Worlds Without End: The Prophecy (Book 3)

by Shaun Messick

  Before they entered, Coen looked around. It was getting darker now, and an eerie silence enveloped the small village. Most of the 123 residents of the village had retreated to their private huts and shacks for protection from the downpour. Once inside, he had to squint to adjust to the brightly lit hall. Oil-lit torches adorned the walls as the smell of roasting pig permeated his olfactory senses. He turned to his right and saw the large swine being spun on a poker over the fire pit. His house servant, an elderly woman named Vailar, smiled at him through rotting and broken teeth. He acknowledged her with a nod and turned back to his wife. “Rurik should be returning soon from Mount Resumpsi. I am going to get cleaned up before he arrives. We will then dine with my captains as we plan our strategy for a possible giant attack.”

  His wife nodded her head and kissed him on the cheek. He walked down the spacious meeting hall and up a few steps onto the platform where their solid oak thrones, which were polished to dark brown sheens and adorned in red velvet cushions fastened together with shimmering brass clasps, rested. Just before he turned to walk up the stairs that would take him to his private quarters, he heard a small boy call out for him.

  “Uncle!”

  He turned just in time to see a rambunctious little boy bounding across the hall. The blonde, blue-eyed child was covered from his waist down in mud, obviously having just returned from playing out in the rain.

  “Abadani, where have you been?” he asked, squatting down and reaching out for him.

  Abadani jumped into his arms. “Uncle, I have missed you.”

  Coen pulled Abadani in close, squeezing tightly. “Oh, how I have missed you too,” he replied as he put the young boy down and rubbed his mud-caked hand through Abadani’s hair. Flecks of mud dropped to the wood floor as Abadani’s eyes danced around with excitement.

  Coen’s heart nearly melted. Even though Abadani was not blood, he loved the four-cycle-old child as if he were his own son. Glancing at Sierrone, who had now made her way behind Abadani, he could see the sadness behind her eyes as she smiled at them.

  He didn’t have to read her thoughts to know what was going on in her mind. His wife was barren, and because of her inability to produce an heir for him, she felt a tremendous amount of guilt. No matter how many times Coen reassured her, she could not hide her remorse. She had even offered her personal handmaiden to him in order to give him an heir. But he refused to accept the gift. Sierrone was the love of his life, and he would not betray that love by sleeping with another woman, even though plural marriage was an acceptable and expected practice for a tribal chief.

  He smiled at his wife warmly, letting her know once again that it was okay, and knelt down to look into Abadani’s eyes.

  “Where is my daddy?”

  “Your fa—”

  Without notice, the double doors to the assembly hall opened abruptly. Rurik came barreling in, drenched to the bone and covered in mud. He was followed closely by two of his captains, also covered in mud. The only feature Coen could make out on Rurik were the whites of his hazel eyes.

  A heavy, sinking feeling penetrated deep into Coen’s gut, for Rurik’s eyes told it all. They were wild with fear. “Where are they? And how many?” he asked with urgency.

  “Daddy!” Abadani screeched, turning to run toward his father.

  Rurik kept a cold gaze on Coen and placed an acknowledging and muddy hand on the top of his son’s head. He was out of breath. “Co-Coen. Jus-Just before we came down from the mount, I spotted them. They are heading this way. Th-They are about seven kilometers away from Mount Resumpsi.”

  Coen stepped forward and grabbed his beloved friend by the shoulders in order to settle Rurik’s nerves. In a low tone, he asked, “How many, Rurik? How many were you able to spot?”

  Rurik tried to speak, but he couldn’t get the words out.

  “How many?” Coen roared, shaking the fear from his dear friend.

  “Hun . . . There were hundreds of torches, Coen.”

  “By the gods,” Sierrone gasped.

  Coen shot a look at one of Rurik’s captains. “Sound the alarm! Gather all of the women and the children to the safe room. . . I want every able man battle-ready within the hour!”

  *****

  Coen and Rurik sat on their horses near the summit of Mount Resumpsi. From this vantage point, they could see the entire valley. It was dark now, and the rain had stopped. The thick clouds had disappeared, revealing the bright stars.

  Coen closed his eyes and sucked in the damp night air. Peering back to the stars, he set his gaze upon the brightest star in the sky. His ancestors called it Terresta Ok Ni - the goddess of protection. For as long as he could remember, his people worshiped the star and revered her for her guiding light at night. Despite his misgivings about the actual existence of the gods and goddesses that his people praised, he closed his eyes and hoped that there was something; some kind of god or goddess that could protect them from the evil horde they were about to face.

  “What do you think, Coen?”

  “What?” Coen asked, startled out of his thoughts.

  “Do you think they will attack tonight?”

  “My guess is that they will. King Middoni is no fool. He knows we will take the high ground. I only hope he thinks that we have the women and children up here for protection as well. I pray that they will be safe in the underground safe room.”

  “So do I, my friend . . . so do I,” Rurik said as he turned his attention from Coen and stared down at the hundreds of torches that were massing at the base of the mount. A look of fear and dread graced along his face, an obvious sign that he was worried about Abadani.

  “Are the archers in place?” Coen asked.

  Rurik turned his terrified gaze back to his friend. “Yes. We have fifty-two archers on the ledge, thirty meters above our position.” He turned and pointed up toward the ledge.

  Coen turned up toward the ledge. “That won’t be enough.”

  “I know. But they are all we have left.”

  “What about the oil?”

  Nodding up toward the same ledge, Rurik replied, “We have ten men, each one manning a ten-gallon drum of oil. On your order, Coen, they will pour the oil onto the encroaching giants, and one of our archers will ignite the oil with a flaming arrow.”

  Coen turned his gaze back to the legion of giants below. A heavy feeling of sadness and defeat began to pour over him. It was almost as if his soldiers were dumping the oil on him. His breathing became shallow, like he was drowning in the thick, black ooze.

  “Are you okay?” Rurik asked.

  He shook his head and cleared his throat. “There is no hope, is there, Rurik?”

  His friend stared at him in awe. This was the first time Coen had even hinted at defeat. “Do not say that. Do not say that for the sake of my son . . . and . . . and for your wife. The gods will see us to victory. And my wife’s death will be avenged.”

  A flash of anger flared through Coen. Without notice, he burst out, “Gods! What gods, Rurik? Where have the gods been for all of these years as we have watched the ones we love suffer and die? We were not meant to die like this – as food for these . . . these abominations! As far as we know, we are the last surviving humans on Gnolom. If we are under the protection of the gods, where is the sign? Show me, Rurik! I don’t see how loving gods would constrain us to such horrors.”

  *****

  The spirit hovered a few feet above the muddy jungle floor. Hanging in the air between Coen and Rurik, his white robe fluttered, creating the illusion of white wings. Neither mortal could see him, but he could sense the hopelessness in both men, particularly Coen. Listening intently to the mortal’s ranting about the nonexistence of the gods, the spirit looked down upon the giants.

  Even though it was dark, the spirit could see as clear as the noonday sun. The creatures were horrific. He could not tell the difference between the males or females. Some of the giants were as short as four meters; others were as tall as seven. One, obviously their
leader, stood nine meters tall. He was hideous. The beast was covered in animal pelts down to his knees, leaving exposed his hairy knees and calves. Battle armor covered his torso and a helmet made of the same metal covered his head, which had two large, pointy ears jutting out. His skin was a scaly, pale mix of gray and brown. Razor-sharp teeth filled the monster’s mouth with green ooze dripping from each corner. The nose of the creature was bulbous, large, and scarred with pockmarks. But the most disconcerting feature of the giant was its eyes. The sclera of his eyes were red and seemed to glow when the beast raged with anger. The irises were the blackest the spirit had ever seen, a reflection of the darkness that consumed the creature’s soul. They were truly abominations before God. No wonder the Father and the Son wanted these monstrosities wiped out.

  The spirit could not bear to look upon the creatures any longer. He turned his attention back to the man who had lost his faith. He looked upon him with compassion, knowing that victory for his brothers and sisters upon Gnolom would be determined by their faith, something they were lacking at the present moment. A sting of fear reverberated through the spirit. Not because he lacked faith, but because if these mortals did not regain their faith in any kind of deity, the Father would allow them to be wiped off the face of the planet. It didn’t matter that the humans did not believe in the true God of the universe yet. What mattered was that they had faith in something greater than themselves, faith in something or someone that could free them from the bondage and horrors they were experiencing at this particular moment in time.

  To the spirit, this man’s lack of faith was particularly painful because the last human leader of the last human tribe upon Gnolom had been foreordained, in the pre-existence, to become his fore-bearer. If the mortal were to succumb to his fears, then the spirit’s destiny would be rewritten, something that caused him to quiver.

  The mortal had just finished his murmuring, which was a cue for the spirit to move in. He levitated higher and turned to face Coen. His bare feet hung in the air just past the edge of the cliff. Leaning forward, the spirit locked eyes with the mortal and began to speak to the man’s soul.

  *****

  Anger, rage, hate, and desperation all exploded to the surface. Coen’s flesh seemed to boil. He was just about to let out a blood-curdling roar, calling out the giant leader, when a small blue orb began to hover in front of his eyes. Suddenly, the heat of the anger that raged inside him transformed into a feeling of comfort like a warm, soft blanket wrapping around him in order to protect him from the coming onslaught.

  The orb began to grow and glow brighter. He was caught in its beauty, unable to pull his gaze away. The feelings of peace and love that enveloped him were intoxicating. He didn’t want it to end. Reaching out with his finger to touch it, he said, “Do you see that?”

  “See what? I don’t see anything other than our enemies below,” Rurik responded, bewildered as to where Coen was pointing.

  “That . . . this blue, glowing orb, hovering right here. I-It’s beautiful.”

  “I don’t see anything, Coen.”

  “You do—”

  A voice of thunder startled Coen out of his trance and echoed off of the mountain’s walls throughout the valley below. “Coen!”

  The blue orb vanished instantly, and so did the invisible blanket of protection that had covered him. He jerked his head to peer down below. He could see King Middoni surrounded by his soldiers, adorned in their torchlight.

  “Coen! Are you ready to die tonight?”

  The anger and desperation he had felt before swept over him like a waterfall. He burst out, “You wretched creature! Tonight, you die! As sure as the gods are my witnesses, you and your kind will never take control of this world! Even if I am the last man standing on this field of battle, humankind will always reign on this planet!”

  King Middoni laughed sinisterly through his sharp gray teeth. “So be it, you fool!” The giant king then turned back to the hundreds of giants in his command and issued an order in his native tongue.

  Jokina bellowed and reared back, sensing the coming attack. Coen held on tight. Once her hooves clanked upon the rocky surface of the ledge, he turned to Rurik. “This is it, Rurik. Whatever happens to us, we must not allow those abominations to find our women and children hiding within the village.”

  The look on Rurik’s face told Coen that he knew all too well the ramifications if the giants were to find their families. Rurik returned his glare to the giants below, drew his sword, and raised it above his head. “Archers at the ready!”

  The archers on the ledge above drew their bows and readied their arrows for attack.

  Just before Rurik gave the order to fire, Coen held out his hand. “Wait; do you hear that?”

  Both men sat quietly, listening intently through the dark night air. They could hear a rush of wind coming toward them. The wind grew louder like a hurricane as it drew closer and closer.

  Their horses whinnied, retreating backwards. They too could sense something was amiss. Coen leaned forward, his eyes growing wider as he began to make out the silhouette of a gigantic boulder heading their way. “Incoming!” he cried.

  Rurik’s horse reared back, bucking him off. He sprawled backwards and landed on his back with a thud onto the stone ledge. His horse galloped away in retreat down the rocky path of the mountainside.

  “Rurik!” Coen screamed as he pulled on Jokina’s reins in order to help his fallen friend. But Jokina jerked her head in the opposite direction and bolted after the other horse. “No, Jokina! We have to he—”

  Before he could get the words out, the boulder crashed into the ledge where he had just been. Rock and dirt exploded into the air. Coen felt the debris pelt his face, but he didn’t turn away for protection. With Jokina speeding down the rocky trail, his head was turned and fixed on the location where Rurik had been. “Rurik! No!”

  With no time to grieve, he turned his attention ahead as the black mare galloped down the steep trail. Once Jokina reached the tree line, branches began to hit his face and body. He heard the swish of the arrows as they sailed through the air. Deafening roars cut through the air, signaling to Coen that the giants had proceeded with their attack and were beginning to climb the cliff face.

  Coen barely made out the hindquarters of the Rurik’s horse ahead. When he clicked his heels against Jokina’s flanks, she burst into another gear. Knowing that there was no possible way he could go back up the trail to lead his men, he thought of another plan. The trail he was on would take him off of the mountain and right behind the giants. Even though he knew that he wouldn’t do much damage as one man, he at least could inflict some by swiping at the giants’ legs with his sword. It was the only thing he could think of that would give his men enough time to inflict injury or death with their arrows and oil.

  The jungle foliage was beginning to grow denser as Jokina closed the gap. Just before they reached the end of the trail, a colossal hand swept down and clutched Rurik’s horse. Coen pulled back on the reins with all of his might and Jokina skidded to a halt, nearly causing Coen to fly forward.

  Without hesitation, Coen drew his sword and looked up. His eyes locked on to the bleary eyes of a giant that was standing seven meters above him. But the giant didn’t seem to notice him. Instead, the monster zeroed in on Rurik’s horse, clutched in his right hand. The giant gawked at the horse with lustful hunger. The horse squealed in pain as the giant squeezed his hand tighter and tighter. His razor-sharp fingernails tore into the horse’s flesh, and red blood began to ooze between his fingers. The giant then brought the dying animal to his mouth and chomped down over the horse’s head with his razor-like teeth. Crimson blood exploded and dripped from the corners of his mouth.

  Repulsed, Coen again clicked his heels against Jokina’s flanks. The mare darted right toward the left knee of the mammoth creature. With the ease and precision of the skilled warrior that he was, he slashed his sword through air, slicing right through both knee tendons. He quickly turned Jo
kina around just in time to see the giant let out a wailing scream and drop what was left of Rurik’s horse. He fell to the ground with a thump.

  Clutching his injured leg and screaming in pain, the giant failed to see Coen directly ahead, giving Coen the chance he needed. Jokina launched forward, and Coen pointed his sword ahead, locking on to the right eye of the giant. The giant immediately recognized his fate and tried to parry the attack, but it was too late. Coen plunged his sword right into his eye. The giant yelped and convulsed as Coen hastily withdrew his sword and retreated so he wouldn’t get caught up in the giant’s thrashing.

  Coen didn’t stick around to see the giant die. With haste, he turned Jokina around and bolted to the giant’s camp at the base of Mount Resumpsi.

  He was behind enemy lines now. The battle scene was intense as fire-lit arrows rained down up the giants. Several arrows penetrated the face of the first giant, who was climbing the cliff face. The giant lurched back in pain, trying to get hold of the rocky surface. He was too late; his hand slipped, and he fell back, catching two other giants who were behind him. All three fell to the ground in a heap of fire and death.

  “Take aim!”

  Coen jerked his head to the left and saw King Middoni standing within one hundred meters of his position, issuing orders to two other giants manning the trebuchet. One giant was readying himself to light the oil-covered boulder with a torch. Coen knew he couldn’t allow that to happen.

  He buried his heels into Jokina’s flanks again and bolted toward them. Jokina paced herself with precision as Coen shredded the knees of the giant who held the torch. The giant screamed and fell to the ground, the torch landing upon his chest, and setting him on fire.

  The other giant saw Coen and reached after him with lumbering hands. But Jokina was too swift. Coen gave a quick glance at King Middoni to see if he had noticed. The giant king was focused upon the battle above with his arm raised to issue the order. Jokina ran a figure eight around the legs of the attacking giant, who was trying helplessly to grab at the black mare. Coen slashed through both of his knees, knocking the giant to the ground. With another pass, he slit the giant’s throat with his sword, causing blood to spew.