by Mike Morris
Jack as he waved the all clear to Lin. "I thought the sun was never going to rise on us again."
"We’re here now," replied Samuel. "Get onboard and wrap yourself..."
The arrow pierced Samuel's eye.
He didn't even have time to cry out before he died. His body fell backwards, knocking the boat before hitting the water. Everyone looked back towards the beach as more arrows flew towards them.
"Take cover!" screamed Brendan as the arrows whistled around them. He threw himself to the side of the boat as Jack turned and lost his balance. An arrow caught him mid-thigh as he fell. He landed in the boat by one of the oarsmen. Arrows littered the man's chest.
"Shit!" shouted Brendan as he drew his pistol, looking for an enemy to shoot.
Jack snapped the jutting arrow from his leg and pulled the dead oarsman off the bench as he scrambled for cover in the bottom of the boat. He jerked as more arrows hit the deck, just missing him.
"Quick! Get under cover," Jack shouted at the other oarsman as he watched for the enemy. The man remained motionless. "Come on! What are you waiting for?" Jack grabbed him by the shoulder but the man's head rolled back. An arrow jutted from his throat.
"Here it comes," said Brendan. "Here comes death."
Jack turned back towards the beach. Five men raced across the beach, screaming war cries. Men. Thank God. There were no sign of any Nostros. It gave them a chance to escape, if they were quick. Before they came.
Three more men joined the charge towards them. Arrows still fell around them as they watched the enemy approach. The soldiers wore lacquered leather armor, black as their souls, long sold to their hellspawned masters. Their screams froze Jack to the spot and he barely dodged an axe thrown at him.
The near miss woke him into action. Instinct and training took over, as hopeless as their situation seemed. One either ran from the threat or met it head on and running wasn't an option anymore. The two brothers leapt from the boat. They moved towards the enemy, splashing through the shallows onto the beach.
Jack drew a pistol with his right hand, aiming it at the soldier in front of him. The man lunged with his sword. Jack fired at point blank range. The bullet tore through the soldier's mouth, exploding from the rear of his head in a shower of blood, flesh and skull. Smoke from the gun drifted across the boat as specks of blood sprayed Jack's face.
"Don't use your pistols!" screamed Brendan. "Save them for the bastard demons!" But Jack was already swiveling towards the next one, dropping the spent pistol and reaching for the other strapped to his right thigh. Behind him, he heard a shout of pain — was it his brother? But he couldn’t afford to be distracted. His new target's sword swept up. The blade slashed across Jack's arm. It sliced deep and made him drop the gun. He rolled under the cut that followed, drawing his own sword as he returned to his feet.
The enemy lunged again. The sword hacked down and crashed against Jack's own blade. JHis feet slipped in the surf as it tugged the shingle away from under him. His blood seeped down his arm but he could still use it and, as the blades locked again, he hammered a punch into his opponent's face. There was a satisfying crack as his gloved hand sank into the man's mouth.
"Motherf..." gasped the man. He stepped back and wiped blood from his lip. He spat a tooth onto the beach. "You're gonna pay a fucking dear price for that tooth." He darted forward to stab Jack. The blade slide wide of its mark. As the soldier passed, Jack chopped his sword across the man's back, felt the blade bite, through the armor and into flesh. The soldier staggered. Jack pulled the sword free. Blood stained his sword over half its length. He felt nothing except relief as the man fell into the shallow water.
"Thank God," he whispered. "Thank God." He was still alive, still going.
By the boat, two bodies lay in the surf. Another lay across the sailor, a blade jutting from the back. Jack yanked the soldier off his fellow priest but the sailor was dead.
Jack turned to help his brother. Brendan was still battling, trying to keep two men at bay. He had a sword in each hand and a corpse at his feet. Jack ran towards them, grabbing his fallen pistol off the ground as he went. He glanced down and saw the weapon was still dry, still useful. Four more strides and he was with them. The man to Brendan's left turned towards Jack but it was too late.
Jack leveled the pistol against the soldier's eye and didn't hesitate.
He pulled the trigger.
Jack's arm recoiled upwards. The man's eye disintegrated as he flew backwards. The force of the ball ripped his brain apart, lifting him off his feet.
The gunshot distracted his brother's opponent enough to enable Brendan to slip his blade into the man's chest.
"Are you alright?" asked Jack, taking in his brother's many cuts.
"Oh my God," was all Brendan could say, his eyes wide with horror, looking past Jack.
Jack turned to look and sheer panic swept through him. Three Nostros surged towards them. They moved so fast. They seemed to fly across the ground. The mist swirled in their wake, like devil's wings on their back.
One of them was upon Jack a heartbeat later. His gauntleted hand grabbed him by the throat.
The demon hissed into his face. "You thought you could escape." He smiled as he spoke, baring his fangs. Saliva glistened in the moonlight. "I will tear your throat apart and enjoy every spasm of your useless, frail body as you die." A scar split the creature's face from forehead to chin. His eyes were dark pools that threatened to drown Jack as he struggled to avoid their glare. Terror welled within him. He wanted to scream.
The Nostros flicked his wrist and Jack was hurled into the side of the boat. Water and wood hit his face with equal force. He struggled to his feet, shaking water from his face and tried to get sense back into his brain. As he looked up, he saw the demon leap into the air towards him.
The sword arced down. Jack threw himself to his right. He rolled through the shallows and regaining his feet on dry ground just as the sword smashed into the boat, shattering it.
Jack moved his body so it was side facing his opponent. His left leg was straight ahead. His weight was on the right. He tried not to think of the overwhelming odds that faced him. He raised his sword above his head in a two-handed grip; its tip pointed towards his opponent, its arched blade skyward. It seemed fragile compared to the double-edged weapon the Nostros used. Theirs were straight and heavy. Their style of attack one of pure violence. The brothers had trained their entire lives to compensate for this difference in power but nothing had prepared Jack for the reality. He stole another glance up, searching for dawn but its safety was still far away. The sun wouldn’t save him.
The demon roared, justly confident. He flew into an attack with amazing speed. His sword came at Jack who pivoted, his own sword slicing down.
Both blades met with a clash of steel. Jack's body vibrated with the impact. He couldn't believe his sword hadn’t shattered.
The creature pushed onwards and the two were inches apart, with their crossed swords between them. All Jack could see were those deadly fangs, ever closer, the tang of death on the demon’s breath. The Nostros pushed him back again, his strength staggering. Jack crashed to the ground. His sword flew from his hand, far from his reach.
The demon loomed over him and laughed as he picked Jack up. Jack's feet left the ground as he struggled in the Nostros's grip. But he was lost there was no escape.
The demon roared, and lunged forward to bite into Jack's neck. Piercing cold pain shot through him as the teeth sank into his flesh.
He screamed as he scrambled around, trying to find a knife. His fingers brushed a tip.
The world became darker. The pain was seductive, promising peace. His vision collapsed around him until all he could see was one faint star in the sky. All the tiredness and cold left Jack's body.
He touched a handle of a knife.
His heart roared for survival. The star disappeared into blackness. Just one last...
The demon screamed. An animal roar echoed in Jack's min
d.
Jack fell to the ground. He looked up to see the Nostros staggering.
Jack's knife protruded from the Nostros's unarmored armpit. The demon dropped to his knees, splashing into the surf. He pulled the knife out and stared at it incredulously. The blood on the blade was black, vile. The demon slumped forwards until his head hit the ground. All life within him fled back to hell.
Jack lay on the floor and sucked in air. He was still alive. He clasped his hand to his neck, trying to stem the flow of blood. His neck was a ragged mess.
He became aware of sounds of combat. Brendan! He pushed himself onto one arm. His brother was still fighting a desperate battle with the other two demons. Brendan's body was cut to pieces as the Nostros played with him. He barely had the strength to raise his sword to defend himself.
Jack had to help him. He looked for his own sword. It lay nearby.
He crawled towards it. Every inch was an effort of immense will power. The sounds became fainter as every movement grew harder.
Blackness.
Two feet were before him.
Jack looked up.
A demon.
A boot kicked him. "This one doesn't know it's dead," said the Nostros.
"Leave him," the other replied. "We have to get to shelter quickly. The sun is almost here. The other is enough to feed on."
Blackness.
31
713 PN
Jack woke screaming. He clasped his hands to his neck as he looked for the Nostros. Looked for his brother.
A gag was tied around his mouth, stifling his cries. For a couple of frantic heartbeats he didn't know where he was.
Not on the beach.
There were stone walls, ten feet by eight.
A desk, his desk, sat in front of the small arched window, drawing the early morning light into the room.
His room.
Whitehaven.
He sat upright in his small bed and untied the gag, sucking in great lungful’s of air and used the sheet to wipe the sweat from his body.
Opposite him, two swords hung on the wall. His brother's swords. They were all that remained of Brendan, discarded in the surf. He touched the small silver circle around his neck.
"Oh Brendan."
He'd had the same nightmare every night for the last four months, reliving the moment he lost his brother, the night the Nostros tried to rip his own throat out.
Each morning he woke the same way, panicked, screaming. God only knew why he couldn’t leave that night behind. Surely the ugly scar that marred his neck was enough of a reminder. The gag was his only way of keeping his shame from the whole monastery, keeping him silent.
A bowl and a jig of water sat on his desk, next to his well-worn copy of the Book of God. He filled the bowl and washed is face.
It was still dark outside but he could see the first hints of sunlight creep out above the horizon. Little specks of gold sprinkled over the mountaintops. Daybreak was the most beautiful sight in the world. It showed God still held hope for the world for each day man survived and started afresh in doing His work. It was as if Heaven itself seeped through the clouds.
Jack knelt before the window. The stone floor was cold against his skin. He bowed his head. His hand went unbidden to the puckered skin, tracing the damage to his neck. A hot iron had sealed the wound but left its own angry red mark. He could still feel the fangs in his skin from his dream, the demon's breath upon his neck, as he began to pray.
"Dear Lord, I thank you for the morning that reveals all your wonderful gifts to the world. Please give me the strength to overcome my weakness as I go about my duties in thine honor. Help me be better, stronger, braver. May I protect all of thy people no matter the peril. Give me the wisdom to interpret thy will and the courage to fulfill it. Please help me not fail again. Amen." He hoped God listened. He really did need all the help he could get.
Jack took out his clothes from the small cupboard and dressed. Finally, he took the dark leather collar off the shelf at the top of the cupboard. The dog collar. If he hadn't removed his that night, he might’ve avoided the mark of failure on his neck. A stupid mistake. He fastened it around his neck and slipped it inside the collar of his tunic so only the front showed. At first glance, he looked like any other priest. He could almost pretend that all was well.
He removed the short sword from the wall and fixed it to his belt. It mattered not that he was in the safety of the monastery. Priests of St Stephen were always armed. Be prepared was one of the first lessons taught. A Nostros never hesitates.
He opened the door, then turned to the other sword. Jack kissed two of his fingers and placed them on the hilt.
"I love you brother. I'm sorry I let you down," he said and left the room with its ghost.
The monastery still slept as he made his way down the winding staircase. When he stepped outside, the cold air stopped him for a moment. Winter was with them at last. On the far side of the courtyard, men unhitched four horses from a carriage. Visitors had arrived in the night.
He filled his lungs, felt the last remnants of the dream leave him with each breath. For a moment, Jack felt normal, at home. Then he saw the memorial flame in the center of the courtyard.
Jack walked over to it, stone gravel crunching under foot, and stopped in front of the words 'Honor those who joined the fallen in the land of the dead.' The names of priests who had died in battle with the Nostros were underneath. Jack's eye quickly found his brother's name and the year of his death. Brendan Frey 712. Jack nodded to the priest on sentry duty nearby, before dropping to one knee and praying once more.
It was thanks to Lin that he survived that night. She'd run down after the Nostros had taken Brendan with them, and bandaged his wound. Even so, the second boat from the rescue ship arrived at first light to find him barely alive.
It had been a frantic battle to save him.
Jack only just survived the crossing and it had taken his body weeks to heal but some good had come from the mission. They were able to warn the Abbot of the armada and Lin's inside knowledge of Grosnar was proving invaluable. Hopefully Brendan, Jonathan and Marcus hadn't died in vain.
His prayer finished, Jack headed to the Western Gate. The guard nodded a greeting. It was Thomas.
"Shouldn't you still be asleep?" he said.
"It's the best time to run, my friend," replied Jack.
"Run? Someone chasing you? It's not natural to run for no reason," said Thomas with a smile as he unlocked the door, swinging it open to reveal a dirt road heading out over the moors. "Never understood why you enjoyed running so much. You feeling better?"
"I am. Thank you." Jack went to touch his scar but he managed to stop himself in time. "I am. Thank you." Truth was though, he was far from better. The night sat like a wall between him and everyone else. Even old friends like Thomas, no matter how hard they tried to make him feel normal.
"Don't go pushing yourself too hard," said Thomas. "Looks like we're going to need every man we can get before too long."
Even someone like me, thought Jack, a failure. He smiled at Thomas and stepped out of the monastery.
War was coming. And the Order would need everyone. All Jack could do was train harder than anyone else. Work on his shortcomings. And pray, when the time came, that would be enough.
He set off on a run, keeping the pace light to start. With each step, his mood lifted. The wild grass swayed in the light breeze that climbed up from the sea. Ahead of him, the sky filled with hues of blue, gold and purple as the sun began its journey. It truly was wonderful and, out there, far from anyone, Jack really could feel the majesty of God. It gave him hope.
As the road headed inland, Jack took a track off to the left, and went cross-country. He picked up his pace. His sword tapped a gentle rhythm against his thigh as he concentrated on his breathing.
The grass met the beach as Jack started the final stretch back to the monastery. The fine sand kicked up around his feet, taking him back once more to that las
t night with Brendan. He shook the memory from his head. Concentrate on the run. Think of what is ahead, not behind, in the past.
A family of fishermen hauled their small boat onto the sand. Their hold was full of fish to sell to the Order. A father joked with his sons as they beached their boat. They waved at Jack as he passed, happy with their lives, ignorant about what was waited across the ocean.
Past the castle, a large galleon was moored in Whitehaven's harbor. It arrived two days earleir and had seen much coming and going, fueling the gossip among the order that a large-scale operation was about to be undertaken.
The sand made the going tougher and Jack could feel the tiredness in his legs as he ran the last half-mile but his breathing was still steady. A good run. A good way to start the day.
Thomas watched him as he approached with a slight shake of his head. "Well that was worth it. You're back where you started. If you're going to run, you might as well go somewhere, eh?"
"I'll keep that in mind tomorrow," replied Jack as he passed, not wanting to stop and chat.
"Stay in bed," Thomas called after him. "Do yourself more good that way."
There was an hour before first prayers and breakfast but the monastery was a hive of activity as he made his way back across the courtyard. Since his return from the Middle Kingdoms, more and more priests arrived each day from other monasteries around Abios. Planning and preparations were underway to deal with the threat of invasion.
Jack walked straight past everyone and went to the practice hall. The door creaked open as it always did and the room's silence and smell instantly took Jack back to his first years in Whitehaven. Innocent days.
Jack removed his boots and undid his sword belt. He hung his weapon on a row of hooks by the wall before walking to the center of the room.
Once there, he stood and steadied his breathing. He became aware of his heartbeat, the blood flowing through his veins, the empty space around him. A sense of calm settled within him.
He shifted his left leg forward, turning his body into a basic position. From there, he began the first routine. Every action was deliberate, precise. To the untrained eye, it could be mistaken for a dance.