The Bell Tolls for Me

How much time had passed? Weeks, months, even a year?

Edgar awoke with a scream of pain that he quickly tamed. Moments ago, he’d been cast into that sea. There, its boiling water had seeped into its skin and boiled him alive. There was nothing quite so painful as dying in that manner. It was a state that he had visited upon many of his enemies for that very reason. It was one of his least favorite ways to die, and of late, he’d been doing it far too often.

It was difficult to quantify how much time had truly passed because it all happened so quickly. There was nothing but ceaseless action. Nothing that he could do had saved the vessel. After the explosion cast him from his bed, the water would start to boil, and then a twisted whirlpool would open beneath them that crushed the boats quickly. No manner of trickery he’d been able to devise could get them out of it.

Edgar calmly walked out of his cabin and onto the deck, ignoring the words of everyone that tried to speak to him. He walked to the railing, peering down below at the chasm that had opened up in the seafloor. He had attempted to send his familiar down there to figure out what he was dealing with, but that was a fruitless effort. It died as quickly as he did.

He assumed, from the chemical smell that he sometimes caught in the air, that what they were dealing with was a volcano of some kind. That, coupled with the fact that sometimes it would send up black rock that floated to the surface, all but confirmed his suspicion. Isabella hadn’t attempted any trickery with magic—rather, she had meddled with nature itself. How she did so he couldn’t rightly say, but he had felt it blister his skin and boil his blood far too many times to deny reality.

But he wasn’t broken. He wasn’t beaten. Neither of those were things that could happen to him. He was Edgar the Great. He was the greatest man that ever lived. Everything that he wanted to do, he could. There was no obstacle that he couldn’t overcome. There was no way to fail. That was the gift of the universe had given him.

He needed to think. He needed to innovate. He needed to become greater still.

***

How many years had passed? One, two, even a decade?

Edgar awoke and lunged out like a predator hunting for its kill. Time was of the essence. He’d found a way to get out of this, but it required the utmost speed. He kicked the door to his cabin off its hinges and burst out onto the deck, grabbing a knife that was always in the same spot. He ran to the mast and started slashing up the boat’s sail. Even as the crew shouted in alarm, Edgar paid them no mind.

He took various things around—wood planks, sticks, the handles of axes and shovels—and manipulated them with a precision earned over countless attempts. Over the years he had become a master at crafting this thing. Every other time, he hadn’t been fast enough. Every other time, the sail would get wet and rendered unusable. Every other time, some issue would render this plan a failure.

Not this time.

What Edgar had developed looked like a kite, but it was far larger. The sail was spread out across its surface perfectly. It was a masterpiece of design designed to catch the wind as a bird’s wings. It could handle what he needed to use it for. He had only succeeded in making this a few times, but the part that came next was pivotal. Edgar took a running start and leapt off the side of the boat, then cast a wind spell upward into his creation.

He had gotten to this stage before. Many other times, his craftsmanship was faulty on other occasions, the sail had gotten wet, or it didn’t prove as capable of catching the wind that he was hoping. Other times, he was unable to use magic precisely enough. But this time… this time, he soared upward into the sky. His arms screamed out in pain as they held on, but he endured. This was his way out. This was his path to freedom.

The kite reached the peak of Its ascendancy, and began to glide forward. Edgar laughed in triumph. He was free. He was free of that hell, of enduring pain unimaginable countless times in pursuit of an escape. So long as he managed to use his wind magic correctly, he could have glide far longer than any magic could carry him. All he had to do was hold on for as long as possible, and eventually land would come into sight.

Then… pain.

Edgar’s vision whited out momentarily, and when he came to, his ears were ringing, his vision was dancing, and his mind was unsettled. He looked around to make sense of the situation. He saw the kite of his design, burnt, spiraling through the air out of his hands. His hands were marked with branch-like redness that he had seen countless times before on those hit by lightning… or lightning magic.

Someone struck me with lightning, he realized.

Moments after this realization, Edgar plunged into the ocean. He felt his skin blister, his blood boil, his life slip through his fingers. The despair that he felt in that moment couldn’t possibly be quantified. It was unimaginable. It was endless. It was all-consuming. And when, finally, he died well and true…

Stolen story; please report.

Pain.

Edgar awoke with blurred vision, ringing ears, and a rattled mind. He spiraled through the air, his kite lost and burnt, his hands wracked with remnants of lightning. He’d been knocked unconscious when he’d been hit. That meant his worst nightmare was becoming a reality. He fell through the air, totally without purchase, before he fell back into that sea that had been the end of him moments ago.

Blistering skin. Boiling blood. His life slipping through his fingers.

***

Khan and Khan watched on the crow’s nest of a simple boat as Edgar plummeted back to the sea, broken. They stood in the place of the island Edgar had been seeking. Indeed—from the beginning, the land that he sought was nothing more than an illusion of their creation. And from the beginning, the only thing awaiting him out here was a trap.

Two strikes of lightning—more than enough to knock him unconscious, if only for a brief moment. They had been preparing that trap for months. Even if, if, Edgar had a way to overcome the clutches of the sea… the two of them were always waiting there, ready to cast him back into hell. The moment that Edgar allowed pride and stubbornness to push him on this course, his fate was sealed.

***

How many ages had passed? A decade, a century, even a millennium?

Pain. Struggle. Death.

That was his existence. He would awake in pain after being struck by lightning, he would struggle briefly to try and escape the boiling ocean, and then he would die in agony in that horrifying body of water where the yawning maw of hell awaited him deeper within. He wasn’t quite sure who he was, nor why he was here. He found himself forgetting things. All that he knew was that he was great. He knew that he was too great for this to be happening to him. And yet it was—it came without an end. Pain, struggle, death.

Solutions came to him. Magic? He couldn’t remember it. Kite? He wasn’t sure what that was. The boat? He didn’t know how to reach it. The Archwizard? He didn’t know who that was. Isabella? Hatred—that was all he felt. This shouldn’t be happening to him.

He was great. He was born great. And he died great, time and time again, until he couldn’t remember anything at all. And then… he became nothing.

***

The Archwizard felt a terrible stir in his chest. It was like a piece of him had shattered. His shock had been utterly unimaginable when he saw His Majesty struck by lightning out of the sky. What he felt in his chest was far more frightening. The Archwizard had created a link between Isabella and Edgar. As sure as day, he felt both their souls. But now…

“YOUR MAJESTY!” The Archwizard ran to the edge of the sinking ship and watched Edgar the Great plummet into the sea.

He’ll die, and time will reset, the Archwizard told himself to provide comfort. But he could already tell that something was wrong. He couldn’t feel Edgar’s soul any longer. He’d never felt anything like this. Indeed, he’d never seen any of the major mistakes that His Majesty had ever made.

The ship began to crack and splinter as the whirlpool beneath them grew in intensity. The cold current of this ocean coupled with the violent heat coming from beneath created a tremendous upheaval in the waters. The ship began to tear in various points, and the Archwizard stumbled, staring out at where Edgar the Great had fallen into the sea.

He had a few moments to reflect.

He left me here, the Archwizard realized. He went out on his own, attempting to escape alone. And now…

The Archwizard was thrown violently back, hitting the deck hard. He cast powerful wind magic that allowed him to glide upward into the air. How long did he last? 30 seconds? A minute? Eventually, his endurance failed him, and he plummeted down into the boiling sea like all the rest.

Pain. Struggle. Death.

***

Isabella and Valerio stayed on the deck of the ship as they moved through the ocean waters at a calm, unhurried pace. They had taken this voyage countless times, waiting for the day that Edgar would one day follow a few days after them. By trailing behind them, he hoped to make it to the island without encountering them. Every voyage had been like this—Isabella had grown used to the sea.

Suddenly, Isabella put her hand to her heart and doubled over, her breathing heavy. Valerio looked at her in a panic and grabbed her.

“What’s the matter? Are you alright?!” Valerio asked in raw concern.

“I felt…” Isabella exhaled, waving him away as she came to stand. Her whole body was shaking. “It felt like… a burst of pain, weakness, and death from within. But now…” she laughed, then looked at Valerio. “Look at the Crystal Lake of the Ithilian!”

As Thalvassë, the two of them could gaze upon the Crystal Lake that bound all of the elves together. Of late, its purity had been marred by a pollutant. But as the two of them peered within their consciousness to look at the totality of the elves…

“It’s pure. Pure as the sky, pure as the ocean blue,” Isabella said in exuberance. “That means that he’s…”

“Gone,” Valerio finished. He started laughing too. “He’s gone?”

Isabella looked out to the ocean. “He’s gone. He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone! I… I can’t believe it.”

Isabella felt more joy upon learning of her father’s death than she had ever received from him in life. She was free—they were free, all of the citizens of Dovhain. Edgar the Terrible was no more. He died as he lived; in pathetic pursuit of the perfect illusion.