The Following Weight

As the sun rose from the horizon, a fog rolled across the field. It rebounded off the marred ground as if the earth itself tried to rebuff its touch. Crooked crosses leaned in every direction, marking where a soldier had dropped. Some markers possessed splintered ends, others teetering on collapse. This monument was not an ordered display to fallen soldiers. Rather, the ground’s adornments appeared to have been thrown about by a giant.

Aric stood amongst the grave markers as the wind slid through the crosses with a low whistle that sounded like a predator stalking its prey. His rust-stained armor caught the morning light, signaling its lack of use. Contrasted with the greatsword clutched in his hand, which glowed a faint blue along its edge. Each pulse highlighted the embers crawling through the steel like dying coals. Aric had searched for a master smith and mage to perfect his weapon to aid him in winning wars. Each of the masters performed their work with far too much zeal and perfection.

Now as he marched through the burial markers, the tip of his sword dug a furrow in his wake. As the trail passed each cross, the blade pulsed in unison with a spirit rising from the ground entwined with the clinging clouds. By the time he returned to the first marker, a phantom emerged within the mist, reclaiming its body.

It hovered in front of Aric, pale and translucent, its form little more than a skeleton of wan light wrapped in the drifting fog. As its bones took on more definition, a second appeared, followed by a third and then a fourth. When the tenth materialized from the pulsing clouds, the early ones reclaimed their bodies, though they wavered as if they struggled to remember the people they had once been.

As each ghost solidified, the dead battalion surged forward, and the first shade pressed its thick fingers against Aric’s armor. The world snapped sideways beneath him.

A force slammed into Aric’s shoulder, driving his feet further into the ground. Someone close enough for Aric to feel his breath shouted. As it reached its peak, the shout cut off with a wet choke. He lurched back into the fog, his hand flying to his chest as if the blow had landed again.

“You can’t get peace from this field,” the shade said as its head leaned in, its raspy words washing over the memorial. “You didn’t then. You won’t now, either. Your conscience will drive you to revisit your masterpieces, traveling from field to field. Forced to visit every village that your blade decimated.”

The shade’s form flickered with each heartbeat. The mist around his body shifting from flesh to armor before it vanished. Aric didn’t twitch, except for his jaw tightening. Aric’s gaze drifted, studying the visible faces. He backed up a step, and more shades pressed in on him. He circled in place, taking in the ghostly heraldry and paled. His focus swung to a fluttering tabard, blue stripe down the center. “Halvern…”

He turned to the next. “No… eastern pass.”

All those he had defeated watched him, their eyes devoid of life. Aric’s blade dug into the earth as he released a breath. “You keep following me. Why won’t you rest?”

As the wind shifted, another shade drifted closer, its fingers dissolving into glowing vapor. “You’re still turning away from it, even now.”

“I didn’t choose any war,” Aric said just above a whisper. His grip around his sword’s hilt loosened. As the blade threatened to slip from his grasp, he swallowed a sudden lump. “Whenever you attacked my liege, you all forced me to answer.”

“It doesn’t leave you,” the shade said. “You carry it.”

“I followed each command,” Aric said, closing his eyes and clenching his fists. “Every… order I was given.”

Instead of arguing the point, the spirits hovered around Aric, drifting closer to him as more of them emerged from the fog. Each new arrival rose from the crooked crosses, filling the field with the dead. After a heartbeat that stretched out into an eternity, a ghost drifted up behind Aric and gripped his shoulders. “You don’t leave these places.”

The sword fell from his grasp and rebounded off the ground. He reached up, burying his face in his other hand. “You think I wanted this death to be my legacy? I fought in every war because my liege commanded me to do so.”

The shades responded with silent stares. With each passing second, the silence intensified, driving Aric to his knees as the fog swirled about him. The whooshing mist carried the faint hint of echoing steel clashing with steel, as if the field recalled the clash of battle. As the remembered skirmish reached its fever pitch, the spirits circled him, their movements harsh but not forgiving.

Aric’s body hunched as his fingers traced the glowing greatsword. “I remember every man I’ve cut down.”

“You retain all the right memories, but you keep missing what matters.”

Aric pulled his hand off his weapon and slammed his fist into the ground as his face fell to the earth. “What do you want from me?”

“You have to recall everything.” Several shades inclined their heads as they circled him. All of them drifted closer as the shade who spoke flowed down to Aric’s ear. “Remember every attack. Don’t turn away from it again. Your actions bind our spirits here. You’re the one who can unbind us.”

Without pulling his head off the ground, Aric nodded, dragging his face through the dirt and grass. He retrieved his weapon and struggled to his feet. Aric stared at the pulsing blade for a few seconds before returning it to the sheath on his back. He took several deep breaths and stepped into the swirling fog of spirits. “Walk with me as I understand what you need from me.”

As the mist swallowed him, the dead circled him, nodding as their bodies faded from the dying battlefield.