The Task
by J. B. Hogan
Aric moved silently through the winding streets of hilly, picturesque Kopburgh seemingly undetected. It was as if in the bright light of the sun he were no more than a brief shadow passing among the unaware inhabitants. Though there was an odd unreality to the atmosphere of the city — for one thing, it seemed preternaturally quiet for a busy mountain town — Aric felt invulnerable, confidently sure of the completion of his task.
So sure was he, so certain of the inevitability of his mission that he walked openly along the narrow switch backed roads dropping his targets as he went. Each of them fell silently, perfectly sighted, silently falling. Aric, determined and assured, repeated his task over and over — then over again.
The second day was exactly like the first. He moved through the steep streets of the city unafraid, unstoppable, virtually unseen in his sanguine work. And Aric enjoyed his work. He was very good at it. Nearly perfect. The people seemed to stand out in a species of moving relief along the snaking white streets of Kopburgh. Aric could see each of them clearly as he stalked relentlessly up coiling street after coiling street, always going higher, climbing, climbing towards the high ridge that marked the vertical limit of the town.
Aric spent many hours in the fruitful completion of his duty. He never tired. He never faltered. He never failed. But at last the second day came to end. He had done all he could. At last he rested, slept, though he could not remember having slept either night.
When Aric awoke on the third day, something had changed. Drastically. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Someone, something had come into the town. It was different now. It was no longer a bright and shining and vulnerable little mountain village. There was something else out there. Something that made Aric instinctively draw back, cringe. Everything had changed. But what? Why?
Centering himself, mustering all his strength, forcing his fear to the back, Aric drove himself out into the streets. They were the same. Why was he so afraid? Where was his confidence, the invulnerability? But the thing was there, high up in the village, waiting for him. He was drawn towards this force against his will. Its power tugged on him powerfully, even cowed him, made him walk hunch-shouldered with one hand up in protective mode as if something were about to hit him at any moment.
At the highest peak of the town was a huge white house. The force was in this house. Aric went towards it against his will. He could not defeat its power. There would be no tasks completed on this day. His accurate, final work of before was meaningless. Now he was only walking, or perhaps being dragged, through the bright shiny streets of Kopburgh.
Closer and closer towards the offending house; and with every step an equal decline in strength: physical, emotional, intellectual. He felt he was disintegrating, melting, breaking down. He was powerless against this force that pulled him forward against his will, this force that took the courage from his mind and heart and soul and put there in its place fear, weakness, despair.
For now Aric despaired of surviving. He was being destroyed step by step up the narrow, curving, climbing avenues of Kopburgh. He tried to struggle but it was to no avail. The thing was too strong, too debilitating. And it worsened, became more powerful, more destructive. Aric felt as if his flesh were degenerating now. He put his hands up to shield himself from the force but doing so had less than no effect. He continued to weaken, began to physically decay. It even seemed that in the face of this power he was melting, his body comically dripping like some soft wax before an open fire.
Then at last he began to understand. This was it, his last moment. He had been too successful in his task, had somehow gone too far. Now he was being put back in his place, taught a lesson — a final one.
Holding up his arms in a last, futile attempt to block the impact of the force, Aric knew what it was, why he could not defeat it. At the very end, at the door of the house, his own strength at its final ebb, he fell at the threshold and then through it — into the heart of the house, absorbed into its absolute emptiness, its infinite power.
Copyright © 2006 by J. B. Hogan
