Hero's Curse

by Jack J. Lee

  I waited until the troll was just at the foot of the stairs. He had his war hammer high, on the verge of delivering a killing stroke, when I silently mouthed, “Pyro.” My original bang stick barrel had been flush with the shotgun shell. Aidan’s stick had a four inch barrel, turning my weapon into a sawed-off shotgun. Because of the troll’s height and my position on the stairs, our heads were level. With my left arm fully extended, my sawed off shotgun was just a few feet from his head when it fired.

  There was a ‘BANG’ and a fireball appeared between us. The Jotunn collapsed face down on the stairs. Blood pooled below his head. There was complete silence.

  In a fight, our instincts are more powerful than our conscious minds. We focus on movement and noise. We ignore the quiet and unmoving. The Jotunn had been watching their friend scream and charge. I had been a still figure in the corner of their field of vision, quietly sitting on the stairs. When they saw the flash and heard the bang, even though their conscious minds knew it came from me, their instincts said it came from him. If I had roared a battle cry, or moved at all, they would have seen a threat and swarmed on me as soon their friend fell. I sat completely still. I waited for them to come to grips with what just happened.

  When their eyes moved from their dead companion back to me, I put the cigar back in my mouth, drew in a nice slow puff, and then made a ‘sorry, what could I do?’ gesture with both my hands. The Jotunn just to the right of the leader started laughing first. Then, the leader began to laugh. Soon, the entire warband roared with laughter.

  The stench of rotting meat rose from his body. It seemed all the Jotunn stank. I could see why they preferred to stay in their human shapes. I slowly, carefully put out my cigar and walked down the stairs past the dead troll.

  I stood in front of the leader. “I have a proposition for you.”

  She stopped laughing. Her quick glance to either side quieted the rest. “My name is Signe Ericsdottir. How are you named?”

  “Victor Paladin.”

  “You slew Gerrid. It wasn’t a question and it didn’t sound like she was talking about the stiff behind me.

  “If you’re talking about the Jotunn in Salt Lake City a few days ago, yeah.”

  “What did you do with his body?” She asked with idle curiosity.

  “Most of it is buried under a rock. His head got exposed to the sun. I don’t know your customs. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

  The Jotunn who had started laughing first then spoke up, “Did you slay Gerrid unaided, or did you perhaps have companions to assist you?”

  “It was just me.”

  He grunted in response and then said appraisingly, “You have gained power since then.”

  I gave a short laugh. “Yeah, back then, I didn’t even know I was a paladin.”

  My reply caused them to talk amongst themselves in their native language. It would have been nice to know what they were talking about.

  Signe turned back to me. “Where is your treasure, Paladin? Have you come for a good death?”

  I threw my head back and laughed. “If you kill me now, you’ll never get my treasure. I’m here to offer you a deal, and Jehovah’s gifts are part of it.” I waited for her to respond.

  After a moment, she motioned me to continue.

  “One-on-one, I can take you all. If you attack me as a group, I’m dead.” I grinned widely, “And where’s the glory in that? Here’s my offer. Agree to fight me one-on-one, and if you kill me, you will leave my people alone forever. I will agree that if I’m mortally wounded, I won’t send my treasure away. The one that kills me gets my gifts.” I could feel the pizza start to come back up again. It took everything I had not to upchuck.

  My offer created an uproar. All Jotunn began talking at once. “Hold, úlfar[11]!” Signe stared down the others until they stopped talking. “Paladins must protect their gifts with their lives. How is it possible for you to uphold your agreement?”

  I ignored my nausea and gave a careless shrug. “The same way I left Salt Lake City. I’ll put myself to sleep.”

  “Those are your terms?” Her narrowed blue eyes reminded me of Mina’s. “Safety for your people if we agree to meet you in single combat?”

  “That, and if for any reason, you withdraw before I am dead, you leave me and mine alone for four weeks. You will all stay outside Salt Lake City for four weeks.”

  “Huh.” She grunted, “You believe others will come to your aid?”

  Despite how nauseous I felt, I forced a small, rueful smile. “That’s the plan.”

  She snickered. “Your words appear truthful, but will you take us at our word alone? Though you are small, you do not seem a trusting child. How shall we, as enemies, bind one another?”

  “I say we all agree to an oath; if anyone reneges, they will be cursed.”

  Sign looked curious. “A pledge to Jehovah would mean nothing to us; your oath to Odin would be less than meaningless. What oath would bind us all?”

  I turned to the Jotunn with the sense of humor and offered him my hand. He eyed me for a few seconds and then took my hand. “I will fight you one-by-one, until you kill me, I kill all of you, or you all withdraw before I am dead. You will fight me one-by-one, without help from anyone, until you kill me, or you all withdraw before I am dead. If you withdraw, you stay at least one hundred miles away from Salt Lake City and leave my people alone for four weeks. If you kill me, you will stay at least one hundred miles away from Salt Lake City forever. If you mortally wound me, I will put myself to sleep so that you may claim my gifts. If anyone breaks this pledge, their manhood will wither, die, and fall off.” This time around, I didn’t feel as nauseous. Not mentioning my treasure may have helped.

  At the word ‘manhood’ the troll began laughing so hard he almost fell down. He affectionately struck me on my shoulder with his free paw. Even in human form, he was big enough that I had to lean into his love pat to avoid being thrown off my feet. “By The Hallowed Halls of Valhalla, Adam’s son, I like you. You lighten my heart. I am named Asvald Arnison. Once I kill you, I shall eat your heart and tongue. I accept your pledge.”

  My spell bar came up. It showed if I made this oath, I’d use up ten percent of my soul. FUCK! I broke out into a cold sweat. There were seventeen of them left. I looked up into Asvald’s eyes. I had no other choice. I had to make this oath. I let the spell go through. A sense of tingling coolness started at our hands and then spread through my body. Then all of the coolness focused on my groin until it became cold and numb. After a few seconds, my feeling in my nuts came back. It was a promise of what was to come if any of us reneged.

  Asvald let go of my hand and stepped aside for the Jotunn next in line to take my hand. “I am named Egil son of Frodi the Strong. I will sing of your death in years to come. I shall eat your heart. I agree to your pledge.” When my spell bar came it showed only a miniscule part of my soul was necessary to bind Egil to his oath. Thank God. It was better to be lucky than good.

  When I said, “I agree” to Egil. I didn’t feel nauseated. I just felt a flash of coolness in my groin.

  All of the Jotunn shook my hand. Almost all of them promised to eat some part of me. I got they were complimenting me. When they said they wanted to eat my heart, I could tell they thought I was brave. I assumed if they wanted to eat my tongue, they thought I was funny. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why one of them wanted to eat my liver. Maybe he just liked liver?

  Signe Ericsdottir was the last to shake my hand. I was reminded of Junior High—the last time I’d been eye level to breasts. “I have no manhood to lose.”

  I raised an eyebrow, “When you have sons, they will be born without male parts and will live as women.” Signe flushed and broke a hard grin, as her warband yelled and screamed around us.

  When she reached out and cupped my balls, I didn’t react. She was expecting me to flinch—I refused. She squeezed me to the point of discomfort. My smile was a promise. She guffawed. “I will drink mead from your skull
. I regret I do not have time to take your seed. You would make strong sons.” The rest of the Jotunn thought she was so funny a couple of them actually fell over, pummeling the ground with their feet and fists while they roared in wild laughter.

  Binding Signe to her oath took three percent of my soul.

  Tim was right. Jehovah had a sense of humor. Join God’s Army. Go to new places, meet new people, have them sexually harass you and promise to eat your vital organs, and then kill them.

  Chapter 23: Single Combat

  Signe gave me a feral grin. “One moment Victor Paladin, while we cast lots. The Jotunn huddled in a circle and threw dice. Every time the dice were rolled there were groans and cheers. All eighteen took a turn to roll. Some rolled more than once. It looked like they were figuring out the fighting order.

  I wondered how many I could take out if I called Sanguinis and emptied a thirty-two round drum into the huddle. I’d have to nail each one in the head and the Jotunn would probably scatter instantly. The ones in front would shield the trolls behind them. I figured about four or five.

  The Jotunn stood and faced me. Signe looked pissed, and was cursing under her breath. Asvald looked pleased.

  He walked up. “Fortune favors me. I have won the right to be first against you. Come, the holmgang is prepared.”

  One of the others took a can of spray paint and made a circle about fifteen feet in diameter on the street. Shit. If we fought in the circle, I wouldn’t have much room to dodge or use my speed.

  Signe spoke, “Two shall enter the holmgang; only one will leave. Any who steps out of the circle before the duel is complete shall die. There is no quarter, only victory or death.

  As Asvald changed into his Jotunn form, I studied the faces of the other trolls. They looked like like Santa Claus had put coal in their stockings. Only one of them could take my gifts. It looked like they thought he would get all the goodies.

  When Asvald entered the holmgang, he was eight feet tall. He held a five foot longsword in one hand and a shield that went from his knee to his upper chest in the other. A chainmail shirt hung down to his thighs and was cinched at his waist by a leather belt. He wore leather gauntlets studded with metal and metal shin guards over leather boots. He wore an open faced conical helmet that had openings for his bat-like ears. I was surprised that the helmet didn’t have horns.

  He turned to me with a large grin and smacked his sword hilt against his shield. “Victor Paladin, í bardaga er dýrd[12]! Come to your death.”

  “Azam-shay.” I stood in my motorcycle leathers, my helmet completely covering my head, my hands empty. Most paladins had just two gifts. The less the Jotunn knew about my weapons the better.

  I could hear them murmur around me. “He has no weapons. Jehovah has given him just jacket and boots?”

  A joker yelled out, “Be warned Asvald, he kicks!”

  To a roar of laughter, I stepped into the holmgang and said, “Gecko.” The easiest way to win a fight is to have your opponent react to you rather than the other way around. The fastest counterattack is one that begins before the attack. Use the correct counterattack and gain control, you’ll win; guess wrong, you’re in deep shit. There are no safe choices when you’re fighting for your life against a bigger, stronger opponent, you have to play the odds. Asvald’s friends were acting like he was really good. I hoped so. My counterattacks would only work on someone who was also skilled enough to play the percentages. I bet my life he was good enough to fall for my bait.

  His legs were so long it only took two steps for him to reach me. He smashed into me, shield first. With all his armor, he must have weighed close to five hundred pounds. He didn’t know my boots were glued to the asphalt below me. I tucked my head out of the way and threw my left shoulder into Asvald’s shield.

  He slammed to a stop like he’d run into a brick wall. All I felt through my jacket was a light push against my shoulder. I could see why Jehovah’s gifts were valued. Somehow my jacket had absorbed or transferred almost all the kinetic energy of Asvald’s shield rush away from me. While he was still stunned by his unexpected stop, I threw my right palm into his face. Barely in time, he bowed his head and my palm and the tip of my bang stick hit his helmet.

  “Gecko.” I ignored the sound of the shotgun shell discharging uselessly against his helmet, and raised my heel to smash it into the top of his right foot.

  It’s almost impossible to take out an enemy with one blow. Skilled fighters use combinations of strikes and blocks, like first going for the head and then the foot. Asvald proved he was a great fighter when he blocked my bang stick while still stunned. He proved it again when he began to move his foot out of the way. To keep his balance, he had to move his shield off to the side.

  Just as he shifted his weight, before he had his foot off the ground, I threw myself into a feet-first baseball slide between his legs. He was eight feet tall and had legs to match his height; there was enough room.

  My leathers helped me slide me further on the asphalt. I ended up on the ground behind him.

  He turned to face me off-balance, his right foot still not fully planted on the ground.

  “Gecko.” With my feet locked to the ground, I lunged at his left thigh with all my strength.

  Just as he was about to fall, despite his weight and size, he leaped gracefully away. He spun in the air so he landed on his feet, facing me—just outside the holmgang.

  The Jotunn around us had been screaming and shouting; they suddenly became silent. I saw Asvald realize what he had done. With shock still in his eyes, he stared at the spray painted line on the ground. When he looked up and met my eyes, he had a grin back on his face. “Well done, warrior. Remember my name—Asvald, son of Arni—when you boast of your foes.”

  He walked back into the holmgang and knelt in front of me, his sword across his thighs, the grip in his hand. From my utility belt, I grabbed the thin screwdriver I’d used to kill my first troll. Jotunn healed from their wounds unless they’re burned into them.

  I lit the lighter I’d used for my cigar and placed the tip of the screwdriver into its flame. “Ake-may e-thay eat-hay ansfer-tray om-fray e-thay ighter-lay ame-flay o-tay e-thay ewdriver-scray enty-tway imes-tay ore-may efficient-ay.” My spell bar showed me it would take a fraction of one percent of my soul. “Akeitso-may.”

  Asvald’s face was calm as the tip of my screwdriver started to glow. It took less than a minute for it to become bright red and then white. I heard the snap and crackle of seared flesh when I stabbed the blade into his eye and then twirled it in a wide arc in his brain.

  He slumped to the ground. I faced the other Jotunn holding the screwdriver covered with burnt brain. “Who’s next?”

  “Hold, Victor Paladin.” Signe walked into the circle. “The holmgang must be cleared.”

  That made sense. I looked at my screwdriver. Should I wipe it clean on Asvald before they pulled his body away? I decided not. He didn’t deserve contempt. Aidan said God’s Will couldn’t be tarnished, so I wiped the blade clean on my jacket and reattached it to my belt.

  Signe stood over Asvald and muttered some words in her native tongue. He burst into flames. In a few minutes all trace of him were gone.

  I studied the Jotunn while Asvald burned. I had a good idea who was up next. He looked like a kid. He had introduced himself before but I didn’t remember his name. All the others were eying him like he was already dead. Every group of fighters has a hierarchy; his body language told me he was the lowest on the warband’s totem pole. I knew his pride would make him walk into the holmgang. He was trying to hide it, but he was scared.

  I was reminded of another kid who felt the same way. I don’t know how it was in other orphanages—in the one I grew up in, there was a constant stream of couples looking for kids to adopt. The younger kids got all the attention. If you were like me—there since infancy and still hadn’t been adopted—you had something that caused couples desperate for children to walk away. It wasn’t unusual for the olde
r kids to have what the nuns called ‘socialization issues.’

  Throw enough people with socialization issues together and you get problems. The worst problem at the orphanage was Tommy Hills. At seventeen he was one of the biggest kids there. I found out later that the nuns had been trying to get rid of him for some time. I was trying to read a book, eat a sandwich, and walk out of the cafeteria at the same time. As soon as I ran into his tray, I knew I had made a gigantic mistake. In slow motion, I saw Tommy’s tray, a plate full of food, and glass filled with milk fly up and splatter the front of his shirt and pants. Even then I had good reflexes; I ducked his instinctive swing for my head. All the adults in the cafeteria swarmed on us. Even Tommy wasn’t dumb enough to try anything more right then.

  Everyone in the cafeteria knew it wasn’t over. We all knew sooner or later, Tommy was going to kick my ass. I decided I didn’t want to live in fear. I figured the sooner I got beat the better. I was ten years old.

  Later that day, I made sure one of Tommy’s friends saw me headed to the gymnasium. I was shooting baskets by myself when he and his gang came into the gym and locked the door. Even though my heart was racing and my palms were clammy with sweat, I was glad to see them. I knew it would be over faster if I didn’t resist.

  Tommy was six feet tall and overweight, close to two hundred and fifty pounds. He didn’t say anything; just walked over to me and punched me in the face. I was knocked on my ass. I curled up in a ball as he began kicking me. I must have passed out because I woke up with agonizing pain. Something splintered inside me. I knew in that instant, I was going to die.

  Tommy had me in a bear hug and was squeezing hard. I tried to speak, to beg him to stop. I couldn’t make a sound or even take a breath. I looked into his eyes and saw he was enjoying himself. He was just a stupid, vicious kid who was lucky enough to be bigger than me. This idiot was going to kill me for knocking his lunch on his chest. The thing that pissed me off the most was he was going to do it by accident.