Spring is early and short at this end of the world. The rain mountains to the east of the village; that stood to the side of the river Ler, which opens to the sea of Aranthi to the west is clearly visible in the morning light, a scene only granted in the spring.
The mountain peaks are cloudy for the better and worst part of the year, and hands of the sea of mist that surround the continent reach to the land much closer here than anywhere else on the continent.The mid-spring winds were blowing with butterflies sizzling in the wind to the smell of blossoming flowers, flowing through the wind like a low pitch in a song, unaware to any.
The River Ler, life vein of the land gurgled down the land through the woods synonymous to the suffocating sound rising from the black-robed man’s throat.
Rip that laugh off him. Nip it. Rip it. A voice echoed in the mind of the Mad God.
“What are you laughing at?”, the Mad God asked. Its face plastered in glee, a handsome face if not for the cracks that covered its face giving it the appearance of a broken statue found in old deserted temples. The god wore a long coat that exposed buttons through the length of the jacket and it reached in length just below the knee which was covered by black fitting trouser. The coat was a riot of ivory white and yellow gold and the collar of the coat stood up at the sides and fluttered in the wind.
The man, on the contrary, was dressed in a black dirty tunic and loose trouser tied around the waist, the fabric looked as if it had been ripped in many areas and had been patched up with other materials just like his face which was covered in grey beard with scabs from earlier wounds that littered between the strands of hair that covered his face.
“khehakhakha at a ghod’s vkanity”, the madman choked out the words. Anyone would if his throat was being throttled.
Arrogance. Cried the voice in the periphery of God’s mind.
“Are you the source?”, the Mad God asked though some part of its consciousness didn’t expect any answer. A choking man answers in spits and spurts. Always.
“Knk ku klaim kukself ak ghod. kan’t yu fiker out.”, the madman squawked.
Kill him. The voice bellowed in the mind of the god. Ignoring the voice, the being stared at the man for a while trying to read him. The man’s head was lolling around his neck, while his long rusty hair fluttered in the wind. His hair gave the impression that it hadn’t seen water for some time, his smell certainly reinforced the fact and the turban that was usually used to cover his rust-colored hair, was lying on the grass beneath his worn out shoes that were wading in the air desperately trying to touch the grass beneath him.
And it seemed like the man was starting to lose reign over his own body; his mouth was still set in a smirk as though frozen in time, not even a muscle on his face twitched. But his eyes were searching something. A possible way to escape perhaps. But wouldn’t he need to touch his feet to the ground first?
“I believe you are. “, the God whispered to the man’s ear, while tightening the grip around the man’s throat. ” You must know what I am. I must caution you, unlike my ilk that you have met before. My actions are not restrained. I can destroy you.”
The madman suddenly started choking and spluttering. Nothing remotely comprehensive was coming out of his throat now. Even the smirk had gone from his face and after some time, he went silent. The mad God examined the madman, who had gone completely quiet in its hands after a series of spitting and retching. It considered the man for a while then gave a shrug and released the man; letting him fall to the ground with a thud.
The Mad god took a few steps back from him and looked down at the man impassively, as the man rolled on the ground clutching his throat; groaning his way back to his senses. After a few more moments of moaning and eating dirt, the madman turned to look up at the god. There were confusion and bewilderment in his eyes but his mouth was set in a scowl. It seems the man may never have had complete control over his senses.
Should I throttle him for some more time? Maybe not. He had enough fun.
“A god with a fickle mind hehha haaaah … haaaaah” The madman’s face altered into a sneer or as close to one can make when one is still gasping for lost breath. “You do know that you are trying to intimidate a mad man, you won’t kill me by butchering this sack of life here”
True. Very true. How do I hurt him now? He asked the voice. Silence. Nothing when needed.
The being went back to watching the man lift himself from the ground. The mad God had seen his type before. Mad men, servants of Irkia, every last one of them. Somehow someone using the madmen, who are supposed to be part of its domain never pleased it. So the mad god had made it a pass time to torment them.
But it was the first time the mad God had met the source, but it didn’t seem like the thing whatever it is, was here. It had heard of the source before. The guardian, the plague whatever the men had chosen to call it, is powerful, everyone admits it so.
“A madman with a message”
“haha.. no … not you, it’s for someone else…. unlike you I have a purpose and has places to be “, the man nodded to himself then stopped and turned around. “But I know that the end of the next winter trials will interest you, that is if you visit Ayankal”.
This time, though both of them laughed. Why not? After all, madness is someone laughing at nothing.