The Fallen

by R. L. Drummond

  © R. L Drummond 2015, cover artwork and body of text.

  The purchaser of this book is subject to the condition that he/she shall in no way resell it, nor any part of it, nor make copies of it to distribute freely.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

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  Also by R. L. Drummond

  Serendipity

  Blood On The Moon

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  For family: the ones we are born into and the ones we find along the way.

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  I mmense thunder clouds roiled within the sky, gargantuan swells of electrical wind that billowed and rolled with crackling energy, bringing with it the tingling of flesh and the taste of metal. But metal already suffused the air with oppressive heat as blood and sweat rained down from the heavens above and washed along the rocky landscape underfoot. Golden light flashed with magnificent splendour on one side of the thunderous, rocky plane and on the other, a tumultuous black darkness that screamed of murder and chaos. They crashed together in the middle of the mountainous field, a battle of enormous proportions that had been fought on many planes, throughout many centuries and with its writhing violence that tore the souls of those who fought, still each side forged onward in their everlasting war.

  Throughout the chaos of this devastating battle and the falling of men and women from both the Light and the Dark, four men raced forward in inexorable flow, working together harmoniously to forge a bloody path through the ranks of the damned.

  “For Asgard!!” Came a mighty bellow from the helmed man who wielded a ferocious double headed great axe and with a hail of his glistening blades into the sky, a rallying cry resounded around him in waves.

  The golden armour of the Legion of Asgard surged behind him and his three brothers in powerful force, pushing through the ranks of darkness with irrepressible resolve, inspired by this magnificent warrior who bellowed mightily. For the Legion of Asgard followed the Line of Baldur into battle now and, fighting inexorably beside this quartet of legendary warriors, each Asgardian mouth screamed for victory in the name of the Light.

  Scores of darkened souls fell beneath the might of the four men combined, and each angelic warrior behind them was bolstered by the incredible prowess of the men who led them fearlessly into the tainted core of Asgard’s deadliest enemy. Light crashed against Dark in a devastating impact that saw the immediate deaths of many beings from both sides of the battle, but with the screaming battle cry of the Line of Baldur singing high within each celestial heart, the army of the Light advanced even further. With each death came the uncountable flashes of Light and the shadows of Dark as their immortal souls returned to their home planes, their bodies now nothing more than shells left behind for the carrion feeders of this particular realm. But still the army of Light roared onward through wading blood and bodies, and with every swinging weapon came the tainted, black cloud of Abyssal Dark.

  After centuries the end of this terrible war was finally in sight, and the four men known as the Line of Baldur streaked through the centre of the incredible battle fearlessly; a straight arrow attack destined for the heart of their eternal enemy. The four warriors flowed through the ranks of the Abyss like a destructive tornado; great axe, bastard sword, twin sabres and long bow felling the ranks of demonic beings in a symphony of slaughter that brought the brethren of Asgard closer to their goal.

  “My Lord!” A cry resounded from Baldur’s lieutenant and with an upwards glance through blood and sweat that anointed him thickly, Baldur stared at his nemesis who stood still amid the carnage in ominous waiting. Baldur tightened his grip on his great axe reflexively, as though this act alone would somehow wring his deadly enemy’s neck across the tumbling battle that boiled viciously between them.

  “Belial!!” Baldur roared in challenge as the rushing demon charged forward with sudden, breathless speed, his molten silver eyes narrowed upon the angel with vengeful focus.

  Baldur lifted his great axe in a guard against the downward swing of the demonic long sword that rushed powerfully for him and with those flashing silver eyes in a smoky grey face, Baldur prepared himself for the final battle that would either see this war ended, or endured. Golden armour and white steel flashed with each rapid manoeuvre as the pair attacked and parried with relentless stamina, almost heedless of the full extent of the war around them as they fought this eternal battle. Scaled armour as scorched as black dragon wings gleamed in oily darkness as the demon fought his angelic foe with the wrath of the Abyss aflame in his veins, incensed that of all the Asgardians to face him this day, it was Baldur.

  And within this vicious battle that flashed with every lethal exchange, the demon Belial glanced up with a snarl at the flurry of golden motion that flanked him on his periphery. The rest of the Line of Baldur constricted around the demon tightly and with the parrying defence that was all Belial could offer against such skilful speed, came the first strike of a blade that scored his charcoal flesh. Blows were traded in ringing steel and slicing flesh from angel and demon alike, each wound cobra strikes of incredible speed that spoke of the might of all five men. Baldur pressed his advantage on his skilful nemesis desperately; for even though he was just one man, this Abyssal being was a demon prince and a formidable opponent.

  The Dark of Belial was oppressive as the Line of Baldur fought on tenaciously, a crashing influence upon their Light that spoke of great terror and murder, but the Line of Baldur were no ordinary Asgardians either. They were the elite of the army of Light and the reason why they were chosen to meet Asgard’s greatest threat head on in fearless battle. Scores of angels and demons fell lifelessly among the war that raged on endlessly, but still the Line of Baldur tirelessly fought the enemy that threatened everything they stood for. They battled the demon prince with everything they had, forging through his skilful defences inexorably in spite of the searing wounds that bit through their own incredible, individual fighting prowess.

  And in the moment when Belial stumbled before the mighty swing of Baldur’s great axe, the angel’s breath slowed in concentration. The moment has finally come. Baldur thought in displaced observation as the demon prince sprawled prone before him, The end of the war at last.

  When the Asgardian stepped forward with great gravity, his Light sang out for the justice of Asgard, for all the planes that this evil being threatened. Ready to deliver a final retribution that would end the demon prince’s reign of madness, and bring peace to those the Legion of Asgard protected. Belial slithered backwards from Baldur’s executioner’s stare, the grimace on the demon prince’s face a protest against the impending death that he knew awaited him at the hands of his most powerful of foes. With every step Baldur took, the Line of Baldur flowed to either side of him and together all four angels approached ominously as their commander raised his axe overhead.

  But with the threat of Baldur’s terminal strike looming over him, Belial’s mirror eyes narrowed in tenacious refusal and the demon prince swiftly rolled backwards. Together the Line of Baldur seized their weapons once more, darkly amazed that their wounded enemy still had fight left in him, and Belial hopped ever backwards from their scorching glares. He glanced behind his shoulder once when Baldur surged forward with his weapon raised in a roar of finality, but as the demon turned back towards the approaching execution the angel promised, his silver eyes glinted shrewdly.

  Even as the mighty heads of Baldur’s great axe wound back for the final strike of justice, th
e angel’s eyes widened in horror as Belial cast his arms out wide. The Line of Baldur leapt forward as one as they watched their most deadly nemesis fall backwards off the edge of the rocky plane they fought upon, fearlessly plunging into the void of tumultuous energy that crackled in billowing clouds around his body.

  He Fell willingly…Baldur thought in shock and with the briefest squeeze of his heart, Baldur barrelled forward after his enemy with the valour of the Legion in his soul. He leapt fearlessly from the edge of the plane after his foe, in the name of the Light and the pride of the Legion, and his men surged forward shouting as one.

  “My Lord!!” Baldur’s lieutenant screamed with an outstretched hand as he watched him plummet through the electrical clouds, incredulous that their commander had wilfully Fallen after their nemesis in the demand for Asgardian justice.

  With the barest of glances between them, the Line of Baldur heroically leapt as one after their commander into the tumbling void of the planes, fearlessly knowing that doing so came with a heavy price. But it was one that they sacrificed gladly in the line of duty, for as one mind they believed resolutely their place was by Baldur’s side, in spite of the finality such an act brought.

  In the night sky, on the young plane of Midgard that knew nothing of the war that raged on so ferociously above, two falling stars streaked across the moon in blazing white light. A young, golden haired woman rushed to her bedroom window with her mouth open in amazement and as she hauled the pane upwards, she gasped in wonder. Wide violet eyes stared up at the dark blue sky as twin comets flew so high above, and she marvelled at how beautifully they twinkled between the dusting of stars.

  But a sudden clap of thunder barked from the clouds above and as she quickly ducked back into the warmth of her home, she hastily shut her window against the downpour she expected to follow. And with the closing of the book that had been balanced upon her lap, she snuffed out her lamp happily, wondering where the stars would fall.

  Seventeen years later

  The clouds spun dizzying cartwheels of white mist across the sky, so fast and fleecy that they seemed so eager to envelop the sun within their cotton shrouds. For a moment Reya was jealous of the sun, that within that soft, downy bed it could find a place to hide that she could not find herself, somewhere to fade into where she couldn’t be seen. All she could do was spin, breathless with her arms flung out as wide as the wingspans of the graceful swallows that looped and flitted so playfully through the breeze above.

  The girl spun her troubles away beneath the wonderful oak tree that towered like a protective sentinel, and banished the fright that last night had seized her heart with icy fingers. She lifted her head welcomingly to the feather light caress of the autumnal shedding and smiled at the soothing magic with which this beautiful spot suffused her soul. Within this crystalline calm, Reya could almost forget the sweat slickened nightmare that had brought her screaming desperately into her father’s arms, but she couldn’t ignore the insidious knowledge that her dreams had become far more frequent and even more vivid.

  She couldn’t help but feel a burning shame within her, a shame that seared red heat across her cheeks even now as she twirled within her sanctuary alone. Sixteen years old, a young woman, but still Reya screamed for her father’s protection from that hideous nightmare like a baby that screamed for its mother’s breast. She gulped a sudden burst of emotion and spun faster to halt the tears that she knew were only moments away; Reya had never known her mother and would never know the truth behind such a comparison.

  Still she spun, face pointed towards the heavens with her arms spread out, digging deeply into this fragment of time and space that she could claim for herself. This was her spot, this tree, and Reya had always imagined that if she could only spin fast enough, those long twisting arms could embrace her and throw her soaring through the sky, as free as a bird.

  The skirt of her blue dress fluttered widely in an echo of her long, silken hair; its soft, honey coloured lengths free and wild as it spun a halo around her that seemed to wrap most of her tiny frame. She listened to the birdsong that warbled around her, smelled the heat in the air as the pleasant breeze hushed across her pale skin and felt the crunch of grass beneath her small, bare feet.

  This isn’t working…She thought with a frown. Usually just simply sitting below her favourite tree was enough to bring Reya into serenity, for she felt a true sensation within her that this was her safe place within the world. She ached for the familiar comfort the ever vivid memory of strong arms holding her as a baby brought, the soothing ghost of a soft lullaby that had been lovingly sung from a memory long passed. But today the nightmares had tainted her happiness more than usual and she suspected that part of their victory stemmed from her father’s disapproval. She didn’t remember much of what had happened after she had woken up, but she did remember that her father had already been there by her bed and had caught her as she had flown upwards.

  He had caught her and held her close, and as he had rocked her soothingly as he had always done from the moment she had been born, Reya had fallen asleep once more. When she woke for breakfast this morning, her father had smiled at her and kissed her forehead with such affection. But there had been a ghost of apprehension behind his smile and Reya couldn’t help but be concerned that she had annoyed him with the extent of her fear.

  The nightmares had started not that long ago – about a month or so – but only in the past week had they grown in intensity and were so vivid that they now tore her from her slumber like a sheet in a high wind. At first she had been able to sleep through them, a sensible recognition within her that they were only dreams; but whenever they came now, she lived them with such startling clarity that it felt to her as though she were awake. She could see, smell, talk and feel within these dreams and the things that she saw…sixteen year old girls were never meant to see such things.

  She had been lucky at first that she hardly remembered much her dreams had shown her when she woke, but gradually she had come to remember more and more. Reya’s father had tried to talk to her about them, but whenever she tried to put words to the terrors her eyes had shown her, she just couldn’t describe them properly for some reason and her mouth became a fumbling mess.

  It wasn’t just the beings she saw that had frightened her: otherworldly, abyssal and instinctually ancient…but she had done terrible things within her nightmares, and with hands that didn’t feel like her own. Even though every nightmare was different, the weapon that wove a deadly dance before her was always the same: a mighty, double headed great axe that she wielded between hardened, powerful hands, and with it came a brutal capability of death towards the abominations that faced her. It always upset her how easily that enormous weapon sliced through flesh, the inhuman blood that arced through the sky like fountain jets and ran rivers down the flash of steel…the sensation of how warm that blood was when it touched her skin–

  Reya shook her head abruptly, her eyes squeezed tightly to shut out the rush of images that tried to force its way through the fragile door of her mind yet again. She began spinning again, a desire within her that she could lose herself in the heady rush of dizzying momentum and she forced her eyes to focus on the clouds above. Her chest fought the ball of emotion that blocked her breath and as the leaves from the canopy above her whispered to the ground, a fervent wish was within her that she could shed her fear as easily as the autumnal leaves did. When a wayward leaf brushed her soft cheek with a tickle as light as the barest of breaths, she was brought back into her tenuous serenity and she sighed to snuff out the flame of her worries.

  When she heard her name called from an unexpected source however, she stopped her twirling immediately and smiled hugely at the figure that walked towards her through the leaves. His broad shoulders were covered in an ill–fitting, rust coloured overcoat that fell past his knees, dirty through travel, threadbare and haphazardly sewn back together in places. His big boots kicked up clouds of dust from the packed mud road, his gaunt
leted hands clenched habitually as he walked and his forehead was scarred by a mild scowl that always seemed on the verge of irritation. But in spite of this intimidating appearance, Reya knew that the crinkled blue eyes that smiled at her through the cropped, tousled mop of light brown hair would be full of kindness.

  She laughed in happiness and as the man smiled back in spite of the tiredness his journey had forced upon him, he held his strong arms out widely.

  Reya ran forward and launched herself into the loving embrace that awaited her. “Uncle Tellan!” She cried and giggled when her uncle’s powerful hands seized her waist, lifting her as easily as he always had done from since she was a child.

  Tellan grinned broadly at how wonderful that girl’s laugh was, so musical in a world that suddenly seemed so muted in comparison to her warmth. “I’ve missed you, my girl!” He said with a genuine love as strong as her father’s.

  He brought Reya back down until her feet touched the ground, but still her hands were upon his shoulders and she rested her head against his heart. “I’ve missed you too.” Reya said, her voice muffled against the dusty, well–worn overcoat Tellan was never without. She frowned slightly and added in a barely concealed, but soft admonition, “You’ve been gone too long this time.”

  Reya could hear the rumble of a chuckle within his strong chest as she embraced him tightly and he replied, “I know, my love. I know. But it couldn’t be helped.”

  Reya pulled her head away abruptly and searched her uncle’s eyes as she asked excitedly, “Where were you this time? Ilema? The North Coast? Maybe Suria?”

  Tellan huffed a laugh at Reya’s eagerness for knowledge, for his niece never tired of hearing stories about the world outside the small farming town in which she had been raised. His work as a guide – or perhaps bodyguard would have been a more apt description – brought him to many places around the country and with it came a danger that Reya revelled in the retelling of. Uncle Tellan’s adventures were so like the fantastical stories that she spirited herself away in, regardless of her father’s disapproval of how tomboyish her enthusiasm was in asking.