Death of an Innocent
As he stepped through the archway and felt the now familiar wave of nausea and pins and needles, Simon thought that he heard the faint echo of a curse and then a scream in his mind. Don’t leave, Red Boy. You are needed here. Come back! It quickly faded. Simon found himself back in the clearing. The fire was almost dead, it was cold, and he shivered in his nakedness. Kin Slayer was uneasy at his side and seemed to whisper a warning. There was no sign of Ubadah. By the height of the moon, he figured that he hadn’t been gone very long. A few minutes ago, he’d stood here and howled at the moon. He remembered the wolves; they wouldn’t be far away. He drew Kin Slayer and the sword hummed, its ruby glowing faintly. There was enough moonlight to be able to see reasonably well, his night vision had improved considerably these past few months. He made his way to the birthing stone. Close by, a wolf howled. The pack was near. They would not defile his Ju.
He took up a position with his back to the stone and waited. Soon the wolves appeared. The leader approached with a lolling gait, expecting an easy meal. He died before he realised that Simon was there. The rest of the pack attacked in anger. Kin Slayer revelled in the exercise. By the time six more wolves lay dead, the rest of the pack gave in to common sense and left to lick their wounds and fight over the unexpected leadership vacancy.
Simon gently picked up Ju’s body and wrapped it carefully in the skins she had been wearing. He carried her into the forest. Beneath an ash tree, he used a flat rock to dig a deep hole in the soft earth. When necessary he used Kin Slayer to help. The Sword cut through the tree roots like it cut throats, with sublime ease, but whispered with impatience that it needed to feed. Simon ignored the Sword and gently placed Ju’s body in the grave. He bent down, closed her eyes, and kissed her forehead. She looked serene in death. “Farewell, my love. At least the wolves won’t get you here. Thank you for making the last few months the happiest of my life. You were my first true love. I will never forget you. Sleep peacefully beneath the ash grove.” He wiped a tear from his eye and began to push the earth over her body. By the time he had stomped down the surface, he was filthy again.
With his face streaked with tears, earth, and wolf blood, he made his way towards the caves. The camp was quiet. The fire was burning, but everyone had retreated to their caves. They would be replaying the events of the night, over and over, trying to make sense of things. Simon wondered how the old chief would take the loss of his daughter. Tomorrow, there might be similarities between the tribe and the wolf pack.
What was Ubadah’s plan, he wondered. It must have something to do with the baby. He went to his cave but there was no one there. The familiar items made his heart ache again. He donned a loincloth and moved on. Where would they take the baby, not to the chief’s cave? Of course, Wa would take it. He made his way to the medicine woman’s cave. As he approached, he heard a woman’s scream from the cave. He drew Kin Slayer and approached cautiously. He crept to the entrance and peeked inside. A fire was burning, casting enough light to see shadows moving. He paused, letting his eyes accommodate to the reduced light in the cave. What he saw shocked him and he rushed inside the cave, screaming “No!”
Wa lay dead against one wall of the cave, her head smashed like a watermelon against the wall. Next to Wa, one of her apprentices lay gurgling with blood pouring from a deep wound in her neck, her jugular severed. She died as Simon looked at her. He registered the fear in her eyes as her life force departed. At the back of the cave, barely visible, but illuminated by the fire as shadows on the wall, Ubadah stood. He held the baby by its feet. He swung the tiny boy in his hand, like a cruel child might swing a cat by its tail. Simon was too late. He could do nothing but watch in disbelief and horror as Ubadah smashed the child’s skull against the wall of the cave.
The next few moments seemed to Simon to take both an instant and an eternity. Barely had the child died when Kin Slayer’s tip found Ubadah’s heart. The Sword sang like it had never sung before. The ruby glowed bright. In his head, Simon heard the sword scream in ecstasy. We are complete! Ubadah, as he died, looked deep into Simon’s eyes. “It cannot be. You cannot live. I have just killed your ancestor.”
Simon pitied him. As Ubadah died, the last words he heard were Simon’s. “You fool, Ubadah. You have just killed your own son.” Simon saw agony, despair, and then understanding in Ubadah’s eyes.
The baby died.
The child that carried the genes of the Everlasting Hero died. The child that would be the ancestor of Ubadah died. The child that would be the ancestor of Simon Redhead died. He died at the hands of his father, who was also his descendant. The credulity of Time itself was stretched.
Ubadah died. He died before he was born, at the hands of one of his descendants who could not exist, because he had just killed his child. The foundations of Time itself were under threat.
Simon Redhead lived. He lived, despite the fact that his direct ancestor had just died as a baby. The fabric of Time itself was broken. It could not accept the paradox. For an instant, Time stalled. Then there was the equivalent of a second big bang.
As the Great Old Ones had foreseen and had prepared for, the two who were one returned to the son and the multiverse was born. All of the probabilities were now possible. Their experiment was a success.
In his cave, Manfred slept, unaware that the greatest event since the Big Bang was taking place under his nose. When he awoke, he was back at Wizards’ Keep and he didn’t know how he had gotten there.
Simon staggered from the cave, waves of previously unexperienced emotion flowing through him. Dawn was breaking. The rising sun illuminated something in the distance. He got only a glimpse before the familiar tingling sensation took him and he was sent back to his own time. When he stumbled onto the parapet at Wizards’ Keep, he wasn’t even sure whether he had seen it or if his eyes had been playing tricks on him. Floating above the landscape he could have sworn that there was an exact replica of Melasurej. The Wizards’ Keep was perfect in every detail except that it was constructed in pure white stone. He soon forgot about it when he saw the events unfolding below.