City of the Gods - Starybogow

by Rospond, Brandon; Kostka, Jan; Werner, CL

  “It is him! The mighty Triglav has come back to us!”

  The red-haired man looked around, as if searching for this man they called ‘Triglav’, almost thinking they were talking to the statue, but when their eyes remained glued on him, he shook his head.

  “Tree-... What?”

  “O, great Triglav! Only you could have come from the very sky itself to bless your followers with your great might!”

  “The… sky?” The man, who they apparently thought was Triglav, looked up and then back at them. He could not remember much, but he could not believe that such a feat was even possible.

  “Yes, my lord,” this time, the man’s exuberance wavered as he fidgeted nervously with his fingers. “The sky opened and as if by some power greater than any human mind could imagine, a swirling vortex of winds brought forth a bolt of lightning, and with it we saw you come to us!”

  The man put his hand to his head, shaking it back and forth. He felt the man coming forward, his hand held out to reach for him. The red-haired man grit his teeth and shoved him back. He was surprised by his own strength as the man tumbled back head over heels twice before a small rock broke his impact. The man lay motionless as his aggressor stood tall, leering over him.

  He stood straight as a board, his fists balled, as he looked around at the other men that encircled him. Their weapons were raised and whatever jubilance they might have once showed at the man who apparently came from the sky, was now replaced with snarling looks of defiance. The tan-skinned man could not say why, but the thought of a fight made the corners of his lips curl and he felt his brow draw down.

  “Heretic! He is not our lord Triglav!” He turned to the agitator in the front of the crowd, his dagger held high, shaking, his voice a frenzied pitch. “Triglav would never turn upon we that have been so faithful! Kill the impostor and string his limbs up for each of Triglav's three heads to feast upon!”

  “Sacrifice!”

  The calls of ‘sacrifice’ rang out all around him and the man swung his arm through the air.

  “Come upon me with your blades and the only ones sacrificed to your god will be my enemies!”

  The words worked themselves out of his throat before he could even think. He stood before at least thirty armed men, and he had not even a covering over his body. He could not even begin to explain who his mind thought he once was.

  It was not the man who had shouted that led the charge, but another feisty youngling. The amnesic man ducked under the blade as it whizzed by his head, sticking into the statue behind him. Leaning into the attacker, he drove his fist into his stomach, sending him back with just as much surprising strength as the push. He whirled back around, grabbing the dagger from where it was stuck. He turned toward the next attack and saw the raise of the blade; the dagger would do nothing against it. He feinted back as best as he could, but the blade found bite in his arm. He hardly noticed as he drove the dagger into the man’s eye, pulling it back out only to plunge it into the other.

  He tossed the dagger back and forth between his hands before he reached back and threw it into the throat of another oncoming warrior. Ducking under the next few attacks, he felt some scratches on his back and arms, but he delivered savage blow after blow with his knuckles that were covered in blood.

  He snatched a spear from one of his attackers, smashing his foe’s skull in with the butt. Whirling the shaft around, he punctured the blade through the chest, and as his opponent struggled to fight the attack, he pulled him further down the blade. The blood splattered across his face and he licked his lips, the taste of tangy metal pungent. Continuing forward, he impaled a second and then a third, and then even a fourth, before the spear could hold no more. The shaft buckled under the weight of the bodies, snapping in half as the bodies lay in a pool of congealing liquid.

  He turned back toward the remaining warriors, if they could even be called that, and let out such a massive scream, he almost blacked out from the force. The men dropped their weapons where they stood, some even shouting out the name of that damned deity they worshiped, as they ran with their tail between their legs. The man grunted, his bloodlust unfulfilled, but it was hard to tell that from looking at him. His arms and knuckles dripped in red and he could still taste it on his tongue. He was not sure what was his and what was his opponents’.

  He tried giving chase to those that fled, but found that it was useless. They were pitiful cowards; there was nothing to be gained in their deaths. As he slowed down, continuing to saunter aimlessly onward, he started to think about the fight. What was to be gained from their deaths? Why had he been so ready to slaughter each and every one of them? Something about looking at that idol had worked him into a frenzy.

  Could he really be the Triglav that all these strange cultists believed him to be? He had no idea who their deity was or what he stood for, but the facts he had before him were that he excelled in fighting far superb over his opponents, he had a wealth of strength in his bulging muscles that he did not know how to properly harness, and he had no idea where he was or where he came from before he had awoken. They could have been right; he very well could have come from the sky for all he knew.

  His steps became slower, his feet feeling like they were dragging on the ground with every push forward. Twinkling lights dotted across his vision and his head spun with great strain. He fell to one knee, using his left arm to stabilize his balance, but it did not help. His head started circling of its own accord. The last thing he remembered seeing before the blackness took over was that he was staring down at a red liquid that was pooling directly under him.

  He was sure that time that the blood was his own.

  *****

  The man, who still had no idea what his own name was, felt himself keep waking in blurs. The darkness receded slightly, revealing the outline of a strange enclosed structure, but the details never were clear enough. Vision would only come to him for a few seconds every time, and then it would fade out again. On a rare occasion, he thought he could see a figure on the fringe of his vision, but it was covered in shadow and impossible to make out.

  The shadow seemed to draw nearer every time his vision returned, until he felt the shade hovering over him, as if he could hear the breath being drawn into the being’s lungs. Something in his brain clicked. He snapped up and grabbed the entity hovering over him, holding them in the air. His vision returned instantly and he saw the man dangling in the air, his face reddening from lack of oxygen.

  He heard footsteps approaching and turned when he heard a feminine voice.

  “Father...?”

  A girl stood in the doorframe, long chestnut hair tied into a braid, and a confused expression on her pale face. Something clicked in his mind again as he came back to the present, dropping the man he held before him, unsure why he had the sudden fit of aggression.

  “Sorry,” the word was barely heard out of his own mouth as he grunted it, looking down at the floorboards.

  “That’s… uh… okay there… friend.” The man he had choked stood next to his daughter, laughing nervously with each word. “We’re just glad you finally woke up.”

  “Finally?” He looked up at the man. He had short gray hair and a full beard. From the look of his clothes, he was some sort of farmer. Looking around the quaint wooden room, it all started to fit together. “Just how long have I been unconscious for?”

  “Well, hmm.” The man looked at his daughter and then started counting on his dirtied, calloused fingers for several moments. “I’d say about… a month or so. Give or take.”

  The man sat back, staring up at the farmer incredulously. “What? I… There is no way.”

  “Oh yes, at least a month. With the wounds you had when we found you, I would have thought you’d have passed some time ago. But you’ve got to figure, a month for wounds that deep and that severe to heal completely… That’s pretty good, sir.”

  He looked at his hands. There had been blood before he passed out; a copious amount of it. He had
not been sure whose blood he had been covered in at first, but before he fell unconscious, he knew it was his own. Somehow he knew it, and yet his wounds seemed fully healed. He shook his head, coming uneasily to his feet.

  “I’m sorry for any trouble I may have caused you.”

  “It’s no problem, sir. We figured you weren’t from around here – what with your skin and hair color, pardon me for saying.” The farmer hesitated before stepping forward, extending his arm. “I’m Konrad Eberstark.”

  The man looked at the offered hand and narrowed his eyes. Something told him that he should grab the man’s hand, but another thought in his head told him it was a custom he did not partake in. The stocky, bearded man must have felt the apprehension because he dropped the hand, but then quickly brought it back up, indicating to the girl beside him.

  “Th-This is my daughter. Victoria is the one who found you.”

  The young woman stood beside her father, a nervous smile on her face as she bowed lightly. She had working clothes on too, yet something in his mind made him think she should be clad in elegant dresses or strong armor. Even though her attire seemed out of place, his gaze lingered on her face for several moments.

  “Thank you. For finding me. And for tending to my wounds.” He stretched his arms, making his muscles bulge several times to test their strength. He felt sore, but there were absolutely no signs of wounds or scars.

  “I am just glad you're feeling better, mister…?”

  He froze, keeping his gaze pinned on the floor. He still had not figured out his name. He looked back and forth between Konrad and Victoria a few times before speaking.

  “I… cannot remember my name. Those that attacked me called me Triglav.”

  Konrad chuckled, rubbing his hands together nervously. “Like the Slavic three-headed god of war? You’re joking, right?”

  He almost told him that he was not and wanted to recant the battle in great detail, but the look on the farmer’s face made him think otherwise. He simply shook his head. “I do not know my name and that is what they insisted on calling me. Until my memories come back to me, it is the only name I know. I doubt there is a connection between myself and this deity. You say that this god has three heads? I have but only one.”

  “Ah, of course… of course.”

  They remained in silence for a few moments, with Triglav – since he might as well get used to having a name – sitting on the bed and the farmer and his daughter standing by the door. He was not sure what they expected him to say and so he said nothing. Konrad was finally the first to break the silence, making a strange sound as if he had something stuck in his throat.

  “So… Triglav. Heh, still strange to say… What are your plans now that you’re awake? Where were you going before you were attacked?”

  “I… don't know.” Triglav shrugged his shoulders. “I have no path that I am set on. I awoke in the middle of a field with no direction or memories. My future is a blank slate.”

  “Ah, I see.” The man looked to his daughter and then exhaled with a smile as he shrugged. “Well, if you have no other plans, you’re welcome to stay here for the time being, until you figure everything out.”

  Triglav stood slowly, realizing he towered over the other two. “If you are to extend your hospitality in such a grand gesture, then allow me to repay you. As long as I stay here, I will help you with any tasks that my might may aid you in.”

  The farmer stood there, surprised, but eventually nodded with raised eyebrows. “Why, yes, of course. There are always things that we can use help with. Yes. Yes, thank you.”

  *****

  It took Triglav some time to get used to the work outfit Konrad provided him. The pants were itchy and the shirt was too tight. So to avoid the aggravation, he usually went shirtless when working in the fields, the sun bronzing his already tanned skin. The shirt was mostly worn out of respect when they went into towns; especially since he would usually go with just Victoria.

  He had been fascinated with the girl for reasons beyond his understanding. He worked with Konrad out in the fields and was explained the basics of what they were doing, but Victoria would enlighten him on things she thought anyone should know, amnesia or not. The first time they had gone to market had been the most surprising.

  “Where are we going again? Yur-bak-eez?”

  “No, no. Close, but you’re saying it wrong!” Victoria’s giggle was infectious. Sometimes he tried to make her laugh just to hear it. “Jurbakis. We’re going to market.”

  “I do not understand the point of this… market. You bring items of your harvest just to trade with others who possess different harvests? Why do you not just obtain the items yourself?” There had been a darker idea niggling in the back of his mind to suggest sacking other towns for what they needed, but after getting to know the farm girl, he realized she would probably not find that acceptable.

  “If it were only that easy. There are only so many hours in the day to do so much work. We devote our work to farming instead of logging or weaving. It’s with these people we trade for firewood, or new tools, or clothing.” She pushed a lock of her hair back behind her ear, turning to glance at him. “You remember such strange things. I would have thought the purpose of a market would have surfaced through your memories. It’s like you’re from a different age altogether.”

  Triglav did not respond. He sat back, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, but then turned to stare at the forest pines as they passed them. There were concepts and words that he could remember, some basic ones that he shared with Victoria, but then there were the more… difficult ones. Concepts like ‘death’ and ‘bloodshed’ rang very vividly and violently in his memories even though other thoughts decried those notions as ‘evil’ or ‘wrong’.

  The men he had been attacked by, they seemed to embody all of those more savage thoughts; but Victoria seemed to represent a completely different set of ideas altogether. Her face did not perpetually scowl like his; her demeanor was always pleasant despite her demure frame. The slightest mishap in their farming did not set her to fits like it did he. Everything about her radiated with positivity, and just looking at her seemed to soothe him to great tranquility. He felt himself drawn to that opposition of his thoughts and greatly enjoyed being around her.

  He could hear the roar of a crowd even before he could see the town. The thrill of a battle rushed through his veins as the adrenaline pumped heavy. It startled him into action, grabbing for the dagger that Konrad had given to him. It felt so puny in his hands; like he could fend off an aggressor easier with his bare fists. He swiveled his head toward Victoria, and what he believed at first to be fright, he realized was laughter. He let the dagger sink back into its sheath as she placed an arm over his chest to settle him.

  “Triglav, calm yourself. I still don’t understand how you have no memory of a market. That’s just the excitement from all of the people, there’s no cause for alarm.”

  He looked toward the source of the commotion and scowled. He pulled at the fabric covering his body and itched at his leg; these garments were insufferable.

  Inside the market was even worse. He tensed as they passed the guards and reached for his dagger, although he could not say why. As Victoria guided them through the dirt roads, the tension and anxiety sweltered as people moved around them at every angle, raised their arms as they called out to others, and those with wares to buy were the most obnoxious in their bellowing. Every time Victoria found something to trade for, he had to rush to get out and retrieve the goods before she started loading them herself, the confusion threatening to paralyze him otherwise.

  Subsequent times were better. Once the novelty of the market wore off on him, he got more accustomed to the raucous, but he never quite became comfortable with it. Even though he never dealt directly with any of the other merchants, his looming presence as he stood behind Victoria was enough to always get them the best deal.

  The months passed and the man known as Triglav continued
his work on the farm. He thought less about what past he awoke from and concentrated more on how he could help this family in any way possible. The dark thoughts had their moments where they threatened to consume him, but they were mostly quiet. He found it somewhat comical that the cultists first called him Triglav and often considered changing his name to something more fitting.

  *****

  Triglav voraciously tore into the haunch of meat. He knew he should have been eating a bit more properly like Konrad and Victoria, but he had worked up quite the appetite. He was determined to help the farmer push the most out of his crops this season and he had been working out on the field since sun-up.

  “Well, Triglav. Eat your fill. You’ve more than earned it today, my friend.”

  “Thank you. I do not know what use I had of these muscles in the past, but I am determined to put this strength to good use.”

  “Indeed.” Triglav watched as Konrad leaned back, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. In the other hand, he coddled his ale, rocking the mug back and forth. “So, my friend… It’s been some time. Have any memories come back at all?”

  Triglav paused, placing the hunk of food down. He wiped his arm across his mouth before he leaned back. “No. Strange dreams now and again – sometimes violent infernos, sometimes I walk endlessly through a dark mist, others I argue ceaselessly with an old man – but no concrete memories. Nothing to tell me who I once was or anything about my life.”

  Konrad nodded, drinking deep. “I cannot begin to imagine how that must feel – living a life with no memories. If I could not remember my farm, my daughter, anything that brought me to this point, I honestly don’t know what I would do. Heh, farming is the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”

  Triglav stared down at his food while Konrad spoke. What had he been good at? His muscles bulged with strength and he knew how to keep his own in combat. Maybe he was a guard or a soldier, but no memories surfaced of protecting or serving for any nation or person. The only thing that kept nagging in his mind was the thought of blood and spilling it against any that stood in his way.