Chapter 15
When Yokig finally regained consciousness and the blackness of the void faded, he found himself lying down on a wooden boat staring at a red sky slowly passing by above him.
The first thing he noticed was that he felt no more pain. He looked at his chest, the puncture wounds from the bishop's brutal attack were nowhere to be seen. He sat up in the boat and scanned his surroundings.
Where he found himself now was nowhere near Endeloin, the boat that carried him gliding gracefully in an ocean of still black water creating gentle ripples that radiated out until they became an unmoving surface again.
Yokig was the sole occupant of the boat except for a figure clothed in darkness who silently dipped the wooden ores of the boat into the waters below, propelling the boat to an unknown destination.
The figure, Yokig noticed, didn't have any eyes. There were empty dark sockets where the eyeballs should have been. In fact, the figure didn't seem to have any skin either, or muscles; only pale white bone.
Yokig screamed, the sound of his terror getting lost in the endless oblivion of the hellish expanse he found himself in.
The figure looked in his direction, its sockets seemed to gaze right through the boy, through his body and into his soul.
"Who are you?" Yokig demanded. But the ghoulish figure remained silent, its boney hands moving the boat forward. "Where are you taking me?"
The figure pulled the paddles into the watercraft and pointed to a destination behind the terrified boy. Yokig turned around to see an island in the distance, clothed in a reddish grey smoke as if its black forest were constantly on fire. Yet Yokig could see no flame, only the faint outline of a treeline of black waving in the mist. Beyond that he could only make out a faint, almost imperceptible, outline of a dark foreboding castle.
The Black Isles! Yokig thought. The elf queen had told him about this place but her description really didn't truly capture the frightening essence of it at all.
The skeletal oreman resumed his silent rowing. Yokig felt as though the figure wasn't much of a talker so he leaned on the side of the boat and watched as the isles grew bigger and bigger on the horizon.
Flashbacks of his failure played in his mind. He couldn't save his friends. The New Religion had won. He had to watch Blackpaw get killed by that psychotic monster and soon that miserable beast of a bishop would kill Redbeard and Dresmael too. And there was nothing he could do about it. Maybe he wasn't the boy king after all. Maybe all the times he and his frends miraculously pulled though, had been nothing but flukes; consenquences of shere dumb luck. As he traveled to the Black Isles he reflected on the pointlessness of the journey. He couldn't possibly be the boy king now; because now, he was just another dead hopeful. Like the other boys that came before him.
His stomach churned and he felt sick. He put those he loved in danger just by being alive. Because of his dreams he had given the people around him a false hope, and now they would die because of him.
Yokig stuck his head over the side of the boat to vomit but nothing came out. The queasy feeling in his stomach was impossible for him to escape and continued to grow inside of his body like a virus.
The boat learched to a stop, its bow hitting the black sands of the beach almost sending Yokig flying overboard. He looked down and ran his hands through the dark sand.
The boatman, his paddles placed neatly on the boat's wooden floor, pointed his finger towards a small path into the forest. Something inside of Yokig felt as though this was where he needed to get off.
Yokig stepped off the boat and wobbled a bit trying to regain his balance from the long boat ride. Once his equilibrium came back, he waved goodbye to the oreman and started down the foggy path.
The grey mist enveloped him as he walked. The dark forest stood silent , its darkened trees standing like ghosts in front of him, sending shivers down his spine. The forest made him feel eerie but, with all the courage he could muster, he continued to march on.
The path led him to a pair of iron gates surrounding a black stoned castle the loomed high above. Its stone, the color of coal. Its archways jaggad and uninviting. Its pathways, cold and unnerving.
He flinched a bit as the gates opened up to let him in, their iron scratching the ground in a long continuous screech. As soon as he passed through, the gates slammed shut. There was nowhere to go now except into the unknown depths of the castle.
He dragged his feet behind him, looking over his shoulder as he shuffled forward, cautious of any noise or movement that could come out at him, at any moment, from the dark shadows.
Who would live here? He thought. In such a dreadful looking place such as this. He reached the castles steps and slowly ascended them to a pair of tall wooden doors with a single blackened metal knocker.
His hand trembled as he reached for it, the iron was cold to the touch, reminding Yokig of sticking his hand into a frozen lake. He struggled to maintain his grip but managed to bang the iron once, loudly, on the wooden door; sending a chilling echo into the chamber beyond.
The doors opened on their own accord at the noise revealing a dimly lit hall ending a pitch black darkness, hiding what lay behind the shadows at the other end. The temperature inside the hall made Yokigs teeth chatter. He hugged himself to keep warm. For a moment he wanted to run but he knew that he had to keep going forward, this is where he needed to be.
He proceeded down the silent hall, his breath freezing with each exhale creating a white mist that disappeared as fast as it came. He walked down the hall for what seemed like an eternity and came across yet another black wooden door.
He knocked but felt called to open the door without waiting for a response. He took a few breaths and pushed it open. He found himself standing in the doorway of a large throne room. The cavernous space stretched out before him. The ceilings rose so high it made Yokig feel like an ant looking up at a vast unending sky. On both sides of the chamber rose six arches made of black marble, lit from the red-grey light that poured in through the windows resting beneath them. On the other side of the room, past two rows of black velvet chairs made from the black wood found in the forest, rose a platform that held - resting under a canopy of dark silk- a single tall black chair. The occupant of which sat clothed in darkness. A single ray of hellish light illuminating his boney face. Yokig turned away from the horrid sight and shifted his gaze to the floor.
"Yokig Bog, come forward!" The figure spoke, its voice sounded as clear as it would if he were to be standing directly next to the boy, speaking to him. Yokig trembled, he didn't know how this figure knew his name. It had been a long time since he was called by it, he had almost forgotten it himself.
"There's no need to fear boy. Come, so I can look at you in the light." The figure reassured yokig.
Yokig stepped out of the doorway and into the first red-grey beam that came through the first window. He could make out the sunken features on the figures face and the crown of black that stood upon its head.
"Who are you?" yokig gathered up the courage to ask.
"You are dead Yokig Bog; and I am the king of death. Come closer. As your king, I command you to."
Yokigs legs started moving without him wanting them to. His whole body didn't give him a chance to refuse; because the need to do as he was commanded overtook his entire being. He was forced to come within a few paces of the black throne.
"You may wonder how I knew your name. As the king of this realm it is my duty to know.. In fact, I know everything about you, boy with dreams."
Yokigs let out an audible gasp but quickly shut his mouth and remained silent.
"You lived a good life Yokig Bog. You took care of your grandfather when he was sick. You aided your friends when they needed you. You didn't know it, but you inspired hope within them; and it is that hope that carried them through. In fact, quite a while ago, a cat named blackpaw came, speaking nothing but good things about you as a being."
"My grandfather? Blackpaw!" Yokig thought of how much he missed his grandfather. He wanted to see him again now more than ever. And he missed Blackpaw, her death was still fresh in his mind.
"You need not worry Yokig Bog. Your grandfather and the cat have passed on, into paradise." The death king consoled the boy. "However, your journey is still incomplete. In your heart you're still searching for an answer to a question. Do you know what the question is?"
Yokig didn't even have to think about what the king of death asked, he already knew the answer to the king's question. "Am I the boy king?"
"Are you the boy king." The king repeated. "Until that question is answered, you will never be able to enter paradise. Your soul will be stuck to wonder the black forest, pondering the question for all eternity, never coming up with a satisfying answer. I would hate to see that happen. You lived well; you had a good and honest life. So I will help you answer it."
The figure lifted up his fingers and snapped. The throne room vanished in an instant. They were transported to a small cottage nestled amongst the black trees. The death king, clothed in a cloak of darkness, now stood at Yokigs side. The door to the dwelling directly in front of the newly arrived pair.
"Who lives here?" Yokig asked trying to be as polite as he could to the his new king.
"The answer." The death king responded, knocking his bony knuckles on the door.
"It's open!" A woman's voice called from inside.
The death king turned the knob and pushed the door open. The cottage was a single room. It had a modest bed, a table, a chair and a hearth in the middle. The woman who beckoned them inside stood tending the fire. She was the height of a normal human woman, her grey hair reached down from her head, coming to a stop a few inches above the ground.
"Hurry in and close the door, you'll let the heat out. Some of us still have to keep warm you know." The woman poked the flames and threw another log from the small pile by the pit into its embrace.
Her energy filled the room. She felt wise and old, loving and all knowing. There was no doubt in Yokigs mind that the woman in front of him was the person he had been searching for, for a long time.
"The last old one!" Yokig thought out loud to himself. The woman stopped tending the fire and looked at the boy and then looked at the death king standing by him.
"Oh dear, I had no idea you would bring company."
"Don't be modest, Symbiael, you knew." The death king chuckled.
"Must you always ruin my fun?"
Yokig was mesmerized by the woman's eyes. They contained no pupil or iris; they were just blank and white, like she was blind but could, somehow, see everything.
"Well, aren't you going to introduce me to the boy?"
"Symbiael, I tell you, you're the only being I let speak to me like that."
"Well that's not saying much now, is it. The only other beings you've met were dead."
The two laughed like old friends, causing Yokig to feel a bit left out.
"Symbiael, this is Yokig Bog; the present boy with dreams."
The woman came towards them and looked down at the boy. Yokigs eyes met hers.
"Compared to the three others, this one feels different"
"He has a question to ask you."
The room fell silent. Yokig tried to open his mouth but it felt like it was glued shut.
"Well, Yokig Bog. What's the question?" The old one asked.
"Am I the boy king?" Finally, the words flew out of the boy's mouth.
"Huh." The woman gazed at him. She turned around and returned to her fire, poking it in random places.
"Well?" Yokig tried to press the woman to answer.
"Why would you want to know about such a trivial thing?"
"Trivial?! It isn't trivial to me! I have to know" Yokig pleaded.
The old one fumbled with the logs on the floor, kicking them around lightly with her feet. "I am all knowing, all wise, and all powerful. You could ask me literally anything about everything in the entirety of existence and I would know the answer. But yet, you choose to ask me that question. I guess you're not as different from the rest as I had thought."
"Please! My friends; we all put our lives on the line for this. To find you! Please, I beg of you, am I?" Yokig held himself back from screaming, his hand balling into a tight fist.
"You did put your life on the line and where did that get you?" The old one's voice remained calm. "Dead"
She kicked a piece of wood off of the top of the stack and into the hearth. The fire leapt up around it, consuming it in its destructive flames.
"You know, It's kind of hard to uproot the Pope King, his line, and destroy the New Religion from beyond the grave. You should have thought of that before you got yourself killed." She continued.
"You say that like getting killed was my choice!" Yokigs face turned red, his nails digging into his palms.
"No, being killed wasn't your choice. I'm simply highlighting the pointlessness of the question. A question that you, Yokig Bog, already know the answer to."
Yokig knew she was right. It wasn't the answer he wanted to hear but it was the answer he knew he needed. He wasn't the boy king. The journey of his friends and himself, the trials they went through, and the people they met. It was all for nothing. They were chasing something that just wasn't there.
Yokig fell to the floor, tears pouring down his face, dripping into small puddles on the floor. He covered his eyes and wept. A desperate attempt to hide the immense shame and sadness that he felt, from the two other beings in the room.
The death king stood silent as the old one stooped down to comfort the boy, placing her hand lovingly on his back.
"Now, now. There's no need to cry." She coed. "Soon you'll be in paradise and you'll get to see your grandfather and that lovely little black cat of yours. And your friends that are still alive will join you in a few hundred years. And, with time, you'll forget about the pain you feel at this moment. It will be lost in a land full of joy, safety and warmth. With rolling hills of grass filled with vibrant beautiful flowers and refreshing streams."
"My…" Yokigs stammered between sobs. "My friends are still alive?"
The death king and the old one exchanged glances. The woman brought her attention back to the boy on the floor. "Yes young Yokig, time works differently here. But I imagine that they'll be here soon."
"No!" Yokig screamed, unleashing his anger by punching the floor. "No! No! No! I will not accept this! I am the boy king! There's gotta be a way back to save them!"
A smile spread across the old one's face, her eyes gleaming with happiness.
"That's the answer I've been waiting one thousand two hundred years to hear." The old one revealed.
"Huh" This caught the boy off guard, he could have sworn she implied that he wasn't the boy king just a moment ago.
"Yokig Bog." The death king broke his silence. "There is a way to go back but the price is heavy."
"But I thought..." Yokig muttered.
"I didn't say you weren't the boy king, Yokig. I said you already knew the answer to your question."The woman stood up and returned to her fire, hovering her hand above the flame for warmth.
"What's the price?" Yokig asked the king of death.
"Your soul. The type of magic I need to use to get you back would tie you to me for all eternity. That means you'll never be able to enter paradise. Your life will be cut in half in that world, and when you do die again you'll serve under me in the black keep." The king responded.
"My soul!? But that means I'll never see my grandfather or Blackpaw again. There must be something else!" The boy pleaded.
"Yokig Bog, That is the price." The king refused to compromise. "Don't worry, take your time to think about it. One hundred years in here is only one minute in the world you came from. There is no rush."
Yokig was torn, he desperately wanted to see his grandfather. But, on the other hand, this was an opportunity to save Redbeard and to rescue Dresmael. Yokig stumbled to the chair in the room and put his palms on the table.
"If you do choose it, boy king, the death king and I will help you out as best as we can. We'll take a 20 years here to train you, teaching you what we know." The old one gazed at Yokig from where she stood. The fire engulfed her outstretched hands but didn't burn her skin.
Yokig thought about Dresmael. He remembered how disheveled she looked as the bishop prepared Yokig to die. He knew she was heartbroken. He couldn't stand to see her like that; Someone he loved, going through the same miserable end as he. His yearning for her returned, stronger than it had ever been. He needed to see her again. He needed to save his friends.
"Ok." Yokig spoke, his voice filling with confidence. He had made his decision. "I'll do it."