Reluctant Reckoner

Two men stood at the edge of a high plateau. Below them stretched a wide plane of low, rocky hills. The barren terrain was broken by an occasional bush or rare, green-leafed tree attempting to leech what life it could from the dusty soil. The brown waste ended at a wide river a few miles off which acted as a natural barrier separating the dismal plane from the city on the other side. The city itself occupied the rest of the horizon. Miles of small buildings littered the landscape along the far bank of the river and stretching back across the slightly more fertile ground. The gray structures resembled the rocks and boulders of the preceding hills at this distance. However, there was no mistaking the city center. In the middle of the sea of mud and concrete, a high wall surrounded a forest of steel structures towering over the landscape. Their glass windows and silver spires gleamed in the rays of sunlight which broke through the overcast sky.

Dirty, ragged cloaks blew about the two men as a gust of wind assaulted the thin cloths with a layer of finely grained sand. The shorter of the two looked down at a silver heart-shaped locket in the palm of his hand. The sight of it struck him with emotions so deep they shocked him. He had not felt much over the last decade, leading him to believe emotion was a void or tiny concept in his new... state. However, over the course of the previous three days he had felt like a well of emotion deep inside him had reached a brimming point and now threatened to cascade in a torrent mixture of longing, disappointment, love, rage, and profound sadness.

"You are quite pensive," the deep and hollow voice of the taller man broke his companion's silent mourning. The shorter man looked up into the ancient face of the speaker. Glowing green irises peered out of deep sockets set into a gaunt face of thin, stretched skin so far beyond rotting that truly only a force beyond nature could hold it in place. The porcelain mask he had worn during their visit to the city hung from a belt beneath his cloak. His voice was enough to send shivers down the spines of most people, and his face enough to send them running, but for the younger man it held wisdom and companionship.

"Ten years," the shorter of the duo began, searching his for the words through his sorrow, "It's been over ten years since I left... and I come back and within a day they convict me of treason."

"What did you expect?" The ghoul's indifference to his companion's apparent suffering was evident in the bluntness of the question. "You knew what they believed before we arrived here. You knew the official story branded you a traitor, even a dead one."

"I know, I know! It's just..." his fingers curled around the locket, burying it in his fist, "I didn't think- I didn't want to believe that all of them would buy such a lie."

The ghoul stared with lidless eyes for a moment before placing a bony hand on his companion's shoulder. The latter was sure it was meant to be a comforting gesture, but its effect was lost in the emotionless face and intense green eyes, "All these years and you've still held hope for them? Interesting, perhaps that is why you were chosen for this task."

The mourner cast his gaze across the vast waste back to the city. He settled his eyes upon the small, gray bricks thickly covering the mud which housed the poor, the destitute, the suffering, and the enslaved. "We were born into suffering, my friends and I. Chaos and violence reigned in the wake of the Great War. There were no governments to help or protect us. There were only brave but weak bands of villagers and survivors versus predators and bandits. When we banded together, we decided it was to end the suffering. We raised our army and unified the survivors, using force to end the terrible violence and anarchy once and for all. We helped build these cities, and helped them establish their societies, all so no one would have to suffer again like we did."

Now look at it. The majority silently slave away, being beaten, raped, and murdered for the impossible dream of a better life while the fortunate few reap the fruits of their labor and keep them pacified by dangling a carrot of hope forever just out of their reach. Is this what we fought for? Is this what so many of us died for? This is not the dream I worked to build. I..." he looked back down at the locket. He traced his thumb over the words, "Love, Now and Forever," on its silver front. "I didn't think this was what she fought for. How could I have been so blind?" His heart stung again as the memory of a few days prior flooded back to him. Even as she raised her hand condemning him as a traitor, she still seemed to radiate light like an angel.

The ghoul turned to look at the city again and was silent for a while as he searched for the wisdom to endow upon the sufferer beside him. "My undeath has lasted a millennium. Countless times I have been sent to oversee the birth of new nations, the rise of others, and the inevitable fall of every one of them. I have seen every weapon, every tool of diplomacy, and every motive conceivable to man succeed and fail. One thing I have observed over the course of my assignments is that those whose lessons and character are forged in the fires of adversity do not usually change their ways much even after decades of hard-won comfort. Those who turn abuse their power, manipulate or oppress were prone to do so before, no matter how noble their banners may have been. Those who nurture, seek peace, serve, and value life from the beginning tend to continue to do so, even if they must take more obscure or morally questionable roads, and have to do so alone."

The younger man looked up to see the iridescent green eyes staring him down again. Apparently, his companion was waiting for his response. "Are you saying that my wife was acting in the interest of the greater good when she voted against me?"

"Possibly," the ancient skeleton replied, "Perhaps she intends to seek a peaceful fulfilment of what you fought for from the inside out and believes that her path is best accomplished alone. Regardless, that is what you must do," His bony hand returned to the younger man's shoulder, "We are dead men, and the living have no place amongst us. Whatever peaceful intentions your friends may have, the paths they must take will be too long, cause too much suffering, and only allow the darker forces in the shadows to tighten their hold upon the world."

"By accepting this charge, you will be given the power to act when no one else can, to tear down what no one else will. You must willingly condemn yourself to the lonely path no one else can walk because you will have no one else to walk with you. You will be the reckoning upon evil by taking the path which the good cannot and becoming the villain they cannot be." The younger man recited the words uttered by the shadowy presence which woke him from his deathly slumber a decade before.

His ghoulish companion nodded, "This undeath is not one to be used upon selfish pursuits. We exist to be catalysts of fate for the good of the universe."

The man looked down at the locket once more. He shuddered as he allowed himself to feel the anguish he had been keeping away. His heart stung as he said a silent goodbye to those he loved and laid his old life to rest. Reaching up, he fastened the lock around his neck as a single tear fell from under his hood. He looked to his mentor of the last ten years and said, "Well, I guess we should begin." The ancient man nodded his skeletal head in agreement.

The young man closed his eyes for a moment. Besides the emotions of the last few days, this was the only time he felt close to alive as he summoned the power deep within his soul to bend the forces of life and death to his will. Quietly, he began to murmur, his voice taking on a hollow ringing similar to his companion. Though he spoke softly to reach the dead, his voice echoed across the plateau as if spoken from a thousand mouths. The words he spoke were old, of an ancient language lost before humans stepped from the oceans.

As he finished the incantation, silence fell again upon the plateau. Then, slowly, the wind began to build. A low rumble of sound could be heard increasing in volume as the wind picked up. Dust was kicked up in a massive cloud, obscuring a large portion of the plateau. The rumble was distinguishable now as the moans and wails of thousands of distant voices carried upon the wind. The wind and wails continued their furious tumult for a few minutes before suddenly cutting out completely all at once. As the dust billowed over the edge of the cliff and the air cleared, a massive accidental graveyard was unearthed. Bodies from dozens of battles spanning over a century were strewn across the plateau.

Fingers began to twitch, necks began to snap, limbs began to kick as hundreds of corpses and skeletons rose to their feet. As they did, the young man reached up and removed the cloak from around his neck. It fell away, revealing a pale, but handsome face, short cropped jet-black hair, and a suit of plated armor black as the night riddled with symbols from a language long forgotten. The irises of his eyes burned a bright, iridescent green.

While the army of undead began to scavenge the ancient battlefield for anything useful as a weapon, one skeleton in particular approached the two men. It had a strange symbol burned into its forehead, marking it as the commander the younger man had chosen to lead this force. It knelt and bowed its head before him.

The Reckoner was about to speak before a thought came to him. He recalled what his companion and advisor had just said about his belief in his friends being why he was chosen. The faintest hint of a smile adorned his lips as he issued his commands.

"Bring the council to me, alive. Spare all who do not resist, slay the rest." The skeleton rose to its feet once more, nodded, then motioned to the now organized formation of silent soldiers to go over the cliff. The scrambled and crawled as they climbed down the cliff face.

It was time for the true traitors to meet their reckoning.