FIRST WRITING PRIZE WINNER –
WINTER 2021-2022
is Margaret Ndegwa
of Nakuru, Rift Valley – KENYA
SAVIOR
By Margaret Ndegwa
It was dark, incredibly dark. He awoke with a jolt and realized something wasn’t right; he didn’t know why, but he knew something had changed since the roof he was used to seeing every morning when he woke up wasn’t the same. The atmosphere was peculiar, laden with clouds. The ground and sky were both shrouded by smog. Nothing was discernible to him, and he felt as if he were floating in a pool of mist.
He was alone in that strange environment, and he felt as if he were experiencing a dream that seemed so real to him. He glanced in every way he could think of. It was a vaguely familiar area, but he had no idea where exactly he was. A flash of glaring brightness penetrated the sky and flicked him. He was startled awake. Again. And he was finally able to liberate himself from his illusions. His eyes were bulging with astonishment and fright.
This was the third time in a week that he had behaved so. Deplorable whispers calling out to him, whispering something imperceptible, bombarding his head with infinite thoughts, horrific delusions yet so bright, endless illusions yet all so familiar, malicious visions yet so clear. It was extreme; no one should have to live in constant anguish. But he had no choice because he had been chosen by the celestial spirits.
Egon was born into royalty and reigned over a large territory in Florentina. He was the family’s youngest member, with an elder brother, Harry, who was anticipated to be the next king of Florentina. Egon, on the other hand, was regarded as nothing more than a usual prince. All aristocratic services were only offered to Harry. While Egon was solely complimented for his gorgeous face and his marine green eyes that glittered with courage and drew everyone’s attention, the way they sparkled in the day and shined in the darkness.
While Harry was considered undeniably special and endowed with exceptional qualities. No one noticed that Egon had encountered new sentiments since the voices penetrated his mind and that everything had become more dynamic for him since then. The light was all about him, whether it was the warmth of the sun or the dazzling rays of sunshine. He could control light anywhere and whenever he wanted, and he progressively discovered new ways to employ his newly discovered strength until he had fully mastered other magical enchantments normally taught to monarchs.
1.
Although he was spectacular in every way, everyone claimed Harry was incomparable to him. Egon attempted to introduce his new abilities to Father by expressing what he was proficient at. But, sadly, no one acknowledged his strengths. Egon jerked up with a screech, his heartbeat thundering in his chest and his breaths rushing in erratic bursts, his body drenched in perspiration.
Horrible anxiety invaded his mind as he predicted calamity, a vision of melancholy hues and blackness choking him ruthlessly, a premonition of war approaching nearer and nearer. The mystical visions he used to have prophesied catastrophic destruction. War was on the horizon, but no one trusted him, and allegations circulated that he was envious of his elder brother and planned to usurp the kingdom.
He kept having nightmares about the war, but he couldn’t do anything because no one was on his side. Florentina eventually received a blood-written epistle from a neighboring nation for the battle. Anarchy erupted throughout Florentina as chaos raged everywhere. They had very little time to prepare for a bloody conflict. Terror and panic swept across the streets. Egon could only stand there and watch as the warriors marched in tandem, their footsteps perfectly synced, their chants incredibly syncopated.
He knew their hearts were filled with trepidation at the prospect of fighting a battle with no preparations. However, the vibe was enthusiastic, and everyone looked to be optimistic about their victory. That was Florentina’s passion for their land. The footsteps suddenly came to a halt. For a split second, nothing moved. As the whistle blew, apprehension swept across the battlefield in tsunamis.
The clatter of metallic shields locking together to create an unbreakable steel wall was heard as Father lifted his hand. This was the primary consideration. The violence became more ferocious. They dashed toward each other with great spirits, and the atmosphere was filled with the soldiers’ frightening screams, as well as the deafening clang of metals on metals and sharpened swords mercilessly slashing the flesh.
The shrieking cries of devastation drowned out the thunderous clang of metal striking metal. An excruciatingly painful voice shouted out in agony somewhere far enough away that its echo could be heard loud and clear. A shriek was followed by a more agonizing howl than the previous one. And another. Egon could hear men who had previously been valiant and powerful wailing for their moms like children. He was agitated but not frightened. He was powerless. His heart sank when he heard all those bloodcurdling screams.
His heart had shriveled to the size of a speck of dust. He was imprisoned by the heaviness of this never-ending anguish. As he watched his people shatter, his heart shattered. He was depressed, and the mental torment had numbed his consciousness.
2.
He couldn’t stop crying for them. He cried at the bodies of warriors he remembered growing up, sprawled in grotesque contortions across the fields in wrecked and destroyed armor, drowning in their own puddles of blood like seeds, not those of gardeners that may one day flower into majesty and glory.
These were the seeds of wrath, cruelty, and catastrophe. Egon struggled to control his emotions, but a single droplet escaped from his magnificent green eyes, creating a path as it slid down his cheeks. He glanced at his brother and father. Their grief and fear were visible on their brows as they witnessed their people’s bodies disintegrate into bits like nothing. It was a sight of purgatory that no one ever wanted to see. His heart fell, as he watched his father and brother go into battle.
He hoped he could have compelled his father and brother to do something. He wished he could have told them about his gracious abilities. He was embarrassed by himself. He felt helpless, and he felt the heaviness of knowing that he was the one accountable for all of this. He cursed himself for all the suffering his people had to endure. He understood he had to do something; he couldn’t just stand by and watch the horrific deaths.
He had to be Florentina’s greatest hope. He eventually discovered that now was not the time to grieve for those he had sacrificed. He knew that now was not the time to blame himself for not being able to bring back the ones he loved, so he decided no longer to wallow in his feelings or adhere to the chains of delusional belief. He was well aware of his strengths. He knew what he was capable of.
“ENOUGH!” he yelled in a voice that everyone expected to hear. A voice that revived their enthusiasm and trust. A voice that reminded them that they had someone with them who could defend them. He lifted his hand and gazed up into the sky. A tiny drizzle of white light ran from his fingertips for a brief moment. No, this isn’t the time, he thought, mustering all his last effort to keep the glow distant, but he couldn’t.
The harder he strained, the brighter it glowed. He became aware. It was obvious for the first time in his life. Egon just had one opportunity to save his family, land, and people. Now was the opportunity for him to exhibit his expertise. To gleam magnificently.
As he drew his cloak’s hood back. And he closed his eyes, knowing he was about to devote everything to his people. He was well aware of what he was going to do and was unconcerned about himself. As he stretched his finger towards the battlefield, a blast of blinding white brightness pierced the sky, causing hordes of enemy soldiers to tumble to their knees. The natural sensation in his fingertips, which he had suppressed for years, was finally free.
3.
The lightning struck again, destroying the lives of the last barbarian troops. It had all ended. Egon collapsed to his feet, drained by the screams of mothers and fathers lamenting the loss of their children, brothers, and sisters grasping to one another, to their departed loved ones. While the rest were shouting and screaming with wounded shoulders and legs, still they were all overjoyed at the unexpected victory that Egon had bestowed on them. Egon watched them grinning in anguish, beaming in faith, believing that he had seen himself gleaming in their eyes for the final time.
He watched his people screaming for him, which he had always craved. He staggered up to a wounded soldier; he wasn’t a healer, but he knew how to calm them down. He gazed at his people with love and then closed his eyes and chuckled as he lifted his arms to be embraced by them. He achieved everything he dreamed of, but it was too late for that love.
All of the wounded soldiers forgot about their injuries and raced towards him with teary eyes to embrace their savior, but his body splintered into tiny dirt particles, and his sacred ashes dispersed in the sky.
4.
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About the author:
Miss Margaret N. is a Web Designer who devotes her days to Web Development and nights to literature. She has numerous stories under her penmanship including fiction, fantasy, and Sci-Fi. Her hobbies include listening to classical music, traveling, reading, and writing. She currently lives in Nakuru, Kenya.
