By: Bailey Pennington
Edited by: my twin Jasmine George-Brooks
This book is dedicated to Jasmine, who
will hopefully encourage me
to finish it. She has been a good
Sister.
Prologue
Dodat shuffled his way through the woods, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Eyes wandered about him as he walked, always watching. The forest was molding, crashing and tearing as he continued upon his way. His strength seemed to be faltering along with the trees.
He hardly ever allowed himself to believe he would die someday-even as a mortal he had fought to reject the idea, and then as an immortal, had thoroughly abandoned it. Only now as he looked back to the past did he realize just how blind he had been. No one can live forever. For years he had been slowly falling apart, his body decaying little by little, piece by piece; and in his naivety, he hadn’t even realized it.
His vision came in and out of focus, the trees a blur spanning miles in front of him. His body was failing, but slowly, oh so slowly. His determination drove him on. Hunching his shoulders, Dodat continued on his way.
The old man knew his time had come. He had lived many eons, time spent without waste; a full, well-rounded life that had brought him many joys. If he could no longer do the duty the world had appointed him, then he had right to live no longer. As soon as that thought crossed the immortal’s mind, he felt as if the roots of many of those problems, so very…essential to his many years, now seemed insignificant.
After what seemed like hours of senseless, unfeeling walking he came across a meadow of grass, once overflowing with water and other nutrients. Now, however, it came across as weak and feeble. This is what the world has come to, he thought to himself. What was once life is now death.
The sight that would’ve once angered him now made him feel relieved. The responsibility of nurturing the world was no longer in his power and therefore no longer his responsibility. A weight had been lifted of the old man’s overworked shoulders. His life had been fulfilled; he could now rest in peace.
Dodat moved to his shed, stumbling slightly across the uneven ground. The structure lay in the center of the dying meadow. So close; yet so very far away. Limping, he dragged himself the remaining distance. Breathing heavily, he surveyed the area around him, one final time. Then, with a final heave, he closed the door behind him. A voice whispered out from the darkness, calling his name.
“Master!”
“Novo,” said old man in a throaty whisper, the barest of a smile marking his lips, “I’d wondered where you’d gone,” The servant blinked at his master, unsure of just what the man meant.
“Take over, now you can,” the immortal whispered, his eyes shifting blindly throughout the room-as if he was foreseeing something important. “If you should fail, the selfish will domineer.”
“Sir, you’re not well,” Novo said, “Your face, sir, it is white. You are so very pale!”
“You are to take my place Novo.” Dodat’s voice fell from above his person, floating about him, as if Novo had heard it as if through water. Upon Novo’s face shone desperation. He pleaded to the man.
“Master! I cannot-”
"You can," Dodat said. "Because you're stronger than they are, Novo."
"Master, no! You must not go where I cannot follow!"
“Do not ask me to stay Novo when it is my time to go, know your place in the world, as is the way of things,” the master spoke this in such a way that it was not a command.
“I won’t master.” Novo argued, tears brimming his eyes.
Dodat shook his head. "And then what of Eksta? What will happen if it is to fall into the wrong hands? You must stop that from happening, Novo."
“What if I am in the wrong hands master, what then?” he asked.
“I believe in you, Novo, because you are a good person.”
Novo’s mind urged itself to accept his master's logic, but his heart wouldn't hear of it. A whisper told him that he could do little for Eksta anyway.
"I won't, Master!" the servant responded.
His master looked at him, and Novo met the gaze with his own determined glare.
“Novo!” In Dodat’s voice the screams of a thousand men could be heard. “I have told you to go, so flee! Run as if Satan himself was at your heels!”
All at once, Novo knew.
The journey of death is for one person and one person alone. For Dodat, the time had come. He was ready to face the fate that awaited him, whether it was good or bad.
And so he ran. He fled as if Hell’s wrath was at his heels. And he did not look back.
Already Dodat’s eyes had begun shifting in all directions, out of his control, the world blurring in front of him. Leaning against the wall for support, he knew, finally, that he could not hold onto life any longer. He was hanging from life, dangling by a single thread. Then he did something he had never done before.
He let go.
