The Fallen

by R. L. Drummond

  His wrath gave way to cold clarity then and, grabbing Reya’s hand as tightly as the fear that had seized his being, he all but dragged her back under the protection of his arm. “No!! Papa!!” She screamed when she registered that Tellan had spun them abruptly from her father’s murderer and she struggled fruitlessly as he pulled her insistently in his sudden flight.

  “There’s no time!” Tellan responded with the harsh realism of a soldier and even as she protested further against leaving her father behind, he heaved her upwards with an arm hooked around her waist.

  The soldiers that had survived Baldur’s wrath turned as one as Tellan fled with his niece, for their soulless eyes and bloodied faces had marked Reya in dog-like response of their master’s command, and Tellan’s mind had become crystal clear in the knowledge of what he had to do. He half carried Reya as he sprinted desperately for her safety and behind them, the soldiers whooped and roared with terrifying intimidation as they made chase like hunting dogs. At the sight of the gruesomely feral hunters that sought her life, Reya’s grief–stricken struggles finally ceased and she seized Tellan’s hand with a terrified survival instinct. Together they tumbled desperately through the crowds that still panicked like animals in a slaughterhouse and they became so buffeted by the press of bodies that sought their own escape, they faced the danger of separation.

  Tellan rebounded harshly against the wall of a building with a grunted gasp when he collided with a shrieking townsperson, but even though the chaos still careened and exploded with frightening calamity, he held on to Reya’s hand with an unmovable grip. Houses and shacks split like fissures in the earth as the soldiers ravaged everything that stood in their way; fires blazed with unchecked anger and bodies were strewn along the ground like the aftermath of a horrifically bloody war. Reya sobbed uncontrollably as she ran onward behind the shield of her uncle’s body, her displaced mind astonished that the tremble in her legs wasn’t enough to halt her in her flight.

  But the destroyed cart that blocked the road did and as Reya’s ears were ravaged by the screeching of the horse that lay in a mess of broken limbs, Tellan pulled her hastily toward the alleyway that branched off nearby. Reya cast her gaze behind her briefly and gasped in fright at the line of soldiers that scorched their way through the crowds behind them, their hateful eyes focused on her with every step. Reya’s breath shrieked from her in terrified gasps as Tellan negotiated their way through the bodies that littered the ground in a sea of blood and gore, but when her foot became snagged, their hands were abruptly forced apart. She screamed briefly when she toppled forward onto her front and as she rolled in frantic search of the vicious pursuers that had been so close behind them, Tellan soared over her with a deafening roar of challenge.

  Reya scooted back as much as her bruised ankle would allow, for within the blink of an eye, the bastard sword in Tellan’s hands plunged deeply into the neck of one of the pursuing soldiers, exploding hot blood onto the ground. And when Tellan’s sword slashed and hacked feverishly through the soldiers that poured inexorably through the bottleneck of the alley mouth, Reya blinked in an epileptic memory that was not her own. She saw Tellan for who he truly was then, a fearsome warrior resplendent in golden armour as he protected her with a loyalty so ferocious, that it radiated from him like a shield of light. Reya’s mouth fell open as tears quivered in her eyes, confused and upset by the terrible instinct that somehow her nightmares had revealed some tremendous secret. And inexplicably, her father and her Uncle Tellan forged the fragile heart of some memory that she should never have known.

  Tellan roared with a soldier’s might as he cut relentlessly through soldier after soldier, for the alley he had brought them through had at least forced the enemy into smaller numbers. But in spite of this welcome advantage, he knew that he would tire soon, and Reya was still nowhere near safe from the demon prince who had finally come to claim her. He snarled as he reached into the hidden pocket within his coat and with a last slash that dispassionately dispatched the soldier in front of him, he pulled a small, ceramic bottle free. He hefted its weight once before he launched it into the air amid the line of soldiers that bolted towards him, and when the fragile vessel shattered upon the ground, a tremendous fireball erupted with a booming explosion.

  Tellan wasted no time in turning towards Reya and as he gathered her hastily onto his shoulder without hindrance of her weight, he resumed the attempt of rescuing his niece from the clutches of Belial. They fled from the alley with the temporary reprieve the devouring flames had granted them and as Tellan’s head whipped around in search of a way to keep Reya safe, he spied the horse that whinnied and kicked madly amid the massacre. He rushed towards the horse, but it kicked its hooves up with a screech of alarm at the abruptness of his approach and Tellan staggered back with a hissed curse.

  Reya gasped in relief at the sight of the horse and whispered, “Asgard!”

  At the sound of her soft voice, the beast calmed with an eerie alacrity and as its hooves settled amid the blood and broken timber that desecrated the ground, its black eyes glittered calmly upon Reya. Tellan backed off with an uneasy stammer at how readily the horse had regained its sensibilities, but Reya placed her hand upon his chest with silent reassurance.

  The roaring taunts of the soldiers still in pursuit ripped his attention away however, and as they boiled and tumbled from the alleyway like rats in a barrel, the figure of Belial loomed among them. Tellan scowled at how dispassionately the demon prince climbed over the bodies of his own army, and as those smouldering silver eyes fell upon the prize of Baldur’s daughter, a stream of demonic utterances fouled the air.

  Tellan turned to look into Reya’s eyes with grim resolve then; he knew with an absolute certainty that there would be no chance for her escape unless Belial could be distracted from his target long enough to lose her. But with this distraction came the possibility that Reya would be left alone to face whatever dangers came next and that was an additional torment upon Baldur’s death that scalded Tellan’s heart with acidic fire.

  Reya caught the tortured expression within that steady gaze and her mouth became downcast in tortured woe at the implications it brought. “No, Uncle–” She began with sorrowful refusal.

  “Go to Ilema.” Tellan interrupted firmly and in spite of how she beat her fists upon his shoulders, he hefted her onto the back of the horse, “Seek out a man called Jenko; he will help you to reach safety.”

  Tellan began to turn back towards the soldiers that surged towards him in a wave of steel and armour, but the wailing, plaintive cry from Reya brought him back sharply.

  “Be strong, Reya!” He ordered with such an uncharacteristically stern harshness within his voice that Reya cringed inside, “Do you understand what you need to do?”

  Reya gulped as she flashed her gaze towards the soldiers that approached with such feverish aggression that she could see the fire of death in their eyes. She then looked back down at Tellan’s stoic face and repeated in a hoarse murmur, “Go…go to Ilema.”

  “And then?” Tellan rapped, but his stern tone was betrayed by the tremble of anguish within his face, for the sight of Reya’s distress struck his heart with overwhelming heaviness.

  Reya gulped down the sadness that threatened to erupt from her throat, for the concept of losing her beloved father and her uncle in one day was too much for her heart to bear. She felt as though her chest would be ripped asunder by the anguish that shredded her from within; torturous blades of horror that plunged deeply into her heart, unforgiving and cruel. Tellan’s face remained unmoved however and within that moment, she realised how hard he must have struggled to maintain his composure in the heat of the battle that raged around them like a twisting maelstrom.

  “J…Jenko.” She finally uttered with a whisper of defeat. Tellan reached up impulsively then and seized her head with the fatherly love that burned so brightly within him, kissing her forehead with ferocious immediacy.

  “I’ll find you.” He oathed to her
fiercely and with that final, brief sentence, he roughly slapped the rump of Reya’s horse to encourage its immediate gallop.

  Tellan turned in an instant and raised his bastard sword high and bloody in his immortal duty, roaring fierce defiance at his eternal enemy. Reya was powerless to stop Asgard’s gallop when Tellan rushed towards the sea of soldiers and as she was sped away from the destruction of her childhood home, all Reya could do was sob breathlessly in helpless grief.

  The darkened gloom of midnight draped the world in an oily cloak and the barest pin pricks of starlight flashed sombre fireflies through the mesh of grubby mist. But all Reya could see were blurry shapes, for everything around her was distorted through unshed tears and a numb mind as Asgard plodded on. The gelding was utterly exhausted; his frenzied gallop had been fuelled by the raw, animal desire of escaping the madness of the demon’s army and now his breath heaved from him with laboured huffs. Asgard’s heavy hoof clops mirrored Reya’s own exhaustion and it seemed as though her hands alone had awoken to the knowledge that she had to hold onto the pommel of the saddle to stop from falling off. Her body slumped and bobbed lethargically with every motion of the horse, her face a dull shawl that barely covered the horrors that swooped and shrieked behind her eyes still.

  Papa…She thought, the single word alone as destructive as a trebuchet boulder through her mind from the moment she had witnessed her proud and valiant father’s death. Her eyes closed in helpless grief as her body began aching again, that awful anguish that squeezed her very skin into a torturous spiral of agony. Reya’s face tilted towards the sky as she keened for her father and with the tears that fell down her cheeks in torrents, the image of Belial’s blade severing Baldur’s head speared her heart. Reya sobbed breathlessly, astounded that she still had tears left within her as she lifted a hand and weakly clutched her chest.

  It felt to her as though her heart had shrivelled and died within her, that somehow that demonic man had reached inside her and twisted her heart into a blackened husk. Belial…She thought with a gulp that swelled her throat terribly, His name had been Belial. Papa had known exactly who he was. But why?

  All the stories of adventure and battle she had listened to and read, in spite of how they had thrilled her, they had never prepared her for the feral violence that had assaulted her eyes. The smell of blood alone had been enough to electrify her skin in sheer terror and she shamefully remembered how firmly she had been rooted to the spot as her father had fought.

  Reya blinked densely as she left her thought hanging in the echoing void of her memory, dulled as it was with the pain of everything she had witnessed. It suddenly occurred to her that she had watched her father fight with such fury and skill that she had been left astounded. Of course she knew he was…had been – her chin trembled as she corrected herself – a big and strong man. But it had never occurred to her to ask how he had come to be so huge. He was – had been – her father, the strongest man in the world…it had never seemed like a thing that should have ever been questioned. But the way in which Baldur had moved: so strong, confident and blindingly fast…Reya couldn’t believe that such a ferocious warrior had lain dormant within her father like a restless volcano.

  From the moment he had seen the danger she hadn’t identified for herself, he had been before her with his tremendous weapon drawn, fearsome and steadfast in his protection of her. Reya’s eyes dropped heavily when her ears replayed the hushed sound of his bag as it had fallen shredded upon the ground, such a stark contrast against the scream of steel when he had struck with his mighty axe. She had been horrified at the sight of the great axe, its double heads as sharp and vicious as she had always remembered it…but the implications it had brought as she had watched him move…where did it even come from? She wondered.

  Reya could no longer deny that she had felt a great familiarity as her father had fought, but what terrified her most of such a prospect was how well she had anticipated his actions. Reya still didn’t understand what it all meant, for the memories of his fight swirled around her mind like oily pools that changed and rippled confusingly. But she knew instinctually that she had uncovered some great, forbidden truth she had no business of knowing and somehow, she was at the heart of it.

  Belial knows this too. Reya thought forebodingly as apprehension chased electricity through her skin and then a new realisation cut through her anguish with a rusted blade: he had come for her, to steal her from her father. He had known exactly who she was…”your eyes are very unique.”…

  Reya shook her head as she thought of the look on her Uncle Tellan’s face; such loathing and anger within his features that he had seemed like a stranger to her. Only familiarity could bring such an expression of acidic hatred, but it was the way in which he had whispered the demon’s name that had pierced Reya so completely. She had always known that Tellan was a strong man, a fighter who protected many in his work as a guide and bodyguard…but she had never witnessed his fighting prowess first hand. When she had lain sprawled on the ground and had looked on as Tellan had guarded her with ferocious protection, she had realised then that her nightmares had been visions. But of what, she still couldn’t say; and this new frustration compounded her sadness with torturous pressure that weighed too heavily upon her mind.

  Asgard’s mane tossed as he whinnied weakly and when Reya lifted her tear stained eyes, she gasped with exhausted relief at the sight of Ilema’s lights in the distance. She closed her eyes wearily as she leaned forward and rested her face against Asgard’s glossy brown mane.

  “We’re nearly there, Asgard.” She whispered through hoarse tears and her hand stroked the beast’s sweating neck in an encouragement to continue.

  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply when Asgard’s hooves clopped onward, as stoic in his duty of taking her to safety as her Uncle Tellan had been in his protection. She was soothed by the sturdy impact of his hooves with every step forward, for it was something tangible she could focus upon and it brought the tentative renewal of a little composure. When the city lanterns began to cast muted lights across her closed eyelids, Reya sat upright in her saddle with a sharp intake of breath and swiped her hands across her ruddy cheeks. She pushed her shoulders back with pride that she had managed to find her way here, such a scary task for a young woman to accomplish on her own in the maze of the world, and Asgard trotted through Ilema’s broad archway.

  In spite of the late hour, people still walked through the streets of Ilema as though the sun was still high and Reya tried not to make eye contact with anyone as she threaded Asgard through the crowds. Her eyes darted around the murky shadows and planes of the buildings that rose imposingly on either side of her, their towering, stony faces so startlingly different from the comfortable, squat cottages that had formed Fieldhaven. Within the frightening sounds and noises that suffused the air came the recollection of her initial excitement of the adventure her father had promised, and now she felt a deep shame at how naïve she had been. In her books she had become so lost in the romanticism of far–flung lands and their unusual customs, intoxicating backdrops of wondrous mountain ranges with crystal clear lakes, and the heart–quickening excitement of adventure.

  But what she hadn’t counted on was the dry wind that rattled alarmingly through weather damaged shutters, the stink of effluence that trickled with wet viscosity down broken gutter pipes and the squawking squeaks of the rats that scuttled around underfoot as big as beavers.

  This…this is Ilema? Reya thought in horror and shuddered as she fought the tears that threatened to burst from her in despair. Her heart hammered as she trotted past raucous taverns and laughing clusters of people and when she caught the unfortunate attention of a drunken stranger, she clutched the reins with white knuckled hands.

  “I–I’m sorry…” She mumbled nervously in return of the man’s drunken slurring and kicked her heels into Asgard’s flanks to encourage speed away from retaliation.

  She gasped breathlessly at the reaction of the man, for h
e shouted and cursed undiluted vitriol at her back and Reya became suddenly aware of how exposed she was on horseback. A sharp bang then sounded as loudly as thunder from a nearby building and as she jumped in fright, she gathered the reins tightly against her chest like a frightened child would clutch a blanket.

  A new blossom of sickly light emanated briefly when a crowd of young men tumbled into the street, their voices loud in song and merriment. Reya kept her head forward in spite of how much she trembled, for the men had been clearly deep into their cups this evening and were now loudly in search of some other lewd avenue of entertainment. Hoping that she could avoid any unnecessary involvement with the men who stumbled and cajoled raucously past her, Reya led her horse down the nearest side street with her breath held tightly in her chest. As soon as she felt she was deep enough in shadow, her breath was let out in a great whoosh and she gently brought Asgard to a stop with a soft tug upon his reins. Reya dismounted with shaking legs and pressed her face into the gelding’s saddle in an effort to summon some kind of control over her spiralling terror.

  She was in a city…not just any city, but Ilema…so wildly different from her home town that she could scarcely believe she was in the same world. She felt utterly exposed without her father’s reassurance and protection and within that moment, Reya had never felt so alone in all her life. She turned with her head in her hands and leaned back against Asgard’s flank, her mind a myriad of so many emotions that it felt impossible for her body to contain. And with Tellan gone–

  Reya gasped and her hands flew to her mouth. Tellan! She thought with an internal cry of anguish. The last she had seen of her wonderful uncle was his bastard sword raised, the steel bloody and black with gore, and he with an oath of defiant guardianship roared in challenge. But if her father had died under the sheer force of numbers in spite of how ferociously he had wielded his great axe…