Holtur Stories
Page 6
Rahlman cautiously pulled Kullkur’s coat away from his neck. He pursed his lips, making the thick, bright-red mustache stand out from his face. He searched his fallen comrade for a pulse. Rahlman’s brows furrowed, creating more wrinkles over the elderly slayer’s face. “Kullkur is dead,” he said in a throaty voice.
“Damn it!” Sonja cursed. “That’s the third one! This makes no sense!”
“We should burn the body.” Rahlman nervously rubbed his bald head. “If this is a plague, we must be sure to cleanse it.”
“It’s not a disease,” Commander Maver disagreed, his brows furrowed with worry. “These men had been struck down in combat.”
“Impossible!” Rahlman shook his head. “You mean to tell me that the same infliction was caused by a grabion, purcrassus, and slater beast? Three different creatures delivering the same bizarre fatal blow?”
Maver gave the old slayer an intense glare. “Like the others, he will be sent to the Bristrunstium. Those scholars are our best answer to these problems. Clearly your experience, Rahlman Kinski, would confirm my statement.”
“Yes, Commander,” Rahlman said hesitantly. “This just seems too sinister to be the work of nature.”
Maver had already set off for the command bartisan, leaving Sonja to clean up the mess. “Bolt, Joust, take the body to the Bristrunstium,” Sonja ordered. “The rest of you, back to your posts. The weather is warming up; you know what that means!”
It meant that all sorts of nasties were climbing out of hibernation. Hungry creatures. The folk of Holtur would rather not be on such a menu. Thus, vigilance was a must at this time of the year, and the slayers all complied to Sonja’s orders.
Sonja took a deep breath, then began climbing the stairs back to the wall walk.
“WYVERN!” a slayer called from above. She hadn’t even made it back to her post yet.
The alarm brought readied slayers to arms. Racing over to the battlements, Sonja noticed specks gliding over the north-west mountains. She spied through her looking glass. Wyverns indeed. A flock of six. Heading straight for Holtur. The off-grey colour confirmed their species. “Stone wyverns!” Sonja called out.
Slayers, brandishing heavy, iron weapons, made their way through the northern gate. Others sought out the armoury, seeking heavier weaponry for the armoured foes. Sonja loaded one of the wall’s ballista turrets with a blunt bolt. It had a long, wooden shaft with a bulbous, lead end rather than a sharp tip. The slayers manning the three other turrets along the wall had done the same.
Wyverns swooped down the mountains at great speed, gliding barely metres above the plains towards Holtur. The specks soon appeared as grey, winged serpent-like creatures. Unified screeches scouted ahead of the wyverns. The hair on the back of Sonja’s neck pricked up. It always chilled her, the sound stone wyverns made; putrid, otherworldly.
Once within proximity, Sonja fired her ballista. The bolt flew straight at the creature. Success! The blunt chunk of lead slipped between the creature’s gaping maw. It fell from the sky, shocked, as its head cracked to pieces. One more wyvern had shared a similar fate from another ballista’s projectile. Two easy kills; a good start to the battle. By the time they would load the turrets again, the creatures would be far too close to fire upon. Time to commence the melee.
Sonja dashed down towards the north gate, receiving an iron war-hammer from Rahlman. “Thanks, Stache!” she said, resting the shaft over her shoulder.
Rahlman wore an odd piece of headgear: sculpted from a wyvern’s skull. Ineffective as armour—otherwise all the slayers would be wearing them—but Rahlman was a superstitious one. He believed that wearing the skulls of the creatures he was to do battle against brought him luck. Sonja disagreed with him on that ideal. If some creature appeared on the battlefield with a human skull for a helm, it would piss her right off. She'd give a human-helmed enemy priority for tasting her blade!
They raced through the north gate to face the wyverns. The bloody battle had already commenced. Slayers were locked in combat against the foul beasts. Screeches and war cries echoed about her. She saw another wyvern collapse from the sky. Excellent, three more to slay. She wasn’t too worried, they were only stone wyverns. Sonja and her slayers had shattered countless of the things in the past.
She leapt through the air towards the alpha; it stood a good metre over the others. Her war-hammer met with the wrist atop its left wing, shattering it to pieces upon impact. The creature swung around in pain, its serpent-like head—with jaws gnashing—reached for Sonja. A crack deflected the creature’s cranium, pursued by Rhalman’s hammer. Sonja swung hers around, arcing towards the other side of the wyvern’s head. The two hammers met together, but not before the alpha’s stony skull was sandwiched between them. A shattering rain of stones exploded, and the hammers bounced off each other.
Only two more. From the corner of her eye, Sonja saw another wyvern being swarmed by slayers. But where did the last one get to? Had it already fallen? Had it fled when the alpha had been struck? Sonja turned her blue eyes skywards. Nothing.
“Sonja!” Rahlman called out. Then something struck her from behind. “Look out!”
Too late. She was on the ground. A claw had pinned her, scratching at her ribs. Breathing became difficult as it constricted tighter and tighter. She felt the reverberations of bludgeons striking at the monster atop her. Her world faded to black.
***
With adrenaline coursing through her veins, Sonja shot up, reaching for her hammer. It wasn't there. She wasn’t on the battlefield either. It must be all over. Had she blacked out? Odd. It was not the sort of thing she succumbed to. Not in the midst of battle.
She sat up, finding herself in a warm, comfortable, feather-down bed. The room looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place exactly where from. The large, grey stones that formed the walls were the same as most of the structures of Holtur. A lime-green, diamond-patterned rug, that matched the blankets covering her legs, tugged on her memory. She’d seen it before. But from where?
A pretty girl, of about nine years of age, entered the room. She had a slightly thick frame, long, curly, blonde locks, fair skin, and the brightest, baby-blue eyes Sonja had ever seen. A flowing, pink dress with maroon pleats and white frilled edges danced about as she approached.
“Hello, pretty lady,” the little girl said. Pretty? It was the exact same description that came to Sonja’s mind when she thought of the little girl. Sonja, however, didn’t think she herself was fit for the description! “Are you alright now? Mummy and Daddy were really worried about you.” She handed Sonja a glass of freshly squeezed juice.
“Yeah…” Sonja blinked a few times, trying to figure out where she knew the girl from. “Thank you.”
As Sonja took a sip, a skinny, little boy entered the room. He had vibrant, green eyes, and appeared a few years younger than the girl.
“Sonja, Sonja!” the little boy cried. Sonja gave him her full attention as he continued, “I drew you a picture!” He promptly handed the drawing to the little girl. How odd, this little girl must share her name.
“Ewww…” She stretched her arm out, creating as much distance between her and the sketch as she could. “This is ugly! Why do you always draw ugly pictures?”
The little boy’s grin grew. The words didn’t seem to upset him; in fact, he seemed to accept them as a compliment. “It’s a scary monster!”
Adult Sonja laughed, thinking of her own brother. “I know someone who likes drawing monsters!”
“Really?” the little boy seemed excited. “Do you like my drawing?” He took the picture from his sister—to her relief—and handed it to Sonja.
“Of course she doesn’t,” Little Sonja said with an animated shake of her head, sending her curls bouncing to and fro. “She’s pretty, like me, so she likes pretty things.”
The picture—despite the poor, artistic style of youth—looked terrifying. It was a black creature, with sharp claws, violet eyes, and a pair of horns atop its head
. It appeared as though it was floating. “What is this?” Adult Sonja asked.
“It’s a monster I saw!” the little boy wrapped a tiny arm around her leg. “I saw it in my mind.”
Sonja swallowed. “You saw it? In your mind?”
“Oh don’t listen to him,” Little Sonja said. “He makes this kind of stuff up all the time, don’t you, Kallum?”
Kallum. Suddenly things became more clear and foggy at the same time. The two familiar children, were they her and her brother? Back when they were younger? Had she, somehow, fallen backwards through time? But how was this possible?
“Your parents!” Adult Sonja blurted out. “What are their names?”
Little Sonja looked confused for a moment, then answered, “They’re called Mummy and Daddy.”
Kallum rolled his eyes. “I think she means what the other adults call them.” He looked to Adult Sonja, who was nodding impatiently. “The others call Daddy Kaine, and Mummy Shiarja.”
Shiarja. There was a name Sonja hadn’t heard in a long time. The name of her deceased mother. Damn. How was this happening? “Where are they?” Adult Sonja asked.
“Daddy’s with the other slayers!” Kallum stood up proud.
Sonja smiled at her brother, then said, “Mummy is down stairs. She is roasting minted kuhvi tails!” Her lips formed a beaming grin. “They’re my favourite.” And they still were as an adult!
Adult Sonja stood up from the bed and handed Kallum back his drawing. Her claymore was sitting beside the bed, safely in its sheath. She strapped it to her back, noticing little Sonja’s disgust and Kallum’s confusion.
“Are you a slayer?” Little Sonja asked bluntly.
Sonja thought for a moment, looking at the beautiful little girl. By the looks of her, she didn’t have much innocence left to her. Soon she would start to transform into the warrior that stood before her. “Yes,” she said with a hint of sorrow. Sonja had forgotten how feminine she had once been.
Kallum’s innocent little eyes narrowed on her, showing a hint of aggression. “Girls can’t be slayers!”
Sonja laughed; she hadn’t heard him say that in a long, long time. The little girl—her younger self—would hear those words again, all too often. It would be part of the catalyst that transforms her into the slayer she would become. “You keep saying that Kallum!” Sonja said, ruffling the little boy’s hair. Little Sonja smirked at that.
They followed the scent of roasting mint and crisping fat down to the kitchen. Sonja recognised it! It was her old house! Well, her father’s old house. They moved not long after losing Shiarja.
“Mummy!” Little Sonja raced over to the woman tending the hearth. “The pretty lady is awake!”
Adult Sonja’s heart raced, pounding hard into the walls of her chest. It had been almost twenty years since she had seen this woman. Shiarja stood up and faced her. Her mother was different than she had remembered. In her mind, she had been the most beautiful woman who ever existed. The face that turned to her was far more modest, but still beautiful none the less. It was slightly plump, with rosy, pink cheeks and bright blue eyes. Long, curly, blonde hair rolled down the sides of her face.
“Hello there,” the woman—Sonja’s living, breathing mother—said, offering a warm smile. A smile filled with more love than any other Sonja had seen in so, so long.
Sonja opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The pounding in her chest beat even harder. Her throat tightened. It was almost as though she had forgotten how to breathe. Faintly in the back of her mind, something laughed at her. Dry, cackling, demonic laughter. Why? What was happening?
“Oh dear, you’re in shock.” Shiarja helped her into a chair by the fire. Not any chair, it was her father’s. Again—like the rug in the bedroom—it had lime-green padding over the leather. It was comforting. She was never allowed to sit in it as a child. Why did their old house have lots of lime-green furnishings, while their next residence would have none? Did it remind her father of Shiarja too much?
“Are you alright, pretty lady?” Little Sonja asked.
“Yeah, fine,” Sonja struggled to say. Shiarja pried the empty glass from Sonja’s hands, then scooped it into a bucket of water. She pressed the glass against Sonja’s lips. Sonja could have taken it from her. She may have been in shock, but she wasn’t invalid. Still, she didn’t. She allowed her mother to feed her the water. The woman did it so tenderly, so affectionately, it made Sonja want to cry.
“What happened to you?” Shiarja asked. “We found you lying outside, illuminated by the bright moon. No one seems to know where you came from.”
“Uh…” Sonja had no idea how she got here herself. How did one travel back in time? “I was defending the north wall, from stone-wyverns. I took a knock to the head, then woke up here.”
Shiarja laughed. “Don’t lie to me, girl. While you look like you can handle yourself, there’s never been a female slayer in Holtur. Not ever!”
Sonja found it difficult to make eye contact. The judging eyes of her mother were too much to bear. All she wanted to do was leap into her arms, tell her she loved her, and apologise that she had failed to protect her. Sonja wasn’t lying, but she was terrified of telling the entire truth. What would she herself think of someone travelling through time? “I’m sorry… I can’t remember…”
That evil laughter pierced through the back of her mind again.
Shiarja sighed. “Do you remember your name?”
Sonja looked at the younger version of herself. “I have the same name as your daughter,” she said with a smile. “My name is Sonja.”
“Your last name?” Shiarja’s eyes narrowed.
Sonja couldn’t say Bluwahlt; that would make her sound psychotic. “I… I can’t remember,” Sonja lied for sanity’s sake.
Shiarja brushed a hand through her hair. “Well, Sonja, you can stay another moon, but no more stories of women slayers. We tell the truth in this house.”
“Yes,” Sonja said. “Thank you.”
“Mmmmhmmm,” Shiarja hummed, returning her attention to the hearth.
Little Sonja and Kallum sat on the stone floor in front of Adult Sonja, proceeding to bombard her with all sorts of questions. It was adorable, but it sounded like a blur to her. She couldn’t stop thinking about why this was happening. What did it mean? Then the laughter inside her head resumed. She also didn’t understand that.
A loud crashing noise erupted from outside. It was the sound of stone exploding. Stone crumpling. Sonja sensed the faint sound of screams in the distance. Something had breached the north wall. The instinctual part of her wanted to rush outside and help defend Holtur. Emotions ran hot, whilst her body completely froze. Sonja had an idea what was out there, but if staying inside meant a chance to protect her mother, she’d take it. She couldn’t handle seeing Shiarja taken again.
Another explosion sounded, then another. Each time closer to the residence.
“What’s happening Mummy?” Little Sonja’s words tugged at her heart.
“Nothing.” Shiarja turned away from the hearth. Her eyes were wide, and her pink cheeks had turned red. Despite her words, she looked terrified. “Everything will be alright.” She feigned a smile.
The laughter inside Sonja’s head grew louder, more ominous. Cackling and mocking her. Why was it laughing? What was going on? The sound of crashing rock continued to erupt from outside.
The strange, pretty lady; mother feeding us minted kuhvi tails; the explosive attacks outside. It all became clear. Pressure built up in Sonja’s veins and her heart thumped even harder. Was it possible to change what was about to happen?
Sonja unsheathed her blade. Her eyes locked on the front door. “Hide!” She commanded, then remembered how terrified she had been as a child. This was the worst memory of her entire life. Sonja turned to the children, smiled nervously, then added, “And seek! We’re going to play hide and seek. I’m it, don’t let me find you!”
Little Sonja and Kallum smiled. Shiarja did not.
“We’ll all hide upstairs!” Shiarja said with forced excitement, her voice quavering.
“I can hide better than you!” Kallum taunted his sister as they raced ahead of their mother.
“Thank you, Sonja,” Shiarja whispered before following. “I don’t know who you are—or if you can stop something that has broken through Holtur’s defences—but for my children, I thank you.”
A tear escaped Sonja’s eye, and a lump formed in her throat. “I’ll do whatever I can.” Her voice lacked control, it felt like her tongue had swollen with the lump in her throat. “I’ll protect us, all of us!” Shiarja raced up the stairs, and tears began flowing down Sonja’s face. “I love you, mother,” she whispered.
Something pounded on the front door. She knew what was coming. Sonja just hoped she had grown strong enough to stop it on her own. The laughing within resumed. She tried to push the sorrow and pain from her mind. It wouldn’t budge, but she needed a clear head. She lowered herself into a ready stance, ignoring the sorrow, ignoring the laughter.
The hammering on the front door grew louder. Each strike splintered the wooden door a little more. A few more thuds and it busted from the hinges, bringing down stone and shattering the wood. Blood-red eyes glared at her from the darkness. It stepped into the building, slowly, allowing the light from the hearth to show the creature’s horrible body.
The rodent-like face, bearing off-white fangs, was attached to a thick neck, and a masculine, ape-like body. Its white fur was stained with the copper colour of dried blood. It was the creature that took her mother when she was a child: a bargetier. It bellowed a deafening roar, then charged at Sonja.
She would protect her mother this time. Sonja wasn’t a little girl any more. She had grown into a fine warrior. A slayer of Holtur. Sonja’s claymore had pierced the flesh of one of these foul creatures before. She was more than willing to do it again.
The roar as it charged—even when aided by the foul laughter invading her mind—would not distract Sonja from slaying this creature. She prepared for impact, deepening her stance, both hands tightly wrapped around the hilt of her blade. Once within range, she thrust her claymore into its chest. The bargetier ran straight through her.