The Fallen

by R. L. Drummond

  Tellan’s eyes were unwavering in their resolve as he declared with absolute confidence, “Belial is dead, my Lord.”

  Baldur’s eyes were just as steadfast as his lieutenant’s when he replied, “Can we be so sure?”

  Tellan’s brow convulsed shortly in disbelief. “We both saw–”

  “We saw them go over,” Baldur interjected suddenly with a surge of his head. He then gripped the back of a chair with fingers that bled white in their intensity and he continued, “but what if he’s not dead? What if he’s still alive?”

  Tellan rose calmly in spite of the hammering of his heart and as he stood before the palpable field of Baldur’s consternation, he let his breath out slowly. This conversation was one that cropped up frequently and even though the same words and fears were always spoken, Tellan knew all too well that a tremendous guilt still lay deeply within Baldur’s breast.

  Tellan seized his commander’s eyes with a firm sharpness and his voice became stern as he clasped Baldur’s shoulders in his insistence, “My Lord…we saw them both fall. Belial is dead.”

  Baldur stared into the resolute gravity within Tellan’s eyes and shakily inhaled for control over the trepidation that gripped his heart with intolerable dread. He knew the horrible truth in Tellan’s words, the memory of his comrade’s death had plagued him every day for fifteen years. But the brutal reality of true mortality was still a difficult thing for an Asgardian being to accept and even now, he still couldn’t be sure.

  “But why now?” Baldur then asked abruptly, his eyes aflame with concern for the safety of his daughter, “Why, after all this time, would she speak his name?”

  “A dream is not necessarily a portent of things to come.” Tellan said softly.

  But Baldur simply shook his head in response, a short action that spoke of his refusal to let his worries lie and Tellan could see that his words alone would not assuage Baldur’s fears this time.

  Tellan relented his reasonable argument then and as he let go of his commander’s shoulders, he offered, “I was going to see Jenko soon in any case. Do you want me to ask him if he’s heard anything?”

  A flare of apprehension flashed in Baldur’s eyes once more, but the soothing tone of Tellan’s voice, coupled with his desire to be reunited with his old comrade granted him a tenuous peace. “That old rogue…” He said with an uneasy grin, “I’m always amazed at how much I miss him, in spite of that bloody mouth he’s got. Is he keeping well?”

  Tellan chuckled softly in return as memories played across his mind; the two met on occasion for indulgent reminiscing on the glory days before the Fall, and in Jenko’s questionable line of work he sometimes needed a sword arm he could trust above all else. The former immortal had realised early on in his new life that this world held treasures and experiences of its own that even Asgard couldn’t compare to and, in spite of how such lawlessness left a bitter tang in his mouth, Tellan grudgingly gave any help to his smuggler brother out of honour.

  “He’s still…embracing the more exciting freedoms this plane and its mortality has to offer.” Tellan said carefully, for as much as he was honour–bound to help his brethren, witnessing these antics first-hand was something else entirely.

  Baldur chuckled and retorted fondly, “Ever the diplomat, Tellan.”

  He looked upon his old friend then and his eyes became softened at the changes that marked his lieutenant so clearly: the lines in his face that had been developed through both time and scars, and the grey that slashed throughout his hair. Every one of those changes served as a constant reminder of the sacrifice Baldur’s men had made for him seventeen years ago, and Baldur still felt humbled at such ferocious loyalty.

  He turned back with an adoring gaze at his daughter and murmured, “It’s been…an interesting journey, has it not?”

  Tellan blinked at the soft sadness in his commander’s voice, but the smile on his lips was one of affection and he replied truthfully, “That is has. But it’s one that I have never regretted embarking on.”

  Baldur nodded in silent appreciation at the strength within those words and reached up to clasp Tellan’s shoulder with firm gratitude, “And I’m glad of it. But sometimes I worry that Jenko may not share your conviction.”

  Tellan frowned slightly at that; for as much as loyalty and duty were unquestionable within the ranks of the Legion of Asgard, Baldur was their commander, and the loyalty he instilled within his men was unbreakable. “Our place has – and always will be – by your side, Baldur,” he responded firmly, “regardless of the consequences. Jenko knew what it meant to Fall to Midgard and how precious a jewel Reya is.”

  He stepped forward to add strength to his conviction and continued proudly, “He has forged his own life around his duty to protect her and this plane, as have I. Our duty is immortal, my Lord, even though we are no longer so ourselves.”

  Baldur’s heart swelled at the unshakable pride in Tellan’s voice, at the strength of conviction that exuded from him with the fire of courage itself. But still he sighed and said, “You’re right. However, I can’t help but feel it’s a slight on his honour that Reya knows nothing of his existence.”

  “But the secrecy is necessary.” Tellan insisted with a firm tilt of his head, “Not just to watch over Reya, but to protect our own identities from the people of Midgard. If our existence became common knowledge – or worse, if people looked for others like us – then humankind could become a target again.”

  Baldur’s eyes closed as he gathered his wits and he exhaled the last of his trepidation, soothed by his lieutenant’s sage words. “As you say. You were always the wisest of us, old friend…I’m honoured to have your council.”

  Tellan clapped a hand upon Baldur’s shoulder gently, a quiet indication that softly assured his commander that his thanks were never necessary. When he dropped his hand, careful that he didn’t make Baldur uncomfortable with his display of affection, he cast his gaze toward Reya and his eyes softened.

  “Ever since she opened her eyes, she has been adored by us all…” Tellan said. He then shook his head in wonderment and continued, “I feel truly blessed that I was granted the gift of watching her grow into the young woman she has become.”

  Tellan then returned his eyes to Baldur and murmured in heartfelt gratitude, “The honour has always been mine, Baldur.”

  Baldur fell silent then, and Tellan could sense the stiffness in the big man’s frame that spoke of a deep disturbance that burned within his heart. Baldur’s lips opened momentarily, hesitant to speak the words that came to his mouth, for the reality of their meaning struck him to the core.

  “If anything should ever befall me, Tellan, I want your word that you will protect her.” Baldur commanded, his voice as clear and strong as the fearsome warrior he used to be.

  But when Tellan looked away, uncomfortable with the notion of his commander’s mortality, Baldur turned toward him fully and grasped his shoulders with a firm insistence, “Swear to me, Tellan. Swear by the Light that you will become her guardian and a father to her. That girl is more precious than she could ever fathom.”

  Tellan’s jaw jumped at the resolution within his commander’s eyes, so clear of any fear for his own life, but rather for the future of the daughter that he adored with all of his soul. In the sadness of those gleaming blue eyes it seemed to Tellan as though his commander was saying goodbye, and a shocked sorrow speared his heart at the gravity of such an insinuation.

  “You have my word, my Lord.” He murmured hoarsely in reply.

  Baldur nodded grimly and patted Tellan’s shoulders roughly, confident that his daughter’s safety had been secured, regardless of whether he would be by her side or not. “Then it’s settled.” He said as he released Tellan and drew himself to his full height, spreading his shoulders in their proudest breadth.

  Tellan’s heart swelled at how Baldur was still every inch the stalwart and strong commander he had always been and he stood proudly to attention as he awaited Baldur’s instru
ctions.

  “Make for Ilema and speak with Jenko.” Baldur commanded, “Tell him to keep an eye out for any unusual activity and report anything, regardless of how insignificant it may seem.”

  “Yes, Lord.” Tellan replied with a stiff salute that came from the roots of his very soul and when he turned with great purpose, he left his commander brooding in silence.

  Baldur watched Tellan stalk away with the bearing of a hunter warrior and he felt a strong pride within his chest at the man he had come to know as a brother true. It was one thing trusting a man with your life, but entrusting the safety of your daughter to someone else was another matter entirely. But…he had never once doubted that Tellan would lay his own life down for Reya without question, and not because of the fierce loyalty he held for Baldur.

  There was none other in this realm that Reya trusted more than Tellan, Baldur knew, and if the future was to pan out in the manner in which he had already suspected, then he knew that Reya would need her uncle more than ever. It saddened Baldur more than he could say that Reya could be forced to live her life without him there to protect her, that it was possible he couldn’t be by her side as a father should. But it was imperative that she was to be kept safe, regardless of the cost; his daughter…the child of Asgard and Midgard that should have never been.

  Baldur was seized with a sudden desire then, an overwhelming necessity to join his daughter beneath the oak tree that she adored so much. He sat down in the space between her and the tree’s gnarled trunk and as he opened his enormous arms, Reya snuggled backwards into the broad expanse of his chest. Baldur smiled serenely into the silken waves of her hair as she read aloud to him, as always astonished at how perfectly she fit within his strong embrace. As though she had always meant to be nestled safely against his heart, impossible child or not.

  Reya had been disappointed that Tellan hadn’t stayed for dinner after all, but Baldur did his best in encouraging a better mood from her and soon she became happier. Father and daughter had sat companionably together in the warmth of the fire as Baldur read aloud from one of the many books that Reya had collected over the years, until the girl’s eyes began to droop drowsily. Baldur glanced up from the pages of the story book in his lap and when he saw how Reya had fallen asleep – curled up into a ball among the cushions that covered the chair beside him – he slowly closed the book with a soft chuckle. He lovingly watched her for a moment, struck suddenly at how much he could see her mother within her face and he wished with all his heart that Ana could have seen how beautiful their daughter had become.

  Baldur would have Fallen to Midgard countless times if he could, if only it would have granted him just one more second with the woman who had shown him his sudden mortality had not been a burden, but a celebration of life. In his mind he saw Ana still; vibrant, full of life and compassion…it had been her spirit that had stolen Baldur’s heart and granted him an immortal gift of love that had, and still, transcended her death. Even though the birth of Reya had claimed Ana’s life, Baldur held on to the euphoria Ana had shown when she had met their daughter, for when the life had faded from her eyes, her tears had been of joy and not of woe.

  He slid off the chair silently and as he kneeled beside Reya’s sleeping form, he gently tucked a strand of the softest, golden hair behind her ear, as though frightened his very touch would somehow disturb her serenity. “Reya?” He whispered delicately, in that strange parental duality that wanted her to wake up, but stay in perfect slumber.

  Reya remained silent but for a puff of breath hushed in her sleep and Baldur lovingly scooped her up into his arms, as he had when she had been a baby. Without a word Baldur carried his daughter through to her bed and laid her down gently, so careful that he didn’t wake her, for he knew all too painfully that sleep had become a distant stranger to her. As Reya curled into a tighter ball, Baldur stood up to retrieve the covers from his own bed and draped their downy softness across her body tenderly. He watched her sleep in silence for a moment, such adoration in his eyes that it felt to him as though just looking upon her was enough to bruise his heart with the sweetest serenity.

  He sat beside her, his eyes focused on the wonderful peace that filled Reya’s face and as her hand splayed onto the pillow her hair pooled upon, her fingers unconsciously reached out for him. Baldur touched her fingertips with his so gently and as he watched his daughter succumb to a deeper slumber, his own eyes fell heavy and he slipped into sleep himself.

  It seemed to Reya as though she had blinked once and on the second blink, she opened her eyes to see with someone else’s vision. But the gasp of horror that she felt the urge to utter did not sound, for she despairingly recognised the scene in which she had found herself immersed.

  She was back in this place, the place beyond the world that she knew and around her a never ending battle roared and screamed, ferocious and bloody in a relentless explosion of violence. The tumultuous sky itself was ripped asunder by the lightning and thunder that shredded through the very fabric of existence, great dragon wyrms of energy that pulsed with heat and light. Winged beings spiralled through the sky frenetically, too huge to be considered birds; but the nature of their identity was something that Reya both instinctually knew and shied away from. The beings swooped and dived like the swallows that swirled around her favourite tree back home, but the shrieking clash of weapons and roar of battle cries that filled the air frightened her to the depths of her soul.

  She watched as some of the beings fell lifelessly from the battle, so many of them in a macabre imitation of autumn leaves and among the crashing of thunder that cracked deafeningly all around her, a powerful scream raged from behind. Reya lifted her arms, the great axe that she had come to expect within her strong hands already, and her corded muscles tensed at the impact that ran through her body.

  The opponent that had leapt fearlessly at her, his sword bloody and violent as it strained against her own weapon, was unlike any that Reya had seen before in her nightmares. She knew instinctually that this being was a demon; its hooded, almond eyes a serpentine flash of liquid lightning that was filled with the very depths of the Abyss from whence it had come. Its smoky grey face shredded into a gruesome grin of jagged teeth and murder, and from somewhere within Reya’s heart came a thrill of vengeful adrenalin that fuelled the battle cry that boiled in her chest.

  The roar that burst forth from Reya’s mouth was not her own, and the great axe was pushed with a tremendous strength that dislodged the demon into a stagger. The demon snarled and rushed forward once more even as the great axe swung for his life, its powerful arc thwarted by the demon’s blade that blocked its path. Reya could only watch on as the great axe was suddenly spun in the opposite direction and she looked into wide, silver eyes before the demon’s head was taken in a fountain of dark blood.

  The great axe seemed to have a life of its own as it was lifted again, passed between the huge hands that commanded its strength with aggressive confidence, and its wicked edge sliced devastatingly through the dark, demonic flesh that surged before it. Reya tried to close her eyes as blood spurted and sprayed from countless demonic foes, and a nauseated chill ran through her stomach when she felt the hideous warmth of gore splatter onto her face.

  She gasped in shock when the haft of the great axe was met by ringing resistance yet again and the sword that pressed aggressively down upon her strength slid forward dangerously, its ragged tip seeking her eye. She felt her body twist into a backwards bend and even as the great axe was dropped from her strong grip, she rose once more with her hand clasped upon the dagger that crossed the small of her back. Reya’s eyes were glued to the dagger on its terminal journey towards the soft underside of the demon’s jaw, for its overstretched stance had left its vulnerability wide open and the blade sank deeply. She screamed at the sight of the blade through the demon’s open mouth, the point of the weapon forced upwards inexorably into its brain. Then her vision swirled as the great axe was retrieved, the dagger left where it was, for a
nother opponent was upon her with terrifying speed. Reya wept inside herself as the great axe wove and spun, its double heads soaked in an ever flowing river of blood that stained her hands and face with its glistening tattoo. But no matter how loudly she cried, her woe fell upon ears that couldn’t hear her through the horrifying cacophony of battle that raged all around her and still the great axe claimed life after life.

  A ferocious impact against her side took the breath from her with a gargantuan force that stunned her and as she staggered terribly onto one knee, another heavy impact careened into her back, sending her face down. A gauntleted hand was lifted to her gaze then, covered in blood that hadn’t come from the swarm of demonic forces she had cut down, and in that moment Reya herself screamed at the sight of her drastic injury. Her vision faded precariously, but there was an immediate sensation of pressure upon her shoulder and the sound of gravel beneath her back as she was rolled by some powerful hand. She opened her eyes once more and looked up at the man that stood protectively before her with his back to her, his armour resplendent in gold and red. The bastard sword in his hands flashed silver through the wave of demons that had surged to claim the prize of her life and Reya watched as the man cut and thrust relentlessly through the sheer press of numbers.

  Reya felt her mouth open, but no words came from her but the grunt of agony that exploded from the terrifyingly deep wound that had shredded her side. Her vision became filled with the ground then, its cracked and rocky surface stained with blood and ash, and she watched in amazement as her hands slapped upon it with bloody resolution. She watched as her huge hands reached out for the fallen great axe and, as soon as her fingers wrapped around the handle of the weapon, a great battle roar of defiance boomed from her chest. With a burst of speed that left her astonished, Reya watched as the great axe was flung upwards into a spiral of death and she staggered forward on shaky legs.