The Riders watched in awe as their god scribed a new tale for his legacy. Some placed down their food and drink and dropped to their knees in silent worship while others watched with equal interest as the child matched the god with every blow.
Erroh was spent. All energy had left him yet somehow he still held his blades out in front of him. He wanted just one opening and then he’d be done. Sweat streamed down his forehead and he retreated away from the bigger man.
“Come at me god,” he hissed through clenched teeth and beckoned the god smite him.
Uden struck.
He swung with all his rage and followed through with a slash that would fell any oak tree. Erroh weaved from the first but fell back awkwardly against the second. Losing balance, trying to deflect the next thrusting strikes, he fell back through the Riders and out of the ring. He crashed against one of the workbenches and collapsed amid wood pieces, metal shards, and iron tools. Uden knocked his Riders aside and fell upon the debris in search of the final attack. He leapt into the air, hacked down with two blades, and struck stone, as Erroh rolled clear.
He roared furiously as his quarry escaped and realised to his dismay that Erroh had countered as he rolled away. Somehow, the child had left a deep gash across his skin. Dismay turned to fury as he watched the blood stream from his shoulder and he tore his shirt off. He heard his disciples curse and gasp at this unexpected turn but he didn’t care. All he cared about was the cub scrambling away.
“You think Uden bleeds like all man,” Uden shouted as the crimson drips fell to the ground below. Such a wound could greatly weaken any man given time.
“You bleed more than Erroh,” Erroh hissed though he stepped backwards warily and coughed some phlegm onto the ground. Uden knew that patience would win the day but he didn’t care. He charged Erroh and struck with all he had and he knocked one of the blades from his opponent’s hand. To his dismay, the child simply changed his stance and continued on with just as much threat.
The Riders watched the actions of gods entangled in great conflict. They saw their own god unable to strike down the same terrible entity that had brought fire to them on the battlefield. A few wondered would they be rewarded or punished for delivering such a foe as an offering. Oren wondered, most of all.
They met one last time and struck at each other and neither gave ground. They were well matched, but they both knew Erroh would never stop until he died, while the god was losing too much blood. The tide turned and both knew there was something in the air. Uden stumbled and lost his sword and a moment after that was knocked to the ground.
And then tragedy occurred.
As if Erroh’s body had waited until there was a reprieve in the violence, Erroh took a deep breath before attacking again and his cough took hold. His lungs tightened up and he began to gasp. He collapsed to his knees and coughed desperately for air but none reached his aching lungs. Darkness filled his vision and Uden composed himself.
How very fortunate, the god thought.
“How very human,” the god said and kicked the blade from Erroh’s grasp and the crowd cheered. The loud crash of Erroh’s lost sword carried in the wind as it clattered to the ground. Uden was a merciful god and he allowed the tainted cub to catch his breath before he sent him into the darkness. It was a grand fight and the son of Magnus deserved one last breath before the end.
It wasn’t fair. All the blood spilled and it ended here over a fuken cough. He had almost touched victory. He felt the first delicious wisps of airflow into his exhausted lungs but it offered little joy. His mind was reeling towards insanity. Everything had been for nothing.
A cough.
It would make quite the story if ever told.
The pathetic son of Magnus almost saving the entire world but faltering because of a little chest cough.
It was a sick jest and Erroh lost his mind completely.
He started to laugh as the Woodin man neared with a blade raised. Of course, it would end like this. How could it not possibly end like this?
“You didn’t see that did you?” Erroh mocked as his vanquisher stood over him. Then he coughed a few times and then he laughed a little more. A few Riders had heard of this famous laughter, though they’d never seen it for themselves. One of them had and he thought it ominous and unnerving.
“Kill him Uden,” Oren shouted suddenly.
“Fall silent cub,” the god said and Erroh faced him. He did not fall silent and Uden picked him up and threw him violently through another workbench. Hammers and tongs fell all around him and Erroh kept laughing.
“What else did you see with those pretty eyes?” Erroh shrieked hysterically.
“I see that you will die,” roared the god. He smashed his fist into Erroh’s face to stop the laughing. Erroh just took the punch and crawled away on his hands and feet. Blood poured from his nose and mouth but still he laughed manically.
Uden tossed aside his blade and removed a great battle-axe from the wall of weapons.
“Your head will be a great treasure,” he growled. He stood over Erroh and took a deep breath. Erroh stopped moving below him and let his final thoughts warm him. He looked up and stared into the eyes of his executioner. He wondered would his father avenge his death. His father would have struck this beast down but he was not his father. The Woodin man took a breath and whispered gently “I will not remember you.”
He wished he was in Lea’s arms now. He wished he was not going to die alone on this frozen peak. He wished he could have avenged the young boy. He wished he could have lived up to the mantle of Hero of Keri. He wished he was his father. The Woodin man began to swing the heavy axe down upon Erroh’s exposed neck.
Erroh was not his father.
But he was his father’s son.
With one last twist of his body, he rolled and heard the heavy thud of sharpened blade embedding itself in the ground. He didn’t think. He just leapt and the god caught him in his powerful arms but stumbled backwards under the weight of them both. Erroh dug his fingers into the face of the giant and heard himself scream. A howl louder than thunder in the sky and then he realised the god screamed with him. His fingers ripped into flesh and he gripped and pulled. Uden collapsed backwards holding his hands over a deep hole where one of his eyes used to be. His scream was godly. Erroh had to give him that.
Riders panicked and lumbered in all directions. Some to help the fallen god, while others to grab hold of Erroh who now ran free. Others just watched in reverence as different scripture was written in front of their eyes.
Erroh fell back against the courtyard wall still gripping the gelatinous blob in his hand. It would be rude to drop it. He retreated from the mayhem and his foot touched the end of his chains.
He had a plan.
A simple plan that would never work.
Still, fuk it, he was going to try.
Oren reached him first and tackled him at the ledge above the massive drop. He cursed, struggled, and received a freshly broken nose for his troubles from Erroh’s forehead. He fell to his knees squealing; Erroh wrapped the chain around his neck, and looking out over the drop, hoped he had a terrible estimation of heights.
“Uden,” he roared and held Oren with a firm grasp on the chain. The Riders in pursuit slowed at the sight of Oren in peril. Behind them, their god moaned, wailed, and pushed away those who attempted to assist him.
With his one remaining eye, Uden watched in horror as the son of Magnus placed his eye into his mouth, bit down and swallowed. Then Erroh slipped from the ledge into nothing below.
He crashed against the cliff side with the chain wrapped around his wrist. Each time he kicked out a little and let the ripping metal slip through his grip. How many feet would it afford him? He didn’t know. He hoped his weight wouldn’t break the neck of Oren. A limp body without any fight would send him cascading into the nothing below.
Above him in the light, he heard the cacophony of the Woodin man’s enraged screams and of many Riders holding a suffocat
ing Oren from death. He dropped a few more feet, the chain halted suddenly, and Erroh hung in darkness. He closed his eyes and imagined he could hear the raging waters below. Perhaps it was a blessing that there was nothing to see but blackness. The chain creaked from his weight as he swayed gently and then it started to rise. They were pulling him back up.
He took a final breath and let go. It was a good night to die.
Falling.
He did not scream. He was free. If he died, he would die a free man. It was the little things.
He crashed into the water and went straight down. The pain in his body was overwhelming. Unable to see a thing he tried desperately to rise but the current held him in its grasp. It pulled and dragged and he was twisted upside down. The freezing water tried to strangle away all life from him and he never imagined anything as cold as this. The first of the water he swallowed took the remaining air he had in his aching lungs but he didn’t panic, even when the river pulled him to the bottom and dragged him along like a discarded piece of wood. And like wood, he resurfaced and was dragged further along. He passed through rapids and tasted their cruelty. He heard his name screamed out and wondered why his mind deceived him so. He was tossed violently and he could do little more than be taken with it. He struggled yet still he did not panic. Blindly he was suddenly thrashed against a massive boulder and he felt a rib snap. A few moments later he was battered against another, yet somehow he stayed above water. He never knew how long he was at the river’s mercy but in the end, when it could do no more harm, the menacing water settled and after one last painful drop, he found himself floating through a deep creek on his back looking up at the stars and he thought, this was a fine way to die. He held his breath for breathing hurt more than dying. He stared at the shattered moon above and wagered that Uden would know the reason for its appearance. He let its bright light shine across his face and he began counting the stars. He heard his name again and wondered if Aireys was calling him home. Too many miles walked and now it was time to close his eyes and sleep. His body would indeed be dragged for miles. Perhaps forever.
“Tired,” he whispered to the wind as he let his head slip beneath the waters. Panic only barely struck him as he sank to the bottom. His body reeled and tried to fight but he fought his own survival. His limbs thrashed and he heard himself scream and then Lea was beside him.
She gripped him tightly and somehow dragged him to the riverbank. With the last of her strength, she pulled him free of the water before falling to her knees and gasping for air. How many miles had she sprinted?
He knew he was dreaming or at least hallucinating and it was beautiful. She was breathing deeply and shaking from the cold and he thought this was beautiful too. They lay beside each other for a precious few moments catching their breaths. He reached with one shaking hand and gently caressed her cheek. She looked far more tired than he’d ever seen her, as though she’d walked a thousand miles through treacherous conditions all alone. She held her hand against his and she closed her eyes as she felt his touch.
Lea looked down upon her shattered mate and thanked the gods. She allowed herself a few breaths to take him in. A long walk. Such a heartbreakingly long walk. Her Erroh. Only hers. She smiled warmly and pulled him to his unsteady feet. Her eyes narrowed to the only manmade light in the night. Light that could be seen for miles.
“We have to move my beo,” she whispered.
To be continued in
Book Two of The Spark City Cycle:
The March of Magnus
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“Their names are forbidden. Their deeds are cloaked in shadow. Will a deadly tale from the past hold the key to victory?”
The Seven: The Lost Tale of Dellerin is a standalone prequel for the Dellerin dark fantasy series. If you like bloody battles, mythic heroes, and twists you won’t see coming, then you’ll love Robert J Power’s gripping new story.
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