"I pray for light within the darkness. For shelter in the rain. For love amongst my neighbors. For mercy in the pain. I pray for love unending. I pray for hate abstain. And when the night is over, I pray for day again."
I open my eyes to the darkness.
Ninety-nine sheep.
The march continues with little less than during the first attack. None has turned victim to the scourges, but starvation and dehydration lie in wait.
My bones chafe my insides with each step, and my skin clings so tightly that I fear my ribs are carving through. The path of the procession is marked by a line in the sand that begins at a place I cannot remember. But I know it would have been where the first captive lost his light.
With every passing day, the sun takes the stubborn resilience of our flames as further insult to the might of its own. The grains they turn to glass, and the soles of my feet have split open, then cauterized many times over.
It hurts.
The men of steel are perfectly fine despite their steel garments. They move across the earth like a natural disaster—unstoppable in their toil. I ponder the mettle of man it takes to lead these soldiers, and often have to stop before my imagination escapes with my head.
Mysterious as they are, their background is none of my concern. Nor is what lies on the other side of this journey. So long as my name is my name, these people will be freed long before that destination.
I haven't heard a word from the heavens since my capture... I'm trying to keep my faith, but there is a nagging, incessant, grating voice in my head that simply refuses to-
_**BOOM!**_
…
The men of steel are my enemies, but they are my example.
Yea though I blister, I will toil.
For I know in my heart that the heavens have eyes.
They will not let my pain be for naught.
Suddenly, a shriek rings through the desert.
I scarcely have the mind to ponder why a scream would come from behind me, or the time to turn my head before something tackles me from that direction.
My face bounces off the shattered sand. The impact leaves me dazed as another bloodthirsty screech starts up a terrible ringing inside my head. Five-fingered claws dig into my back and peel the skin off my spine with their descent.
Thrashing under the creature's weight, I try to reach into my pocket for my grandmother's finger, but the vile thing pins my wrist to the ground and shoots another blow to the back of my head.
"~~~~~~~~~!"
Luckily, it bellows something in a language I don't understand. It sounds human. Gambling its anatomy, I grab a handful of sand and throw it blindly. The creature wails in agony and falls to the side.
I push myself off the sand, stumbling forward like a newborn foal. There is a weight on my ankle all of a sudden that was not there before. I panic, thinking the creature still has a hold of me.
And tumble into the captive in front.
"Argh! Not this again!" Squalling Senior turns and pushes me away. "Tell your Gods that I'm not interested in participating in the Ritual of Sun and Dragon."
"I-" What? "Oh be silent, you old fool! Didn't you hear me hit the ground? The procession is under attack!"
"Hm?" The old man looks behind me. His expression falls as he sees the remnants of my victory. "Kid… you're telling me you did this on purpose?"
I turn around and find that the creature… has fled.
The old man's inner flame seems disturbed. It should be because all his prior mockery has proven futile. Pride is the third sin of man, but I cannot help but feel a hint of it welling up in my chest. "Not on my own. None of this would be possible without-"
"God, right?" He interrupted. "The heavens put you up to this?"
"Forgive me. I don't-"
"Oh, come off it!" Though unimpressive, the fire in his chest ignites to an alarming degree. He only has so much left to burn at his age; testing as he is, I couldn't help but fear for this brother's health. "Don't change your story now. That dumb, blind act doesn't save you a lick. He's chained to your god damned ankle for heaven's sake."
"He?" I asked. "No. Something attacked me a few seconds ago. It had the voice of a woman."
"You think I wouldn't have noticed any of that? Open your eyes, kid. There's a little boy lying face down in the sand with half his face body to a crisp, and you're the only one who could've noticed when he fell. Did your gods demand a sacrifice? Is that it? Or did you forget all about them when it was time to practice what you preach?"
The chains on our feet were slowly extending to their limit. If the conversation went on for any longer, he and I would be seen as an obstacle to its progress and slaughtered for it.
The old man finally spat, wasting some of the little water that was left in his body. "Goodness and mercy, my ass. I'd like to know why the heavens are always responsible for the sins of men like you."
It is the heat, I tell myself long before he's done talking. This man can no longer process the sight of blood running down my face. All the more reason he needs me to save him.
For the first time, our captors and protectors failed to notice a threat, and it was I who singlehandedly prevented our untimely demise. I serve my purpose as protector of this flock. I know in my heart that The Gods are smiling upon me.
It is as I come to this conclusion that the steel men's boots stop moving, their armored heads turning in our direction. The procession has become adept at following their step. First in line stops, followed by second, then third.
With my eyes, I don't need to wait for the cue to travel down the line.
But I am… af… prehensive of what is to come. An air of tension rises. Our captors only stop the march if something else is trying to stop it. We've trekked through the part of the desert where scourges lie in wait. Is it my assailant? I take a quick look around the sands. No. I can't see her; no one can.
Then… is it me?
During my conversation with the old man, the chains might have gone taut for half a second. They've unsheathed their swords for less. My hand sinks into my pocket reflexively. My heart falls out of my chest.
It isn't there.
My grandmother's finger.
It isn't there.
That woman… the assailant took it from me during the attack! That explains why she was so vicious; the heart of a thief is the hand of a killer. What am I supposed to do without my keepsake?
Earthshaking stomps herald a steel man's approach.
That finger is all I have left.
I see the flame of their souls morph in a terrible fashion. Like a creeping wisp of smoke, it travels down in the blackness of my vision and forms the outline of a clever eclipsing my body's entire length. It is a blasphemous application to the gift of life.
The steel men are very particular about their weapons. The blades they use to stab are not the ones they use to slash. Hence, when they choose a cleaver of all things from their vast array of weaponry, we know they come for the sheep.
'Yea though I stand eclipsed under the shadow of death, I fear not the darkness…'
_BOOM!_
The enemy is upon me before I know it. Words I've recited since birth come loose on the tip of my tongue. His weapon falls upon my head like a boulder that eclipses the sun. If he hits me with the dull side, it will shatter me. If he hits me with the blade, it will sever me in two. If I somehow manage to escape it, I will then rise off the ground with a metal gauntlet around my neck. I am going to die here. I know it. The weight of the world is a two-handed blade, and my back is not wide enough to stop its descent.
My legs melt in the heat of the sun. I fall to my knees with my hands above my head. The sound of a slaughtered pig escapes my lips as the butcher's knife comes to cut me up.
The weapon falls behind my head.
It severs a chain that, to my memory, does not exist.
And I live to feel the shame of an animal.
To the procession's almost collective relief, the men of steel walk the line from top to bottom, severing the chain links to the deceased. Flames jump up and down on the sand as if they were about to be set free. It is the happiest they've been since the start of the journey.
Under the wrappings, my eyes are wide open in a thousand-yard stare. The man of steel marches off, but there is no relief in my would-be killer's absence. In fact, it would be a better fate to have lost my head.
I can feel the old man's stare piercing into the side of my head. I wish to myself he doesn't say a word, but he doesn't and I wish he would. I still feel the shadow of the butcherman's blade. Except it is no longer cast upon my face, but my heart.
The people, I suppose they are just happy to be free of the excess weight, but even in my despair, there is more despair. I am troubled to witness another great feat from our captors. Steel men grasp both sides of broken chain, and there is a blinding flash of heat between their palms. Within seconds, the chains are stronger than ever.
I-
A lump forms inside my throat. My grandmother and grandfather are gone. My mother and father, too. Even if I do escape this fate, I wouldn't know where to place the first step in order to return to my village. Why do the heavens think I am capable of these tribulations? What have I done to deserve this name?
These are the thoughts of a non-believer.
You see, it is important every so often to rehearse with oneself the thoughts that lead astray. Like everything else in life, doubt is better confronted than left to fester.
With that, I've brushed myself off and am back on my own two feet. So what if I forgot the words to my favorite prayer? Believers strive for betterment, not perfection.
I am The Light That Fell From The Heavens! I know in my heart that The Gods wouldn't let me die! I am The Light That Fell From The Heavens! It doesn't matter if they severed a chain behind me! I know in my heart that I am the last member of this procession. And if it were not so before, I will never know. Ignorance is but one of many of Gods' gifts. Who am I to turn down divine intention?
I laugh to myself triumphantly, filling the old man with reassurance. Be still, my sheep. Your shepherd will not lose faith!
However, human nature gets the best of me some time after the march recommences. I do not see a child, but I see a sandstorm brewing from whence we came. And there is a flame walking in the center of the cloud of glass and dust.
A few hours later, the procession lies still. Our captors blocked us in at nightfall and forced the lot of us into a tight bundle. The sheep count themselves in a myriad of distant dreams. Some of food, some of shelter, and most of all, they dream of salvation.
Leaning against a pile of shivering bodies, I wonder what I'd see if the heavens put me to bed. Strangely enough, I see the world inside my dreams. I can never find my wrappings in time to save the ones I love. Although they never do need saving.
That, or my subconscious remembers that it's too late.
Not that I'll allow myself that luxury. The shepherd needs to be awake when the wolves come out to hunt. I still see that woman's flaming smoldering inside the dust. I need to know if she has my grandmother's finger.
A barrier of gray flame spreads out from our captor's shields. The world spins outside as winds howl against an impenetrable wall. Steel Men sit unmoving with their metal heads scanning every direction.
Ah. Silly me. How could I forget these sheep are claimed by the strongest wolves of all?
Come to think of it, the assailant screamed something during its attack. The words themselves remain indecipherable, but my tired mind is making connections against my will. Throughout my life, I've done my best to bury the memories where I myself spoke with that dark tone of voice, so I know very well when someone else is using it…
She sounds quite mournful to me now.
But for whom, I pray the heavens never let me know.