Despair and Redemption

1991.05.28 Despair and Redemption By Matthew Sibole

The usual quiet of the forest was disrupted by the cracking of wood against bone.

“Take that, you black troll’s bitch!” Tarin yelled in disgust as he bashed another rogue. An unseen foe slid up behind him and buried a dagger into his shoulder. The ranger screamed and brought the full force of his quarterstaff onto the man’s ribs. They collapsed like twigs under a fallen log. The sound was sickening. Even small woodland creatures stopped in horror at the unnatural sound of cracking bone and splattering blood.

They were all down. Three rogues lay on the forest floor, bleeding and dying. Tarin removed the dagger from his shoulder blade. He knew the tip had cracked off and was lodged into something inside, but he was still filled with the rage from the fight, so he didn’t care. He flung the dagger into the dirt and spit on its late owner.

“Enjoy your date with Hextor you devils.” Tarin cursed. “This is one mistake you will not get to make twice.” He gathered the gold from their belts and resumed on his path through the forest.

“Death and despair, that is all loyalty brings. The world is full of mindless drones following insane marching orders for money or worst of all, idealism. Just because you steal, you must belong to a guild. Just because you fight, you must belong to an army. Just because you can heal, you must belong to a temple.” He ranted aloud to himself. He strode easily through the brambles and vines strewn across this seldom walked path. Tarin was making a pilgrimage towards his own temple, a clearing where there was a “shrine” to Obad-Hai. In the middle of a clearing, deep inside the thickest of the forest, there lay a shalm on a single tree stump. The stump was from a great oak and its absence allowed a single ray of sunlight to pierce the canopy of the forest. The remains of this tree were nowhere to be found. Tarin picked up the instrument and played a few notes. He sat on the stump and reflected on his time since leaving his home. The nature god made the winds fall silent and the sounds of animals fade away as silence enveloped the ranger and took him deep into himself.

He was filled with an image of his true father being struck by the third lance. The older man fell from his horse and landed hard on his back. Tarin heard himself cry out “Father!”, then saw himself as a boy run to the fallen knight’s side. His life flashed forward to the funeral. The baron was in attendance, but did not cry. His mother cried. He could see himself. He was crying. But the baron and the soldiers did not cry. They did not love him, as you do a brother. Weren’t they supposed to be “brothers-in-arms”?

“You bastards. You cold bastards!” the ranger screamed in to the dead forest. Eyes still closed, he continued on his inward journey.

His life flashed forward again, to more despair. He passed by the healing that had taken place. His mother showed unusual strength by asking permission to leave the halls of the castle for Tarin’s sake. The first part of their life in the outer lands was difficult, but a ranger helped them set up a hut and showed them how to survive. He flashed passed the love that grew between Gavin Blackblade and his mother. The happiness they all shared for years together. The days he spent with his step-father in the woods learning about Obad-Hai. No, Tarin’s meditation took him directly to the day he was not there and his life would turn upside down again.

He saw two worlds at the same time. He saw himself at the age of eighteen training with swords and shields, learning the martial ways of his birth father under the direction of the baron. “This will make you a better and more capable ranger,” he heard in the baron’s voice while he watched himself best other young soldiers. But on the other side of his vision, he saw Gavin fighting off giants with only his rudimentary magic and his quarterstaff. Others fought with him, stabbing with pitchforks and axes made for chopping wood, not tearing flesh. The fight was a massacre. Women were dead and desecrated. Men were dismembered and half devoured. Everything peaceful was destroyed.

Again Tarin’s mind flashed to the future. He saw himself skulking towards the giants’ caves. Tracking and searching for clues. He found them. He tracked them. He was filled with hope that he would save his friends and neighbors and family. But again, despair. Outside as a scarecrow was Gavin Blackblade. His stomach was opened and dried blood covered his legs and the ground below his unholy perch. His face still held the exhaustion of torture and pain of death. On the stump, Tarin’s eyes began to overflow with tears. His heart sank both in the world and in the dream. He couldn’t breath, drowning in his own self-pity.

Again his mind flashed forward to his last day as a ranger of Jinn. He walked the same path, back from the last home that he checked. He headed towards his own home. He had flashed past the birth of his godson, Gavin Jinn, heir to the throne of the barony. He flashed past his mother finding new hope and purpose as the boy’s nanny. He flashed past the months of duty and lives he’d saved from savage animal attacks. He flashed past the revenge that had been delivered by the sword of the baron himself on the murderous giants of the caves. No, his mind took him only to the day when he lost all hope, when he finally gave up on faith that a normal life could be his. It was the day he abandoned his sword and shield and cloak in the forest and walked away from his home forever.

Tarin’s eyes opened. The back of his shirt was warm and wet from blood. His meditation had taken only minutes in real time, but the ranger had relived a lifetime of fear, doubt, and anguish. He removed a potion given to him by one of his new allies in town and imbibed it. He felt the sting of bone mending and the itch of blood thickening. He moved his shoulder slightly, but the potion didn’t work fast enough. He yelped and went back to the previous position, although now the pain would just mock him from any way he held it. He held the small bottle in his hand.

“My ally,” he thought. He refused to call the paladin his friend. He could have no friends. To have a friend is to love someone. He was beyond that depth of feeling. There was no love in his heart. Although he sat on this stump and played the instrument of the nature god as Gavin had taught him, he did not feel a connection. He knew Obad- Hai was reaching out to him, but he would not reach back. The visions he saw were the demons of his own mind. He knew peace was just moments away. A change of heart was all it required.

“I’m sorry my lord,” Tarin spoke to the wilderness, “not today. I am your servant, but I am not a good one. I am not ready to release my pain. I may need the release of death before I can. Thank you for your silence, my lord. I will try again, I promise.”

With this, he laid down the shalm back on the stump and gathered up his quarterstaff. He saw the name engraved in the handle. “Blackblade”. His name. Not really. "McLeod". It was like a different life he’d lived before now. Those days were filled with the pageantry of squires and knights. And now, in Rimule, he was reliving those days again. Contests and tournaments. Fighting evil at the side of paladins and clerics. Doing the will of the God of Valor. No, the only will he abided was his own. He fought for those who were outmatched, but he did not do so for valor. He would rob Hextor of more lives. He would take from Heironeous the mindless minions who only followed their fathers, not their god. With this, he would earn his redemption. Then maybe Obad-Hai could speak to him and he would finally listen, and be at peace. Wiping the mud formed from dirt and tears away from his eyes, the ranger smiled.

“Redemption for me. Ha. That’ll be the day.” He turned to leave, letting his subconscious lead his feet as he had done since deserting his post in Jinn. He noticed he was retracing his steps back towards Rimule. He was headed back to his allies, back to his room at the inn, back to his meals at the Swine. Back towards his redemption.