It was a child they sent next and with him a bitter clear broth with a few chunks of vegetables for sustenance. The child was a handful of seasons in age and he knew no fear. At first light and at sunset he would deliver meals and Erroh allowed him safe passage. The most pain he could inflict upon the child was a few half-hearted growls and aggressive facial expressions but after a few days, he dropped even those needless attempts. He simply accepted the food and ate.
Mish liked to talk so Mish talked and the cage hound would listen. Every day, if Mish felt like it, Mish would regale the cage hound with tales of things he thought ever so interesting. Things like the Hunt’s great war and the battles ahead and Uden the Woodin Man and silly cage hound couldn’t understand a word of it. The cage hound had a great honour ahead of him but never seemed grateful or said thank you. Instead, he made stupid noises when he opened his mouth so Mish would keep talking but that was okay because Mish had nobody else to talk with. Actually, he had a few hundred people to talk to but few listened apart from Nomi. Nomi was kinder than everyone else was. When he was old enough, she would be his first. He informed her of this and she laughed loudly and said she would be honoured but that he should be mindful not to settle for a flawed female like herself. Mish wondered if she wanted the cage hound for herself for a night. She had been charged to take care of the cage hound when no one else would but he’d struck her down. She still insisted the cage hound be cared for anyway. She obviously wanted him fit for Uden the Woodin Man.
The child couldn’t shut up. He kept talking as if nothing else in the world mattered. Longer and longer, he stayed with Erroh every day, and his head reeled trying to understand the incomprehensible words. There was something almost familiar but he suspected that was just his own mind slipping away into madness. Occasionally a few words would stick in his head but he would only repeat them aloud when alone away from eager ears in the cold nights. Instead, he just sat and ate his meal and waited until the young one grew wary of one-sided conversation. The boy was an enigma: he never seemed to take a breath in between sentences. It was a skill that all children possessed.
The days all melded into one great nightmare. He felt as if he had walked a thousand miles at least but who knew? The chain continued to hurt more each hazy day and his body became weaker. He wondered was he ready to tally up his final score as all time champion of Keri? He had done his part in this unknown war. Who would lament a beaten warrior if he found himself a sharp rock to run down his wrists anyway? He felt his resolve lessen with each sunset. He felt the darkness engulf him in despair but he kept on walking as if he had a choice.
Countless days of torment struggled on.
They became weeks.
He missed the old Erroh. The Erroh that had died on the battlefield of Keri with the bravest men. He swiftly learned that the shell that remained was too nervous to gamble his small stash of chips on one great bet. He thought he had known loneliness walking the road. He’d embraced that loneliness. But without her warmth beside him, he felt a loneliness of the soul. The ache for her was more pain than any metal chain could ever inflict and soon enough he repelled the memory of her completely, preferring the pain of his miserable fate to the tragedy of what he’d lost.
Then he began to die.
While his captors were dressed in their thick leather outfits lined with fur, he still wore the clothing from his last day as a free man. Every night he huddled up into a ball and tried not to freeze. He felt a deep chill in his bones that could never shift even come dawn and the walking which followed.
The further south they walked the whiter the great mountain peaks became. They caught no scent of settlements and mercifully enough he took no part in any further massacres. Erroh liked to believe they spotted a few towns along the way but him and his Warriors had taken some of their fight. Thoughts like that warmed him until the bitter wind stole that pleasure.
He started to cough when the first snow began to fall. It was gentle at first with soft little flakes dropping lazily from the sky and melting harmlessly in his hair. He remembered his mother had told him during a lesson why snow fell, why it was cold, and why it could kill. They’d discussed the matter in front of a small warm fire in her own study. He would have given anything to hold the tepid mug of tea he had let sit too long. He was never going to see her again. Never hear her dismissive tones when his father annoyed her. He would never hear her laugh at inappropriate moments, and he would never hear her heavy cough which wiped her out in the wetter seasons. He soon stopped thinking of Elise.
Erroh recognised the curse words first; they were easier to pick up because they were the words used by his captors most. Perhaps had the little annoying child who named himself Mish spoken a little slower, he might have picked up the ugly language a little quicker. As it was, after a few weeks he had learned a few bits and pieces. He still couldn’t decipher most of what was said to him but one repeated sentence was that the “brute of oak” was to be revered and he would soon meet this man or something along those lines. Was this the fabled Woodin man? He thought the child referred to a testing of blood but Erroh could never be sure. The child rarely repeated words slowly enough for Erroh to decipher. On the coldest night, the child appeared with a heavy blanket.
“Something Nomee,” the child said.
“Something cold something,” he added.
Erroh shrugged and the child sighed.
“Something dog of cage,” Mish suggested and threw the blanket at Erroh before disappearing off into the night.
He soon learned that they were southerners but their language was a bastardisation of many tribes’ dialects, as if all the warring tribes of the south came together and somehow pulped sayings and terminology into a crude language. Erroh tried and struggled with the grammar but at least it was something to do as he gave in to despair a mile at a time. There seemed to be no mating of lovers in this army and this too perplexed Erroh a great deal. They were no army of chastity however as many females were with child and at least a dozen youngsters of different ages ran freely through their camp. These southern brutes did not believe in one for life at all. They believed in procreation. Some females took a different male to bed every night. Furrowing was as normal as sharing a meal for survival.
The girl came to him one evening. She had the smell of alcohol on her breath and a slight stumble to her walk. She was fearful and sat down a few feet away. He clenched his fist but made no move to strike so she sat in closer. She stared into his eyes and whispered something incomprehensible. It was loneliness, which stopped him from telling her to fuk off in her native tongue. She looked him up and down a few times and again, whispered gentle words that were lost in the wind. Her beauty was natural and wild. Her eyes were terrified and innocent. None of his captors took any notice of them. He wondered was she sent to test his resolve? Perhaps if he throttled her for a second time it would send the right message but in truth, he didn’t want to strike out. He was tired of the world and she was something different. Without warning, she leaned in far too closely and inhaled deeply. She frowned again and muttered a curse. She wasn’t happy with this at all. He could tell. Erroh was wise in the ways of unhappy female expressions since he had met Lea. He needed his mate so much. Where was she? Was she safe? He put the thoughts of her away as quickly as they appeared. He was never going to see her ever again. He was dead to her now. The female said something crude and he grasped her meaning easily enough. She looked across to the water and back to Erroh encouragingly. She waited for him to realise what she was trying to explain. He told her to fuk off in her language. She stood up and strolled back to the nearest campfire where she sprawled out in front of the warmth. A few other figures huddled in close to the flames and they cracked a few jests at her expense. She didn’t appear too troubled with this at all. After a time she took the hand of a tall brute with a strong jaw and brought him to her tent not far from where he lay in the cold. She glanced at Erroh briefly and closed the flaps. After a short pe
riod, he heard the low groan of a male and then the accompanying cry of a female wrapped up in the act.
“I wonder how many more miles to go?” he asked the wind as his eyes grew heavy from tiredness and he started to drift from awareness. The absent gods knew but they weren’t in any mood to reply.
The Hunt
They called themselves “The Hunt,” or at least that’s what he gathered from the unintentionally helpful child. The Hunt were the “fingers” of Uden the Woodin man and apparently, Uden the Woodin Man could “see all”. He hadn’t a clue what any of it meant.
Every day Mish would give a fine sermon of the world from his innocent point of view. Sometimes it was the same piece of zealot drivel while other times it was some new piece of lore. Sometimes what Erroh understood was both ridiculous and humorous from the mouth of one so young but other times it was horrific and Erroh did all not to scream into the face of the young boy.
“All tainted life must die and the givers of tainted life must be burned to ash. Just like the Arth did in the ancient times. When the last fire is burned out and the last false god has met his end at the hand of Uden, the new world is ours,” Mish said in the same matter of fact tones he saved for almost every point he made.
Erroh nodded and the child continued.
“You burn in fires,” Mish said, pointing to Erroh knowingly. Fuk you Mish. “I untainted, I not burn,” he added quickly and pointed to his chest.
“I’m going burn?” asked Erroh warily and the child thought his pronunciation hilarious. He laughed for a few breaths and fell silent.
“Soon,” the child said coldly.
Since she pointed out his smell, he couldn’t but notice it. As the Hunt unloaded themselves for the night, he stripped to his undergarments and slid into the water. It was a truly miserable undertaking with the chain around his waist. A few others had taken the plunge all along the freezing river and took little notice as he scrubbed at himself with his dirty fingers. When his body could take no more he climbed back out and met the blonde staring at him by the edge of the cart. She held a plate of vegetables and meats and offered them to him as he used his blanket as a towel.
“You please me,” she said in her tongue. She tilted her head sideways and he felt like prey.
“I like look at you,” she said simply. She was beautiful, Erroh’s hand formed a fist, and she smiled uneasily. “Washed for Nomi?” she asked.
“For Erroh,” Erroh hissed pointing to his chest.
She thought for a moment.
“Ah, Forerro,” she said wonderfully and pointed to her chest. She had a wonderful chest.
“My name Nomi,” she cried delightfully.
He actually laughed. He didn’t know such a thing was possible but it happened. He neared the precipice between laughter and tears but he never fell over. If he cried in that moment, he might never stop. She leaned in far too closely again and smelled him and shrugged. It felt unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Like the first time Lea had ever been close to him. Only with Lea, he had not felt such a desire to kill her. Although he had nearly drowned her a little while later.
“Get warm Forerro,” she whispered.
She lit a fire near him and bade him join her in its warm glow. Despite himself, he sat near her and enjoyed the respite from the cutting wind. Her hair was luminescent in the flames. It waved delicately in the breeze and he wished to sway with it. She could easily have been a radiant female from the Spark. She was probably about as trustworthy too. She slid some loose strands behind her ears and he knew she was trying to charm him. Fuk off whore, he wanted to scream but in truth, he needed something more than walking the road in chains. He knew she was the enemy. He suspected she was ordered to give up her body for the cause but he would never take her to his bed. He only wanted his mate for those particular acts. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. He was male and ever since he was young he had wanted to bed every female with a nice walk and a shapely figure, but he would stay true to Lea for he had nothing else. He said nothing and lay back down in the dirt.
He had honour and that was something Nomi admired above most other things. Honour was once a common trait among her people or so she’d heard. She found him enthralling but perhaps that was just the debt she owed to him. She thought of it as a debt of mercy. She liked that her people feared him. They whispered that he brought great fire from nothing. They were foolish superstitions. Still though, it was rare that any of her people felt any fear. It’s what they needed she suspected. Honour, fear and a little taste of mercy. If any of her people dared to walk near him now though, they would see how weak he had become. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t struck her a second time. Few men ever dared to lay a hand upon her lest they face her wrath, yet this one had. And now? Now he appeared to be a little more compliant to her approaches. She desired a child and maybe only the lunatic who’d faced an army was powerful enough to give her one. No man’s seed had taken so far and of those who accepted her into their bed did it for pleasure alone. She felt older than she was and though she disagreed with most of her people’s fanatical beliefs, her duty to mother a child for the Hunt’s war effort was her only wish in her insignificant life. She watched him in the firelight for a little time until he fell asleep wherein she stole away back to her own tent alone.
Nomi replaced the child in attending him. Erroh saw right through their ruse but he didn’t retaliate. He was simply too tired, miserable, and beaten to do anything but smile weakly when she sat down next to him at the end of each day. They had weakened him through the innocence of a child and now they were intent on corrupting him with desires for a goddess. No, she was no goddess. His mate was a goddess. Nomi was something else entirely and as she quietly set alight a fire, he would shuffle closer without hesitation and devour whatever foods she gifted him. He became tame. He became lost.
Both figures sat on opposite sides of a tiny fire. Above them, the shattered moon lit up the land and it almost felt like the road. She offered a swig of some potent brew, which he took without hesitation. It burned him and infused him and it held a coughing fit at bay. She muttered something about the night sky above and he remembered momentarily the feel of freedom.
“Count the stars,” he said gently in his own tongue. He said it to feel normal again.
“Kont thee stairs,” she repeated watching him intently.
He tried to ignore the hopeful expression. Why did she try to win his favour anyway? Why couldn’t she just be like the rest of the Hunt? Cruel savages he could kill. He wondered could he even kill Nomi.
“Count. The. Stars,” he said and pointed to the shimmering dots a few miles above them. He began counting in his own language, she quickly caught on, counting in her own language with him, and after a while she began to repeat in his tongue, until he closed his eyes and leaned back against the wheel of the cart, listening to her broken attempts. He found it oddly soothing. Something in the way she pronounced certain words. He felt himself drifting away under her spell as tingling shivers ran up his spine into his head. Then he felt something else. Her lips suddenly pressed against his own. They were silken and glorious. For an entire breath, he forgot where he was. For a few precious moments more, he forgot all the misery in her force, as she tasted him. He felt no guilt. His mate was lost to him forever and he knew this cough was going to develop into something sinister. A cough never led to good things. He knew from experience. Her tongue touched his and he closed his eyes tighter. He felt he could kiss her forever or at least be kissed by her forever. He knew he could take her right here in the cold and still he felt no guilt. It was only natural. He felt the first stirrings of arousal and so did she. He imagined it was Lea.
“Stop Nomi,” he said suddenly in her language and pushed her away fiercely. She frowned but sat back as he asked.
“I sorry,” he said. She had tasted like his old life. He tried to look at anything in the world apart from her eyes as she tilted her head in puzzlement.
It’s not you; i
t’s me.
She tried to say words but shrugged her shoulders. He wondered was it embarrassment. Instead of pushing the matter, she disappeared away and left him to his misery, guilt, and potent bottle of brew but before he could reach for it and salvage some of the night a tall brute stepped over him, the same soldier who lit the flames of Aireys’s pyre. He took a few steps towards Erroh and waited for the attack. Instead, Erroh reached weakly for the bottle and the brute kicked it away. A dull ember of rage surged through Erroh like a delicate stream and it quickly trickled away as wrath gave way to sadness and he sat back towards the fire. He stared into the night sky and began counting the stars once again. Before he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, he whispered a little prayer. “I love you, Lea.”
The following evening Nomi returned at the usual time and lit a fire.
“You speak our words well,” she said quietly looking around the camp lest someone hear.
“I speak some,” he said in a terrible accent. She was impressed nonetheless.
“Turning into us slowly,” she said smiling at her own jest.
“Never,” he spat.
She stoked the fire and thought on his venom for a little while. She wondered why he refused her. She knew she was attractive. Maybe he wanted other men. That would be very bad. They would kill him outright. “Why did you stop last night?” she asked feigning indifference.
He tried to form the words right in his head. “Sharlikt, for one life,” he whispered.
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