[LIKE] - [COMMENT] - [SHARE] NOTE: these links point to Substack.

On the sixth day of my death, I heard the tolling of the bell. The sky was gray and my grave was nigh, and all that was left were but fragments of my soul.

So the time had come.

I once was told of a gaping void—far beyond the realms of men—where only gods stood, in ages old. Now it is barren, as barren as the Arid Sands. And there is where I now must head, to heed the voice I heard while I was dead. It spoke of ancient lore and secrets lost, unspoken oaths and broken vows—things of which I wished not know.

The path I chose led through thick foliage and wondrous coves, by moonlit trails and sunlit roads. The path I trod was not well known, and so I walked alone. Which was for the best... for the once-dead are not well-liked.

I should talk of the sights I saw, for the world was wrought with wealth and wonders. Or perhaps it only seemed so to me because of my recent state of demise. Suffice it to say, I was dazed and appraised all which I gazed.

With the early light of dawn, I rose. I slipped through the watch of weary guards, crossed the tracks of grazing herds, wary of eyes unseen—be it those of hungered children or hidden spies... for the once-dead are not well-liked.

I knew not my purpose until I reached the fabled land of the Hierophant. There, as I sat in a vale, my back to a cypress, I envisioned myself in the wind, calling out a name I had not known before. I knew then what would need be done—though I loathed the thought of the deed. And still I puzzled how I could achieve such a feat.

With each rising of the sun, I traveled until no further could I go. I longed for the grave I had left behind and the rest that now eluded me. But no more could I have retraced my steps than stopped the breath I expired. For I breathed indeed. How this even could be, I fathomed not.

And then, on the sixth day after my awakening, I fell into the hole. It was a wide, growing, dark, deep hole. So deep, I lost count of time during my descent. I had not seen it, for my feet were wet with the morning dew, my mind contemplating such abstract notions as the length of shade and the weight of light.

At last, my drop slowed. Around me spread a whispering wisp of smoke. It whirled in spirals atop my head. I felt it had delayed my fall. And now I stood in the air, amidst clouds of colored flares. Before me, the form shifted into a man-shaped shadow.

And the shadow spoke: “You are of the Gorhhin.”

This I had not known, but knew now to be true—though its meaning escaped me.

“Yes.”

“What do you seek?”

“An end to my suffering.”

There was a shift in the light. The colors sped to meet in the midst of the shape before me. There was a blinding clash of bright. I blinked. And there, now, stood a man of great height. He stared down at me and smiled a sad smile.

“And yet, is it not that which makes you man?”

I had no answer to give, so I gave none.

He raised a hand, and then we were gone. No more gaping void beneath my feet, but grass and sand with a nearby beach. The sun shone, and the air was pure, but I knew this could not cure my wounded soul.

“Who are you?”

The question startled me, as I had not considered my identity until that moment. Yet, I recalled my name easily.

“I am Devdan of Argosy,” said I.

“Aye. And I, Skehn of Sky.”

I smiled, for I had guessed as much. My quest had come to an end. For this was the name I had heard myself call. “Then it is you whom I seek.”

His brow quirked as he considered me quietly. “And what would you seek of the thunder and the rain, of the breeze which sweeps the lands, the squall which wipes them clean, the tempest which rages even in the hearts of men, the blizzard which makes widows of women, the whirlwind that twirls and kills—tell me, child, what would you ask of the sky?”

“I would ask naught.”

“Come now! You did not come all this way for naught, for I sense you have traveled long and hard.”

“That I have.”

The creature known as Skehn sat on a rock and motioned for me to do as well. And so I did, though at some distance, for I felt this the respect he was due.

“My purpose,” I began after a moment of silence had bathed us, “is to silence the world.”

“That is an odd quest. Has it been such noise to your ears?”

“It has not, for it is of yours that I am concerned.”

“I do not find the sounds of the world a burden.”

“Nevertheless.”

His eyes sought mine, and I met them unwaveringly. Now it was out, and my fate was sealed.

“To deafen the sky is to silence all life,” he replied quite calmly.

I motioned around us.

“Life is everywhere. It needs not you, nor those others who came before. They are long gone, and yet we live. And you, Skehn of Sky, are alone. I would not send you join your peers, for life, as it is, is a precious thing. But you deserve our thanks for what was accomplished, and for that I wish to grant you the peace which in silence only may be gained.”

“So, you claim that I am alone?”

“I do not. It is a well-known fact.”

“Then how do you explain your resurrection?”

I paused at this. I had failed to consider that fact.

“Well... Surely, it must have been your doing.”

He seemed amused. “And why, pray tell, would I wish to deafen myself?”

“And yet, there is none other with the power to waken the dead.”

“What of the earth?” I blinked. He went on. “Who else could have woken you? Were you not at rest within her breast?”

I stared at the sun as it cast its shadow upon the world. The heat it beamed on me only made me aware of the freezing chill spreading through my veins. What if he were right? Could there be others? Would not this affect my every move? And what of my motives? Ah, of course, those were not quite mine. I realized that I had no more control over my acts than over the setting of the sun.

With a sigh of resignation, I shrugged. “In the end, it is irrelevant. It is as must be.”

He pondered this a long while.

“May I ask, then, why you wish to deafen me?”

“So that you may sleep peacefully and no longer bear the rumblings of the earth.”

“What of the sweet whispers of my sister, the seastress, would you deafen me to her voice as well?”

“I have no choice.”

“There is always choice, my friend.”

“I would not roam the world forever. I only seek to resume my rest. I am so tired.”

“I could lighten your weariness.”

“The earth would shake with each step I take.”

“The sea could shelter you.”

“I am no sailor.”

“No storm would hinder you. I would keep the winds steady and gentle. You would be safe.”

“I am sorry.”

There came another spell of silence as we both contemplated our thoughts. It seemed odd to me that I should be here, appointed such a task. And yet, here I was, and what could I do but act upon that which had been written?

“I once knew a Niklas of Argosy,” said Skehn.

“I believe he was my father.”

“You believe?”

“Much of my past is but a blur.”

“That should not be! All should remember whence they came.”

“You forget I was dead.”

“That is no excuse. The earth is a harsh mistress, and she drives a hard bargain.”

“There is no bargain where there is no free will.”

“I am sorry.”

I stood then, for I felt that if I did not do now what I must, I never would and would just fall to dust. I approached Skehn. He watched me without moving. I stopped a few steps from him and frowned.

“Do you not know how to deafen me?” he asked.

“I do not seem to possess such knowledge. Yet. I am certain it shall come to me in due time.”

“Time. Yes.” That sad smile returned to his lips. Softly, he spoke again: “Here. Let me show you.”

Oddly, he bowed before me. His hands touched my bare feet and...

... I was bathed in silence. And darkness. For I was now, not only deaf, but blind as well. Or was I?

I yelled. At least, I think I did. I could not hear my voice, so how could I know?

I thought of my grave. Was this death come again?

I thought of the earth and sky. Was it all a joke? A game?

I yelled some more and fell to the ground. Sand seeped through my fingers. I think I wept then. Until I slept.

Echoes of a trillion voices came to me in dream. For here, at least, I could hear—and my ears were filled with the sound of my tears.

If you like my writing, please consider buying a copy of my novel, upgrading to a paid subscription, or making a Paypal or Ko-fi donation. As an independent author, any of these would help a lot!

If you like weird fantasy, here are a few other titles you might enjoy:

• ​Under a Violet Sky (a man’s surreal journey in another dimension)
• ​The Waystation (a brother looks for his sister in a twisted version of Paris)

If you enjoyed this story, please feel free to forward it to your friends or to share it on social media.

And don’t forget to like by clicking the little heart below this post ;)

Thank you!

—

Text (c) 2026 by Alex S. Garcia.

Header: royalty-free stock image, edited by me.

[LIKE] - [COMMENT] - [SHARE] NOTE: these links point to Substack.