by Alexis Rojas
All the tables were full inside. The townspeople glanced at us, but gave us no importance. They returned to their drinking and chatter. We sat at the bar and I asked for a mug of mead. The barkeep gladly poured us a full one.
“Only one?” the barkeep asked.
“Just the one,” I nodded, “It’s for my friend. He received a nasty beating from the soldiers.”
“Those dirty dogs,” he shook his head.
I started to notice a pattern here. First, the man pulling the small cart; and now, the barkeep. They both showed signs of grief, and blamed the army for it. I had to know more.
“Barkeep, can you tell me why the town is so glum?”
“Glum is an understatement,” he answered. “Flama is very small. Paying taxes all the time, we need every bit of coin to survive. In the last years the army has been winning against Miaflore, but that means they need more food, more mead, more money. Small as we are, we’ve been squeezed dry… And that is why we hanged the orphanage keeper!”
That escalated quickly!
“Um, yes, I saw his hanging body at the entrance. How does hanging a man fix the tax problem exactly?”
“That charlatan! He was in league with the soldiers. Kissing arse all around. Every time one of the shop owners made a good bit of coin, he would inform the soldiers. They confiscated the money and gave him a share for the trouble. We did nothing at first, for we thought he did it for the benefit of the children. But when we learned kids had escaped the orphanage because of his villainous abuse, that’s when we had it. All the folk dragged him out to be hanged. Yours truly made the sign around his neck.
“And in retaliation,” he expressed wearily, “the army raised the taxes to a grand high.”
“But, the people have enough money to spend here, don’t they?”
“They come here to drink away their pains. They pay for a couple of drinks, but most of the time I give it away for free. I do it for the humble folk. You see, I make the mead myself with a couple of other chaps. I work double trying to make up for the lack of earnings and for the booze the soldiers confiscate. But, it makes the people of the town a bit better. It’s the least I can do for Flama.”
In that, Yang coughed with a foamy smile. The barkeep took another mug and served me a glassful of the mead.
“Here you go. On the house.”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to have a drink now. We were in a ravished town patrolled by balorian soldiers, plus I needed to get back on Auria’s trail. I was about to push the mug away when Yang patted me on the shoulder and said, “Take it. It’s free!”
I thought about it, until ultimately caving in, “Well, one should be alright.”
#
We got drunk.
My face was red as a tomato and Yang couldn’t stop laughing. He could barely keep his eyes open. We spent the whole afternoon there.
Before he had stopped talking properly, Yang told me that this was his second time in town. When he first came, he saw its deteriorating state and skipped it without stopping. Afterwards, he reached a small military station beside a river. The station controlled a drawbridge, the only way to cross. He said they didn’t let him pass, so he returned to the town just to receive a beating. The story reminded him the awful event. He rubbed his swollen cheek, and I shook my head with a chuckle. And then we drank some more. I told him how I fought the Lamia and almost died. He choked on his drink and laughed in my face.
At this point I realized we had to stop drinking. Plus, we needed to pay. The first drink was free, but I don’t think the barkeep would be so generous. When I turned to speak with Yang about it, he wasn’t sitting on his stool anymore. I looked back and realized trouble had found us once again. The soldiers that had bullied him before were at the pub, and their captain was holding Yang by the neck.
“You weird looking worm,” the captain said, “I thought we told you to get out of town!”
“Wo huei likai, wo huei likai!1” shrieked Yang.
“What?” “Huh?”
The soldiers, the barkeep, me and the whole bar got perplexed and turned heads by what came out of Yang’s mouth. The fear of receiving a beating again made him pale. I wanted to help him, but I had a little too many drinks. I couldn’t defend a fly in my condition. I had to think of something quick. Suddenly, one of the soldiers seized a mug from a weary farmer beside him. He chugged the glorious liquid all for himself. And that gave me an idea.
I got up from my stool and yelled drunk, “You took our town! You took our dignity! And now, now you want to take our booze?!”
All eyes in the building drew their gaze upon the soldiers.
“We take what we want when we want it,” said the captain. The town folk stood up from their tables and glared with hatred.
Even though the soldiers were the symbol of authority in the land, they were in a room full of desperate people. Taking away the only thing that made them feel good at the end of the day was not very wise.
“We don’t need to make a fuzz out of this,” the captain continued, releasing Yang from his clutches and trying to calm the folks, “we only take our share of drinks, right?”
He pleaded, dissipating the tension in the room. His persuasive tone calmed the villagers. I thought my plan wasn’t going to play out, when unexpectedly…
“Not My Booze!” the barkeep yelled, jumping from the counter behind me and landing on the captain.
“Fight! Fight!”
The town’s people ganged up on the soldiers, but since they were pretty liquored up from an afternoon of drinking, they soon started to fight among themselves.
“Yang, we need to get outta here!” I said as I lifted him from the floor. He looked up and pointed at a glass window. I droopily managed to carry him on my shoulder and boosted to it. I jumped head first and smashed through the glass like a raging bull. Outside on the ground, I thought I landed on a soft cushion, only to find out I had landed on top of Yang. He got up cursing in gibberish. We managed to get away, but soldiers soon surrounded the Mead Pit to control the drunken brawl. I bet they tried to find who started the trouble. But, we ran away and escaped into the forest.
The next morning, when I woke up, I was sitting on the ground. Not laying, sitting. When something strange like that happens, it means I drank too much. Yang looked like an octopus, lying twisted on some roots, with his head inside a shrub. After a few minutes of yawning and composing ourselves, we were ready to leave. I was looking at my map when Yang approached me.
“Erik, I have something for you,” he said.
He took a tiny square box out of his traveling sack. It was about the size of his palm, black colored with golden corners and a jade stone plate on top. The plate portrayed a bird with spread wings, ready to take flight. It was the same bird depicted in his clothing.
“This is family treasure for generations. Bring luck and fortune.”
He handed the box to me. It was smooth and surprisingly light. There must’ve been something very valuable inside, but I just couldn’t accept it.
“Yang, I can’t take this. If it’s a family treasure, it should stay with you.”
“If you had not taken me out of the bar, there would be no more me. Please, accept.” He smiled and bowed his head. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so I gratefully accepted. I opened it, expecting to find a golden relic, a rare gem, or maybe even some wooden artifact. But, an egg? A freaking egg was his treasure? It was barely bigger than my thumb, securely tucked inside a red cushion.
“Not just any egg,” expressed Yang, “the egg of a Feng Huang.” He showed me his sleeve with the design of the multicolored mythical bird. “In need of help, it will aid you.”
“But wait, you needed help earlier. How come it didn’t appear?”
He smirked and shook his head, “It did not have to. You were there.” He then turned around and walked away.
“Wait, where are you going?”
“It is time for me to return home. I have learned
of these lands. There is the rich, there is the poor. There is war and death. There is evil; evil that wants to spread. But, I also learned that among chaos, there is still men with honor and passion to do what is right.
“Good bye, courageous Erik, man of honor. May you find what your heart seeks.”
He waved and left down the path. I waved back and watched him until he disappeared around the bend. At his leave, I looked at the square box and nodded. I put it in my bag and continued my journey.
12- Battle Cry
Fifth Memory
I started to see dark clouds loom on the horizon, surrounding a colossal mountain range. I was so far inside Balora now. And Auria was even farther. None of us would be here if it wasn’t for our fight. Auria reacted harshly, but it was I who couldn’t handle the rejection. I was such an idiot to behave that way. I was angry. Angry at myself…
*
After arguing with Auria in the forest, Erik was engulfed with anger. Immediately after returning to his camp, he mounted a horse and dashed to the battlefield. Along the way, all he could think of was of Auria’s rejection. It saddened him, but it also fueled him with rage. He kicked the horse and galloped faster.
The sky had darkened with grey clouds. The ground was moist from a recent downpour. Reaching Somber Petalia, a miaflorian camp had been set up at the village of Tally, on top of Margot Plateau. Erik rode up to find the village destroyed and burnt. Miaflorian army tents were scattered between the remains of the houses. He saw the main tent near the plaza and darted to it. When he entered, Raymond was inside with his men of the Eternal Squadron. He was pointing at a map on a table, giving them orders.
“What happened here?” Erik sternly asked. Raymond and the other soldiers raised their heads, surprised to see him there.
“Erik? Fancy seeing you here,” said Raymond. “You finished wasting time in the forest?”
“I got into a dead end.”
“A dead end? Really? Well, that’s cute. While you have been doing nothing at that damn forest, my loyal soldiers and I have been sweating blood in the field!”
Raymond tried to scorn his friend, but he noticed something different in him. Normally, with what Raymond had just said, Erik would have replied by flinching his shoulders and saying he was sorry. But now, he was standing still like a statue, with harsh eyes locked on Raymond. It was strange and intimidating.
“What happened here?” Erik repeated.
Raymond stared at him for a moment before answering, “After your feat of stopping Sebastien, the men were able to chase the balorians out of Tally. But, not before they burned it to the ground. We took care of the fire and encamped here. We were able to retake Margot Plateau and push the enemy almost to the Dandy Overpass, but they received reinforcements and regrouped. Ever since, we have been losing land and now we are the ones in danger of losing Margot again.
“This morning they managed to reach the north of the plateau, and a skirmish has broken out. But, I got a plan to—”
Erik turned and walked away.
“Wait, Erik, the plan!”
He didn’t listen. Even though he was there to serve, he specifically went there to vent his emotions. He didn’t want to strategize or think about it. He needed to go to his comfort zone and do what he did best: war.
He mounted his horse and left, passing by other miaflorian soldiers. Their minds were tired and discouraged, for the war had developed against them. But, when Erik sped right by them, his presence boosted their spirits.
“Look! That was Belrose. Erik Belrose.”
“The one who took down ‘The Beast’?”
“Yes, and he’s going straight to battle.”
“But alone? He’ll be killed!”
“Then we must summon bravery and fight, too,” a soldier stated. He stood on a crate and addressed the rest, “Master Erik is joining the battle. Spread the word, let’s join him!”
Erik went beyond the boundries of the village and reached the northern face of the plateau. The vegetation of the upland had been damaged by the past battles. Rusted arrows, lances and broken armor could be found lying on the grass. And after a thousand meter run from the village, he saw them; a horde of miaflorian infantry fleeing as a squadron of balorian cavalry chased them. Erik galloped through and saw a pole bearer running with Miaflore’s flag. Erik grasped the pole and held it high towards the enemy.
The flag of Miaflore was half blue half green; one color representing the skies and the other the earth. And in its center was a ruby red pentagon with a head of a wolf, representing the nucleus of the miaflorian kingdom, Pollen’s Pentagon Castle.
“Don’t run!” Erik yelled, “Turn around and fight!”
The soldiers stopped as they saw him charging towards the enemy.
“That’s Belrose.” “He’s come for us!” “With him we won’t lose!”
His determined stare, together with the flag held high, gave the soldiers just what they needed; hope, might, and a savior. The men turned around and followed him.
The balorian horsemen charged in an arrow formation. They swung their swords forward, seeing the man with the flag as their new target. Erik rode for the pair leading the charge. Just before he passed between them, he turned the flagpole sideways, slamming both of them on the chest. The pair crashed to the ground, hugging their ribs and arms.
The rest of the balorian cavalry broke formation and circled around him. Erik took out his sword and started fighting them off, but they were too many for him. Luckily, the men he had saved were rejoining the battle. And now that the cavalry was not in a run, they managed to force the riders to the ground. Erik jumped off his horse once the riders were thrown down, for he wanted to vent his anger face to face. He prepared his weapons and attacked. To his front, a rider was raising from the grass after falling. Erik smashed his head with the shield and stabbed him on the back. From his right, another came with a side slash. Erik blocked it with his blade, kicked him on the gut and crushed his temple with the blunt rim of his shield. A third one approached form behind, but he didn’t even get a chance. Erik turned and hurled the blade to his side. The pressure of the cut was so deep, the sword jammed between the ribs. The victim moaned in pain as Erik kicked him off. He was so full of strength, power, might, and rage… it scared him.
“Damn it, Auria! Why?” he howled to the skies. His fellow men did not understand his rant. Erik felt too much pain in his heart to calm himself. He had turned his disappointment into wrath, and rejection into hate. Right there, in the briefness of that battle, he wasn’t the good and just Erik Belrose anymore, but a vicious monster of war.
Most of the horsemen had been dealt with, except for one who wouldn’t give in. He fought off every miaflorian that got close to him. His left hand wielded a short battle axe; and the other, a war hammer. The barrel helmet he wore covered his face, except for a dark slit for the eyes and small holes for breathing. A soldier ran at him with a slash. The balorian dodged, swung the axe around his head and struck the soldier at the base of the neck. Another came to avenge his fallen comrade, but before he could even take the offensive, the balorian stepped in and smashed the hammer on his face.
The barrel helmet warrior stood strong and grand. The miaflorians stayed distant, except for Erik.
“Your invasion is for naught. You will not succeed. Miaflore’s might will flatten Balora’s upheaval,” Erik told him.
“Your words are filled with valor,” the balorian replied, making a dull echo caused by the helmet. “Make sure they carve every letter on your tombstone.”
Erik smirked, “Yes. It will also say ‘Erik Belrose, the man that crushed Balora’.”
The balorian suddenly raised his head and eyed Erik from top to bottom,
“Belrose, is it? I’ve heard your name among the gossipers of my camp. You stopped Sebastien.”
“I will do the same to you.”
“Ha! Sebastien is just a lummox with a giant body. I, on the other hand, am a refined combatant. My
name is Raol Harcourt, and I will smear the battleground with your bloody heart.”
Raol stepped in and swung his hammer. Erik blocked, the impact pushing him back. Raol lunged again, this time with the axe. Erik dodged and attempted to slash back, but the balorian was too smart. He spun around from behind, gliding the hammer in a crescent. Erik missed the iron by an inch. The balorian swung his weapons like if they were loose chains.
“Come on!” Raol challenged. Erik leaped to him with a downward slash. The warrior hooked the sword with his axe and struck again with the hammer. Erik shielded, but the blow was so heavy it pushed him down to his knees. Raol would have continued to finish him off, but another miaflorian came to Erik’s aid. The soldier aimed for the head, but Raol hunkered down. He thrust the axe to the stomach, and while the soldier bent in pain, he swirled the hammer up to his face. The soldier flew backwards to land dead on the moist soil.
“This is your end!” Raol yelled while pointing his hammer to the miaflorian’s crushed forehead. “This is Miaflore’s end!”
The remaining soldiers kept at bay. They outnumbered the bold warrior, but they were too afraid of him. Erik looked at his fallen brother and an immeasurable sorrow embraced him. Staring at him, he saw a summary of his own life; a synopsis of what was to become of him. He would turn out to be the fuel that prolonged the clash between titans, and the forgotten residue left behind its friction. The war among Balora and Miaflore would continue and he would simply be another extinguished torch, dropped into the cradle of death. Inevitably, his future was to be ash and dust.
This is what I’ll turn out to be? Is there no alternative?
Erik rose and removed his shield. Raol laughed as Erik approached him with only his sword.
“What is he doing?” the miaflorians wandered to one another, “Sir Erik, don’t!”
“If I am to die now, then so be it.”
Erik grasped the sword with his two hands and slashed down to Raol’s head. The balorian naturally hooked the sword with the axe while raising his mighty hammer. The end seemed nigh as the hammer began its deadly drop towards its defenseless victim; but Erik knew better than to become an easy target. Having no shield meant his left hand was free to move. He stretched up and grabbed the hammer’s handle, stopping it before it took momentum. Raol froze as he did not expect it. It never crossed his mind that this was Erik’s plan.