Of Gods and Men

by Stephen Aryan

  The creature walked on all fours and was covered in grey and brown fur. It was massive, much larger than a grizzly bear, and it had slightly curled horns like a bull on either side of its broad head. Intelligent green eyes studied them carefully before it turned and ran.

  Seeing the creature made the old memory rise to the surface and this time Vargus remembered everything.

  “I know what it is,” he said.

  Chapter 7

  Many years ago, so many that Vargus struggled to put a number on it, Mordana had been a very different world. Life had been savage, but it had been beautiful in its simplicity. Every day was cherished. Every victory in the hunt a celebration and a time for prayer, song and dance. Every birth a miracle and every death a loss that was felt by many.

  There had been five races back then. Five different tribes dotted across all of the land. The Morrin, the Vorga, the Sull, the Necheye and the Humans. Over time, their numbers grew, they spread out across the world, claimed new lands and inevitably their borders intersected.

  War came for the first time and with it murder on a scale never seen before. Weapons developed from necessary tools into objects designed to rend flesh and kill. Faith flourished as prayers for victory and laments for the dead swelled. Lands were conquered and the five races became four as the last Necheye was slain.

  Tired of war and bloodshed, disillusioned by the other races, the Sull retreated into their lands where they still reside. The four races became three and the Humans spread, changing with the land, adapting and developing in unforeseen ways.

  But the world was still in its infancy and dangers were not limited to those who walked on two legs. Bears, wolves, lions and other dangerous beasts struggled to find their own place alongside the tribes. Some retreated into the wild. Some found a way to survive in harmony and some would not tolerate intrusion upon their territory. These few saw the tribes as prey and hunted them.

  As he gave voice to the oldest of his memories, Vargus saw his old friend come back to himself. The boy retreated from his face, and for a time there was no conflict behind his eyes. He seemed content to merely listen as Vargus spoke about all that he remembered from the beginning.

  “It’s not a bear,” said Vargus, pointing at where they’d last seen the creature. “It’s one of the old ones. Its kind would not share with the humans, so they were all hunted down and killed. It shouldn’t be here.”

  “And yet it is,” Lanny replied.

  “Why?”

  “Let’s go and find out,” said his old friend, leading the way up the bank.

  Once they reached the spot where they’d last seen the creature, it wasn’t difficult to follow. Its tracks were distinct and the impressions quite deep, making it stand out from all other wildlife in the area. A few times they came to rocky patches where the prints disappeared, but Lanny led the way without hesitation each time. Whether he was working on instinct or something else Vargus didn’t know.

  For another hour, they followed the tracks uphill. Vargus’s thighs began to burn once more as the incline gradually increased until they reached a slope covered in loose rock. They scrambled up the scree, using their hands for balance, small avalanches of stones rattling down the hill in their wake. At this altitude, the temperature had dropped significantly, making Vargus wish he’d brought warmer clothing.

  When they reached the top of the slope, a dense bank of fog lay in front of them, stretching away in all directions. It was only when he looked back down the path that he realised it wasn’t fog but a cloud bank. Below them, a huge sea of green stretched out for miles and somewhere, hidden among the trees, was the village of Morgan’s Creek.

  They passed through the cloud and emerged in a forest where all sounds were muffled. Almost immediately, Vargus had the impression that he was being watched. Reaching over his shoulder, he drew his sword, the rasp of metal sounding dull. Lanny frowned at Vargus but didn’t speak or draw his own weapon.

  He could probably feel it too. The scrutiny of something. There was a focused pressure on Vargus’s back, right between his shoulders. He didn’t know if its intentions were malevolent or not, but nevertheless his heart began to race.

  The trees ended at a large clearing of trampled earth and here they found a few man-made remnants. Scattered pieces of ragged cloth. Broken pottery. A wicker basket and something pink rotting in the lee of a woodpile. Vargus squatted down beside the item, wrinkling his nose at the putrid smell. It was half of someone’s right forearm, a young woman he guessed by the size of the hand. It looked as if something had torn off the arm, although it was possible it had been bitten off. The red bracelet, made from ribbon and leather, fluttered in a breeze coming down from the mountains. Vargus cut the bracelet and pocketed it for later before standing up.

  There was no blood on the ground but rain could easily have washed it away. He found the splintered remains of a spear but no other weapons in the clearing. This wasn’t the site of a battle. Merely a collection of curios or the remnants of several meals.

  “It’s close,” said Vargus.

  The prickle across his back intensified. As if summoned, he heard something drawing near. The creature stepped out from between the trees on all fours, slowly plodding towards them like a shambling bear. But it was far too large and the wrong shape to be a bear. Its front shoulders were wider than its rear legs and the horns gave it an almost bovine aspect. At this distance, he could see its mouth was too wide to be a bear and its ears sat on either side of its head instead of on top. A long thick tail trailed after it, almost dragging on the floor, but it bobbed up and down like a cat.

  The creature stopped at the far edge of the clearing. It wasn’t surprised to see them, which made him wonder how long it had been tracking them. It stared at them in a way unlike any other animal and Vargus could feel it studying him. Its green eyes were not human, but there was a raw intelligence behind them, indicating an alertness he’d not expected.

  Lanny raised his arms wide, palms facing outwards, and even before he spoke, Vargus knew it was his old friend who addressed the ancient creature. His voice rang out in proclamation, startling birds from the trees.

  “Gralldire, I name you. Ancient nemesis of the Necheye.”

  The creature bowed its head, as if acknowledging the greeting.

  And then it spoke. “I know of you,” it said in a voice so powerful and deep Vargus could feel the vibrations in his chest. The words were slightly mangled, but there was no difficulty understanding it. “I was not there, at the beginning, but I was told of you. You are the First.”

  “I am He,” said the Maker, bowing in return.

  “And I know of you,” said the Gralldire, turning its head towards Vargus. “Weaver, Underking, Paladin and Gath.”

  Vargus didn’t know what to say. Hearing stories of the Gralldire was one thing, but to see one in person, and speak with it, was something entirely different. Even for someone like him who had seen countless wonders and nightmares through the long centuries. It was unprecedented.

  Not knowing what else to do, he imitated the Maker and bowed to the creature.

  “I wish that our paths had crossed sooner and for a better reason,” said his old friend. “Do you know why we have come?”

  “I do. It’s because of the humans,” said the Gralldire. It rumbled deep in its chest, a sound of annoyance so low that it made Vargus’s bones ache.

  “They were always the most curious tribe,” said the Maker.

  “They are worse than locusts and their lives burn faster than a firefly. It was ever so, but as they spread, my kind withdrew to stay hidden. Always have I sought higher ground, but in recent years it has become much worse.”

  Morgan’s Creek showed signs of growing, but it had hardly spread. The village itself was perhaps only a hundred years old at most. Time meant something different to Vargus and those like him. He was starting to get the impression that the Gralldire did not measure time like humans and the other races.


  “Are there others here like you?” asked the Maker.

  Vargus glanced around, suddenly worried that there was more than one of them.

  “I am the last of my line. I know not of any others. My isolation here has been for many long years.”

  “Is that why you ventured down the mountain?” asked Vargus, thinking of the severed arm he’d found. “Did you go in search of company?”

  “No. They encroached and this time I could not run. There was nowhere left to go. I thought to scare them away, but the pup tried to protect its mate and attacked. Then others came after and I sent them away.”

  “More humans will come.”

  “I will not withdraw.” The Gralldire flexed its front claws, sending a clear message.

  “Then we have reached an impasse,” said the Maker. “You have nowhere left to go and I know it is not in your nature to yield.”

  “Just so,” growled the creature. “My kind fights for every breath of our lives. And though I am weary and alone, I can only be true.”

  The Maker’s smile was sad as he drew his sword. “As it should be.”

  With a roar that shook the trees, the Gralldire charged.

  Chapter 8

  Vargus barely had time to raise his sword before the creature was upon him. The Gralldire swiped at him with one of its front paws, knocking him aside like a child, its claws digging bloody trails that burned across his chest. His feet came off the ground as he was hurled backwards, colliding with a tree. Pain ran down his spine at the impact and he blacked out. He woke up seconds later, slumped on the ground in a daze with black spots dancing in front of his eyes. As adrenaline flooded his body, he was only moderately aware of the pain in his chest.

  The ground was shaking and he could hear the Gralldire roaring as it fought the Maker. Stumbling to his feet, Vargus shook his head to clear the dizziness and went in search of his sword. The Gralldire was trying to drive the Maker backwards but he kept darting to one side or ducking under its massive paws. The creature quickly adapted, lashing out with its tail, trying to trip him up. It feinted to the left and moved right, its claws catching the Maker on the shoulder; he was spun around, red blossoming on his shirt. His sword went flying and the Gralldire reared up on its hind legs, ready to deliver the killer blow.

  Vargus charged in, slashing wildly and scoring a line across its torso. Its fur was so thick he wasn’t even sure if he’d cut the creature, but it roared and shuffled back. Grabbing the Maker by the arm, Vargus dragged him to one side to avoid being crushed.

  Lowering its head like a bull, the Gralldire charged, its protruding horns suddenly becoming a serious concern. Vargus dashed to the left and the Maker managed to stumble to the right, narrowly avoiding being impaled. The Gralldire struck a tree head on and Vargus felt the impact. The trunk cracked and the tree was now leaning at an angle, exposed roots showing on one side.

  With a war cry of his own, the Maker attacked. As the Gralldire turned to face him, Vargus came at the beast from the rear, hacking at it with a two-handed grip. As his sword bit into its flank, the creature snarled and lashed out with one of its rear legs, catching him on the chest. He heard a dull snap and then something collided with his face, knocking him backwards.

  Some time later, Vargus found himself lying on his back, looking up at the trees as water seeped into his clothing. His chest felt tight on one side and it was difficult to breathe. Rolling over onto his side took considerable effort and it felt as if an hour passed before he made it to his hands and knees. Leaning against a tree, he slowly pulled himself upright, his knees wobbling, his legs unwilling to bear his weight.

  The battle was still raging. The Maker’s shirt was covered in blood and he could see several clumped patches of fur on the Gralldire, suggesting it was wounded. However, the creature didn’t seem impaired and continued to attack, trying to disembowel his old friend.

  Gritting his teeth against the pain of his injuries, Vargus started to sprint towards the Gralldire, determined to put an end to it. The Maker saw him coming and changed his stance, going on the offensive. Vargus thought he heard the creature laugh in response, but then it was forced to defend itself. The Maker ducked under one of its claws and slashed the Gralldire across the face, the tip of his sword cutting a chunk from its lower jaw.

  As it bellowed in agony, Vargus leapt forward, his blade raised high and both feet coming off the ground. His sword came down in a silver arc, biting into the Gralldire’s flesh before hitting bone. The impact of the blow was so severe it made him cry out and let go of his sword, arms and shoulders throbbing. This time, he saw the tail coming towards him and just managed to throw himself to one side. Using his attack as a distraction to get in close, the Maker attacked again, thrusting with his sword towards its neck. The Gralldire turned its head at the last second, the point driving into its shoulder instead.

  Vargus’s sword remained imbedded in the creature’s flank, blood seeping from the wound, but it wasn’t over yet. Instead of trying to retrieve it, he drew a dagger from his belt and moved towards the Gralldire to keep it off balance. His stamina seemed to be ebbing away as his movements had become sluggish. He couldn’t defeat the creature, but he could continue to distract it.

  Drawing his arm back, Vargus stabbed the Gralldire in the side as many times as he could in quick succession. He felt blood splash against his hands, but all too soon it spun around, knocking his blade away. Something pierced his shoulder and pain unlike any he’d felt in years flooded his body. His mouth gaped wide in a silent scream. Looking down, Vargus saw he was impaled on one of its horns. The Gralldire turned its head, ripping itself free of his body, and he dropped to his knees in front of the creature. All it had to do was turn its head again and the tip of its horn would go through his skull, bringing an end to his life. For a time, he would return to the Void and be free of the flesh. At least it would be silent and he would be at peace for a while.

  Before the Gralldire had a chance to finish him off, the Maker struck, plunging his sword into its neck. Instead of withdrawing, he roared at the beast, and setting his feet firmly, drove the weapon deeper using every bit of his remaining strength. With a startled yelp, the creature stepped away from Vargus, turning towards the Maker who now stood utterly defenceless in front of it without any weapons. But the battle was done.

  The sword had gone through its throat and Vargus could see thick blood pouring from the wound onto the ground by its paws. It coughed and choked a few times, tried to walk away and ended up flopping down onto its belly like a tired dog. In the silence that followed, he could hear its heavy breathing like the bellows of a forge. Watching it closely for signs of deception, the Maker approached it carefully. The Gralldire followed him with its eyes but it didn’t seem able to raise its head. It opened its jaws, as a warning or perhaps to say something, but no words emerged.

  Placing one foot on the creature’s neck beside his sword for balance, the Maker heaved and slowly pulled his blade free. The Gralldire made a peculiar growl but it was much quieter than any they’d heard before. The pool of blood continued to spread as it gushed from the wound in its neck.

  The Maker tried to kneel down beside it but ended up flopping down on one side, right in front of its face. If it had any remaining strength, Vargus knew it would have ripped his friend in two. Instead, it merely turned its head slightly so that it and the Maker were face to face. The creature’s massive sides were still heaving up and down and he saw its jaws move. The Maker leaned towards it, listening to its final words, before whispering something back. A few minutes later, the last Gralldire died.

  As the adrenaline faded, Vargus’s whole body began to feel heavy and he became more conscious of his injuries. He was suddenly aware of the blood on his clothes and the dull pain in his side. It was a struggle to breathe and he could hear a peculiar rattle in his chest.

  He tried to say something but instead coughed up blood, which dribbled down his chin. Darkness began to close in all around as h
is vision faded. Vargus was so tired he didn’t try to fight it and hoped to wake up in the Void.

  Chapter 9

  When Vargus awoke, he was slightly disappointed to find he was still on the mountain. Someone had covered him with a blanket and he lay close to a cheery blaze that warmed him through. Although the fire was small, he could feel an intense heat coming from somewhere. Looking past the campfire, he saw the glow of a huge blaze not far away in the forest. A thick cloud of grey smoke rose above the trees and small pieces of ash rained down on him.

  As he lay there, wiggling his toes, amazed at finding himself still in the flesh, Vargus realised he was breathing normally. The rattle in his chest and dull ache in his side were gone. A brief check revealed all of his other injuries had also been healed but his clothing was still torn and covered with dried blood.

  Although he had no wounds, he felt a little stiff as he stumbled to his feet as if he’d been asleep for a long time. As he walked into the forest, he eased the kinks from his muscles by stamping his feet and rolling his shoulders. The heat from the fire intensified until he stepped into a clearing where he found the Maker standing beside a huge pyre for the Gralldire.

  The fire must have been burning for quite a while, as deep in the heart of the flames he could see the creature’s skeleton. All of its flesh and fur had already been consumed and now the bones were glowing in the heat. The Maker added more wood before stoking the blaze with a long branch, sending up a flurry of sparks into the night sky. His old friend had noticed he was there but didn’t turn away from the fire. His face was smeared with ash but Vargus could see clean streaks running from his eyes.

  “It deserved better than to die like this.” The Maker’s voice was tight with grief.

  “At least it died how it lived.”

  The Maker grunted, conceding the point. “We need to make sure nothing of it remains. Not one scrap of fur or piece of bone for them to use. Otherwise they will make trinkets and trophies to hang on their walls. Stories will be sung and the hunters will be cast as heroes and the Gralldire an evil beast of legend. That is not how I want it remembered.”