems Aldarist has judged you again,” he said.

Itar’s chest clenched. This had to be a trick. But by the serious set in the old hunter’s features, Itar knew it had to be true.

He’d been given a chance to become a man among his tribe, to hunt and forage and grow crops and tend herds as his mother and father did. He fell to his knees in the snow, grinning up at the sky.

Klast held out a spear to him. Itar took it, a shiver running through his body at the weight in his hands.

“I’ll teach you as much as I can on the way back,” he said. “Come, Itar, you’ll not see the Beyond Lands today.”

Fantasy
1

About the Creator

Charlie C.

Attempted writer.

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