The Usurper

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by James Alderdice

Waving Grass repeated that for her brother and he and the other braves gave a mighty war whoop and together raced their horses after the wide trail of the snake god.

  8. People of the Snake

  Gathelaus stared a moment at the bizarre zig-zag trail. It almost looked like someone had paddled a canoe over the snows, such was the bizarre track. The massive snake had made good time, even if it was writhing in crazed pain at the tiny blade affixed to its mouth.

  Waving Grass, her brother and her people were hardy and though they came from a southern clime they were relentless in their pursuit of the snake god.

  They stopped by a babbling creek to water their horses and give them a much-needed rest.

  “So if you’re Tultecacan, what is your real name?” Gathelaus asked.

  Waving Grass said, “My birth name was Coaxoch, it means Serpent Flower as I am the princess of my peoples. But the Xescalero’s and then my masters in Avanyu called me Waving Grass. I never told anyone that I was the heir of Tezuma. But Ichtaca Eztli, he recognized me and took it as sign that he was favored by the Blood Gods to find me after so many years, and he said that my blood would be spilt to awaken the new dawn of the Blood Gods.”

  Gathelaus rubbed at his chin, “All that makes sense enough to me, I suppose, but what are we gonna do when we catch up to the giant snake?”

  “We must coax it to return with us. To sleep and let that dark red day come in the end of times, not now. If we have the god contained, we keep its power with us. My people will thrive again. We can drive the usurpers out of our homeland. It will be ours again.”

  Gathelaus shook his head. “It’s just a snake, the biggest damn snake in all of creation but it’s just a snake. It’s no god.”

  Waving Grass’s face darkened, and she snarled, “Don’t speak such things. Your people cannot understand our way. I shouldn’t have told you anything.”

  “It’s no god,” said Gathelaus. “Take my word for it.”

  She shook her head. “You have your beliefs. You have your gods. I have mine.”

  “We aren’t gonna talk a snake into nothing but killing.”

  Her brother Amoxtli rode up beside them and said what amounted to ‘what’s wrong’ and ‘we need to hurry’. Waving Grass told him something that had him frown at Gathelaus.

  Waving Grass mounted her horse, saying, “You have wrestled with the gods. You have seen Coatlicue face to face down in the underworld. You met her eyes and still you don’t believe? I do. I know. If you will not help us, then go back to your lands and your own gods.”

  “Hey,” said Gathelaus, “I’m still here to help you. I don’t want anything bad to happen, not after what you’ve already been thru.”

  She sniffed and rode away followed by her brother and the other People of the Snake. They whooped like mad men as they rode on.

  “Votan!” snarled Gathelaus, as he mounted his horse and rode after them.

  Hours went by and they had not caught up to the monster yet, the one comfort was that it was still moving as the trail through the snows and smashed underbrush was wide as an ox and unmistakable. This wasn’t something they couldn’t find eventually. This was something that couldn’t hide.

  As they came down the mountain passes and were entering a lower valley canyon the snows were turning to mud and the creeks would soon converge into a river. Dusk was painting the sky a brilliant scarlet overhead and Gathelaus couldn’t help but see it as a bloody sign of what might lay in store for all of them against the snake god.

  Damn, even he was starting to think of it as a snake god now.

  The two lead trackers for the Snake People proclaimed that it couldn’t be that far ahead of them judging by the sign across the creek bed.

  “We ought to be cautious going through this canyon. That thing could be around any one of these blind curves,” he said.

  “Keep your loud white advice to yourself,” said Waving Grass, dismissively as she urged her horse ahead.

  “Women,” Gathelaus snarled, and kicked his mounts flanks to catch up to the lead.

  Tiny tributaries splashed down the canyon walls catching the fading golden sunlight in their descent. Gradually they collected and the creek bed at the bottom was at least ten feet across though none too deep.

  Gathelaus had a good idea on where they were now and he knew the Spirit valley and river weren’t that far off, and where the river met the mountains he was pretty sure there would be a Pict village too. “We ought to hurry, I’d rather we find that thing before it finds anyone else.”

  Waving Grass’s brother said something in a derogatory tone and Waving Grass didn’t bother to translate it but glanced apologetically at Gathelaus.

  “I got the gist of that one, still we need to hurry and act on whatever it is you think we can do.”

  Waving Grass gave a shrill cry and kicked her horses flanks again and they raced on following her lead. They splashed through the creek and through the marshy river bottoms and over sandy dune like hillocks. Pines were scattered thick here and there along with a few quaking aspens and willows.

  The unmistakable snakes trail weaved through the bottoms like it was on the hunt. The valley opened up here at the base of the mountains and Gathelaus could see and smell the smoke of a village not far to the east. He kicked his horse and raced ahead.

  They reached the village taking in the carnage of the snake god attacking the people and horses. Dog’s fled, babes cried, and horses screamed as Pict warriors tried to shoot arrows into the monster only to be cast aside like mice. They could not stand against the leviathan.

  Gathelaus was ready to join in, but Waving Grass shouted, “No, we must try to coax it away!”

  “Care to explain how?” shot back Gathelaus. He was angered that the Snake People merely watched the frenzied attack rather than joining with the Picts against the great rattler.

  Waving Grass had a faraway look on her face and seemed to Gathelaus that she was listening to someone that wasn’t there. “I know my purpose now,” she said, serenely as she dismounted from her panting horse. “I was born for this but did not remember until the gods awoke it inside me. Thank you for sparing me that I might do this for my people.”

  She walked purposefully toward the coiled monster. It sat within a clutch of destroyed teepee’s and ruined cook fires. Men and horse were about in reckless abandon. A child cried somewhere, invisible in the gathering gloom.

  “Waving Grass, no!” cried Gathelaus, but her brother and another pair of warriors held him back.

  She strode to the incredible snake god, stripping off her coat and buckskins. With her arms raised to the square on each side, Waving Grass began a song as enchanting and melancholy as anything Gathelaus had ever heard. The words were lost in the mists of time but sweet as honey and sad as a newborn’s last cry. Her long black hair was flowing in the wind and somewhere Gathelaus could have sworn he heard pipes playing in rhythm along with her melodious voice.

  The snake god’s forked tongue flicked out, tasting her scent, feeling her heat. It swayed back and forth in time with her bodily movements. Gathelaus couldn’t have guessed whether beauty or the beast was the more hypnotized between the two of them.

  Gathelaus ripped free from her brother, Amoxtli’s hold asking, “What is she doing? What is gonna happen?”

  Amoxtli took a moment to answer, as he was himself transfixed at the spectacle. He stared at Gathelaus and answered in quick staccato verse but not a word of it could Gathelaus understand.

  The snake god swayed watching with its great yellow eyes. The long black tongue jetted out and in. Its thick body was breathing in a relaxed manner and Gathelaus wondered if Waving Grass had truly tamed the monster.

  Then the rattle thrummed mightily and the snake god’s mouth wretched open.

  9. Sacrifice and Loss

  “Please, take me,” cried Waving Grass. “Claim me, I am yours!”

  “What the hell?” shouted Gathelaus. “NO! Woman!” Gathelaus tried to bring an arrow t
o bear but Amoxtli and the other braves of the Snake People held him.

  “She must do it! She must sacrifice herself for our people. She knows what she is doing!” said Amoxtli.

  The great snakes rattle shook beating the strangest dirge, its head rose up even higher, as the tongue flicked back and forth.

  “Like hell!” Gathelaus struggled and punched and kicked to escape so that he might shoot the monster.

  Waving Grass stood before the snake god pleading with it to devour her.

  Gathelaus couldn’t hear anything anymore as he fought Amoxtli and the other Snake People. Red rage clouded over him in a thunderhead and he put everything he could into the fight. He couldn’t let her Waving Grass throw her life away to a monster.

  “Please,” called Waving Grass.

  Gathelaus knocked the teeth from a brave and kicked another end over end. He took hold of the bow and swung it like a club keeping the men back. He then took aim at the great snake’s yellow slit eye.

  “Please, take me,” pleaded Waving Grass.

  The snake turned from her and slithered to the river.

  Gathelaus no longer had a bead on its eye. He had hoped to send an arrow to its brain, but it was leaving. The massive reptile went into the cold waters just as the stars appeared in the sky and then it was gone.

  Waving Grass dropped to the ground, weeping.

  Gathelaus and Amoxtli ran to her side.

  “The gods have rejected me. They have rejected us. We will fade away,” she said, between sobs.

  Gathelaus didn’t know what to say, what to do. He put his arm on her shoulder, but she seemed unaware. Looking to the river there was no trace of the giant snake. The brown waters surged on, heedless of the death and destruction that had so recently taken place upon its shore.

  Waving Grass looked to Gathelaus asking, “Why did he reject me? Why wouldn’t he take me and fulfill my destiny? I was to be the sacrifice. I would have covenanted with the Blood Gods on behalf of my people. Now we shall fade away, never to regain our lands and positions. We have lost all.” Tears streamed and he had but one answer for her confusion and pain.

  “Sometimes the best you can do is just survive.”

  Eleven nights earlier…

  The Usurper 5. Stalker From The Shadows

  The Picts made the decision which allowed no argument. They attacked just before dawn when the sky had not yet lighted the ground; as Gathelaus had warned was their favored tactic. Despite being winded from their swift perilous journey out of the wildlands to the north, and by foot no less, the Picts fought like men possessed. So fierce was the fighting along the Rites river that Roose’s army made no progress in their attempts to cross to the other side.

  The Picts were excellent swimmers, unencumbered with armor or had even brought along light canoes, which allowed them to swiftly race back and forth bringing men each way and they could not be captured.

  Roose’s forces licked their wounds and buried their dead as best they could. They found the easiest thing to do was what the old ones had done in days long since past and pile the bodies into great heaps and then shovel dirt over the whole of them.

  Gathelaus led the men as Roose, was given to bouts of hopelessness and remained in his tent, claiming a fever. In the space of two days and with no progress, most of the regular army was one with its commander in despair. The Sellsword’s did all they could to keep the men’s spirits up, but it was a dying cause.

  Beside the evening campfire to ward off the chill of night, the commanders spoke in hushed tones.

  “If we do not advance this campaign is over. Based on my best estimates, if we cannot reach Hellainik and depose Forlock, generals Sarvan, Mindaugas, and Hulstack will reach him within two weeks at the latest. They will likely have at least two thousand strong apiece,” lamented Baron Undset.

  “Surely not all at the same time?” asked Niels.

  “No, Sarvan is nearest and could make it within a week and half. Hulstack perhaps as long as two and half. But still it bears us no more time for this triviality fighting damned Picts.”

  “We’re at a standstill,” said Gathelaus, “It’s not a triviality.”

  “I meant only as compared to the greater cause.”

  Gathelaus said, “If our would-be king cannot rise to the occasion, then this is a dead campaign, that is the true greater cause.”

  Baron Undset burst out, “The damned stew-pot seer told him he was doomed to fail!”

  Gathelaus stood tall against the Baron with his arms folded across his chest. “His actions or lack thereof bring the prophecy to pass. He needs to lead like a king now if he wishes to become one.”

  “You can’t speak like that to him!”

  “Someone needs to tell him since you won’t.”

  “You lowborn cur! How dare you presume to tell your betters!”

  “My better is sulking in a tent, when he needs to lead!”

  The Baron’s eyes flared in madness, his chin quivered with anger, he finally spouted, “I’ll see you whipped for your insolence!”

  “And a stray Pict arrow will kill you before you get ten feet from the fire,” retorted Gathelaus.

  Baron Undset argued, “There isn’t a Pict archer within a mile.”

  “Isn’t there?” asked Niels, with a drawn bow.

  “Treachery,” murmured the Baron.

  “No, just common sense,” said Gathelaus, signaling Niels to lower the bow. “I want Roose to lead not sulk. If he won’t listen to me, maybe you should do your damn job and tell him to act like a king. Prattle on about my insolence all you want while you’re at it, just get him to act!”

  Baron Undset set his jaw saying, “Perhaps you’re right. I will speak with him.”

  ***

  Prince Roose did have a fever, though it was surely aggravated by his own despair and fear. After the stew-pot seer had told him he could not succeed he retired to his tent, afraid of all the truths he had never asked, and all the lies never answered.

  He burned incense within his tent and offered hecatombs all the while praying and pleading with the old gods; Votan, Amun and Inanna. But they did not hear him, or worse they would not answer. Roose had never felt more alone in his life than when he was surrounded by his army of thousands.

  The chill of night had made his servants light numerous braziers of heated coals and a half dozen oil lamps lit the room almost as brightly as dusk. The fever was subsiding and yet he suddenly felt tremendously cold. Like the chill of winter had pushed down from the north countries and ice was on the ground. He saw a cloud of his own breath appear before him, and he wondered, then fear spread like cracks in the ice.

  The mist of his own breath merged with a greater fog that was curling up from beneath the closed flap of his tent. He almost would have thought that it was smoke, for how thick it was, yet there was no trace of heat with this amorphous body.

  He heard the whispered voice of Tormund Ghast, and knew the wizard was not present and yet he was hearing it all within his own mind.

  “Your doom is upon you, fool, for no one can claim my right to rule the king of Vjorn as a puppet. Die now and go to the shadowlands knowing your failure.”

  More of the smoky cloud poured into chamber, obscuring everything behind it.

  Roose stood to try and flee, but his legs were unable to bear his weight and he collapsed. He could do naught but stare at the billowing cloud.

  Smoke curled serpentine upon itself and the foul stench of sulfur was overpowering. Something tangible moved within that gross darkness where there should be no other substance. Firstly, huge fingers armed with black talons like daggers glinted. Next the great hairy arm the hand belonged to, fully coalesced out of the mist. Then a leg ending with a massive hoof rather than a foot. Then a shoulder, a torso and finally a monstrous head was revealed as the mist lifted away. Its face was a monstrous chimera between a boar and a baboon, but the dark eyes were all too human and intelligent. It opened its mouth brandishing crooked fan
gs and chisel-like tusks. A pale green tongue licked at its thin cracked lips.

  Roose’s mouth was open too, but shattering fear had stolen away any ability to make a sound. He could hear no sound at all, but the snorting breath of the demon. He clawed at his cot trying to rise but all strength had fled.

  The hoofed thing took a step forward and was upon him, for it towered over him, being near enough to seven feet tall and wide as two men. It grasped him about the neck and picked him up, strangling his final hopes.

  Baron Undset threw back the flaps of the tent, saying, “I am sorry my liege, you did not answer my call I thought—Gods!” He cursed seeing the demon and fell back.

  The demon glanced at where Undset had just been, it then refocused on Roose and squeezed his throat until he fainted and died from the pressure. Blood pooled scarlet upon a scarlet rug, wide dark and wet.

  ***

  Gathelaus was at the threshold bolstering the frightened Baron who could no longer speak as he attempted to flee from the command tent on his hands and knees.

  Entering the tent, Gathelaus gazed upon the pig-like demon as it sneered and dropped the dead Roose upon the rug.

  The demon turned and faced Gathelaus, its arms outstretched. It roared a challenge.

  Bracing himself, Gathelaus raised his sword, shouted, “Votan!” and charged the horrific thing.

  The shining blade met black talons and hot blood splashed across cold steel.

  The demon belched its fury and backhanded Gathelaus away. But the warrior was up in an instant and striking at the pig-like snout and taloned hands.

  A lamp was dashed against the floor and the oil erupted in flames over the ornate rug.

  Gathelaus slammed his sword into the demon, but the thing grasped the blade in one of its awful hands keeping a tight hold of the weapon and wrapping its other massive limb about its opponents back. Black blood flowed from the wound on the demon’s chest, but it was in no way stunted in its attack.

  Before Gathelaus’s horrified eyes, the massive wound resealed itself, leaving nary even a scar across the mottled grey body. He renewed his attack, but the next strike gave even less a wound and healed instantly.

 

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