Trollheart

The Edge of the World

Yeah well, he'd show them all. They'd see he was right, had been right all along. What were they all so afraid of, anyway? Wasn't it one of their greatest writers who once said “The horizon is just another border you haven't yet crossed”? Well, he was about to cross the border. The big one. This was his moment. It had all been leading up to this. All the work, all the research, all the sleepless nights. All the sacrifices. And had he sacrificed. Everything. His wife, his kids, his job, his standing in the community ... oh, he was well aware they thought he was crazy. He actually didn't blame them. Who would, in fairness, countenance the theories he had put forward? Who could credit the existence of another world Beyond? Who would have the courage, the vision, the sheer bullheaded determination to say “No, you're all wrong and I'm right”?

He would.

But of course that made him something of a pariah, a laughing stock, a joke in the community. All his old friends stopped talking to him, stopped visiting. Family tried to talk him out of it: even his own wife! She didn't believe in him. Well, he was better off without the bitch. They'd been growing apart for a long time now and he wouldn't miss her. He would miss the kids though. Still, he cheered himself with the thought that once he was famous – and he would be famous, he knew that – he would have the pick of the females, and she might even try to wheedle her way back in. Not that he'd be interested. Oh no. He'd be a celebrity, feted and honoured all over the world. Hey, they might even build a statue to him. He'd be seen as one of the greatest explorers of the age, perhaps the greatest. His determination – all right, all right! Call it obsession then! - which was the cause of jeering and laughter now, would be seen as the indefatigable stoicism of a true visionary.

They'd see. Oh yes, they'd all see.

Not that it had been plain sailing, he admitted, as his eyes probed the darkness ahead, the same wide, grey expanse he had been looking at for four years now, and which had, at times, seemed, as they told him it was, eternal, insurmountable, impassable. In the darkest chill of night, when doubt came calling and the lure of home and hearth whispered seductively in his ears, trying to make him realise his folly, he sometimes wondered if they were right and he was wrong. But these misgivings soon passed, and the next morning he would trudge on again, alone, undefeated, unbowed, his conviction unshakable, his faith solid as rock.

There had to be something Beyond, there just had to. It didn't stand to reason that the Creator had made only this small area, that all life was contained in such a tiny space. The bright sun, high up in the distant sky, surely it shone on more than just this seemingly everlasting grey featureless region? Of course, nobody had been beyond it, but then that was because nobody had the capacity to dream as he had. Nobody went Beyond, because nobody thought it could be done. But he did.

When the doubts again assailed him, he spoke to himself harshly, asking if he was going to return to them, beaten and chastened, admit that he had been wrong, endure their scorn and live the rest of his life as a failure, a joke, the one who had Nearly Gone Beyond? And then he stiffened his resolve, screwed up all his courage and pressed doggedly on. He would not give in, he would not admit defeat. Better to die out here, trying, than to return, not even having failed, but having given up.

And now, after all these years of ardurous travel, all the hardships, the doubts, the voices whispering in his ear, he was nearing the end. He knew, because he could see, very faintly but quite distinctly, a light ahead. The uniform grey was touched with what looked like gold, and that could only happen if there was something else out there, something past the furthest point, something ... something Beyond.

And he would be the first to see it, the first to reach it, the first to return with tales of ....

A huge shadow rose up, blocking out everything. A mighty roaring was suddenly in his ears, and he lost his grip. Unable to hold on, he was tumbling, falling, falling. He gave a despairing wail as he fell...

CRUNCH!

“****ing snails! How do they get so high up this wall anyway, that's what I want to know?” Darren threw the broom to one side, his heel grinding down upon the hard shell, which could protect the insect from many things, but not a human boot. It shattered, and the snail carrying it was squished onto the concrete. Darren's wife rolled her eyes.


“Who cares?” she snapped. “Come on! I'm late for work!” She darted a sharp glance at him as they left the garden. “And you can clean that mess up when we get back!” she informed him. “Bloody things give me the creeps! Ugh!”

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Trollheart: Signature-free since April 2018