The silence enveloping the steppe soaked the air itself. As a sinister dissembler it was hiding the world, devoured and oppressed by the poison of death behind phony external unwavering, chilling calm. The eternity, as an outcast mother, was bewailing adopted world. The abandoned world was destroying the ways to salvation. The world was dying in tergiversation. The world grown dark and contrived its power has lost the Light as it was clothed in flesh and so it was dead.
The past has disappeared in frozen hearts as a green-leaved life under the thickness of snow. The world was neither dead no alive. It was languishing surrounded by a wall of fear. It was unfit to confrontation,
amazed with disbelief and obsessed with absurdity. It didn’t understood good or ill omens as it was sick and had lost its true image. That’s why even evil, staggered, torn apart. The link in the image of a belligerent man without joining any wrong part goes and does what is not abhorrent to his honour and duty.
Far away, from the lowlands of Tandor, surging skyward a man of huge height and stately figure was coming. He was dressed in red with black edging coat fluttering in the wind. The coat was tightly buttoned on his body with dozens of silver clinchers. He steadily rose opposing blizzards, hitting him in the face. He moved step by step in heavy boots with silver accents slowly but surely climbing the slope forbidding peaks. His gaze was directed upward through the pitch black glasses. His long hair, once tied with a ribbon, which a few hours ago was kidnapped and taken to infinity by the wind, was heavy with endless snowflakes and desperately evolved into a raging stream of air.
Having put his right foot on the protruding grey stone he stopped, slowly examined the world seeming tiny and insignificant from this height, sighed, losing the peace, which resulted in appearing on the face wrinkles. Removing his glasses and closing his eyes, he tipped his head slightly and uttered in a soft, strong, charming and bass slightly husky voice, «the World knew him and no one knew about him; and his name was Scott Renter»… So, father, the first lines of your diary run… So… so… You know, father, from a man I was reborn into a beast. It's hard, and the burden remains with me. And I am suffering, father, but as this suffering and pain touched me…, so that is my path and I must accept it and avoid becoming what people intended me to become. It hurts me, father…, excruciatingly hurts to realize that being clothed in the Good, I do not change the essence, I… I remain Evil… and the beast.
Tortured with untold travail of soul, reflected on the stern handsome face, he tried to overcome the bitterness, to hold back the tears spilled from under closed eyelids and ran down the cheeks. These tears hurt, every drop burned the whole being, they drained the rebellious essence, tormented by the burden of centuries.
10
Taking the burden of the century, he was alien to the human shape, but he defeated destiny being reborn in the wanderer. He sighed, his eyelids rose, showing the beast's eyes with sharpened like a wild cat’s bronze with golden pupils. And again they were hidden behind dark glasses. Peering into acute heads of cliffs Scott Renter continued on.
A thick fog thickening in the sky covered the mountain ranges of Tandora and numerous cliffs with collapsed boulders. The soles of the shoes, dipping in iridescent silver flooring, etched, leaving deep footprints.
The rays of the sun peeped out through the gray clouds and it was light. It beamed for a moment boldly highlighting impregnable stone wall, blocking Scott’s way, and fleeting disappeared. Scott stopped ten steps from the huge shard of rock. He gradually examined the rock from bottom to top, verifying the distance and put his mighty hand on black as the darkness handle of purple-red katana, rushed forward. He jumped up, in a couple of steps rebounding from the boulders. Moving in the fog with lightning speed, closing his eyes from increased biting wind, suffering excruciating pain in frozen fingers, he clambered overcoming the nullity of his frail body. With an effort of will he prevailed against the weakness, because he knew that the flesh would yield to the spirit, destroying conceivable obstacles, and they will become one. His hands grabbed the edge of the top.
The sky cleared and the sun, not hidden under clouds or the column of rocks, filled Tandrod with saturated cold light and scattered the shadow of the illusoriness and darkness. Rays of light descended to sensory petals of the snowdrop inclined to shyness in front of the huge world. It wanted to blossom and reveal the beauty that was alien to this world, the sweet charm that charms not a soul, subordinate to dead spiritless minds.
Lazy stream of Time flew in an unknown direction without looking back or stopping. Silently, relentlessly, it obediently fulfills its destiny to lead everything alive to the end.
And snowdrop stood bent, surrounded by the whiteness of tombs and disjoined contrast of the village erected long ago for the delight, but then buried in suffering, destroyed by human will and unbridled inexorability of the Governers of the Dark Side.
The flower felt somebody’s presence. The different presence was incomparable to anything else. The presence that inspires the idea of sympathy and admiration for the snowdrop. The feeling was so strange and so obvious that it turned around and saw an incredibly high and a huge man who was on one knee, gazing fixed at it.
It was a long gaze, but a mysterious stranger turned his head and rushed to imperceptible snow ball. It was a girl, just a kid. She seemed to be about six years old, looked pale and small. Scott lifted a young creature from the ground with his immense hands. The girl suddenly came to her senses and stared at the enemy or saviour with the pure blue eyes of hers.
Barely looking at him, hardly audible, almost in a whisper she abruptly said:
– Who are you?
– Don’t be afraid, everything is well, – he said as gently as possible. – Where is your home?
The face of the child changed, disfigured with horror, as if she recalled the image of a terrible dream. Small snow-white hands grasped the hem of the cloak on his chest, and weakened, driven by the fear of a confused voice declared:
Please, save yourself! They will come again! I am the only one left. They will come back! And after a pause, she exclaimed: Brother!
After that she burst into tears, nestling up to Renter like a drowning man catches at straws.
Scott Renter felt embarrassed, weasel was alien and forgotten because he hadn’t seen it for many years. The cry of a child echoes dissipated in the bottomless void in his soul, scorched with suffering.
«Darkness how long will you thicken in the world!» he thought in a fit of temper. And looking at the old, destroyed village, he said loudly:
– Child, don't worry, I'll never leave you. From now on I'll always be with you! Nothing will dare to darken your face.
And to the surprise of the girl tears started to fall from his eyes. The child stopped crying, stretched her hands to his face, as she knew now, the face of her Savior, not of the blighter. She took off his glasses, but was not frightened with animal sight, radiating goodness and reflecting
the suffering. Though she withdrew her hand, then she held a hand to his cheek. It got warm in his torn soul. Weeping ended; Scott looked into the clear eyes of the girl and with a smile asked:
– What's your name, heavenly creature?
– Iona – she answered briefly, sounding like a bell.
– You're quite cold. Iona, where's your home?
– It’s near…
The former settlement was enclosed with the low wooden fence, mostly
fallen. Wooden huts were standing along the dusty trail.
The village was dead. Scott Renter watched utter wretchedness, felt the
stinking spirit of desecration, which only he could recognize. They stepped onto the narrow road.
Here it is! – Iona pointed to a simple log cabin standing out against a background of half-destroyed buildings.
– It’s