A New Hero

by Curtis Jobling

  ‘It’s easy,’ said Boarhammer, inspecting Kazumi’s naginata as the battle raged around them and the fires continued to spread. ‘Take the blade.’

  ‘If I do, my friend will die.’

  ‘If you don’t, you will die.’

  ‘I won’t … I can’t do it.’

  ‘I’ll make it easy for you, then.’

  The naginata whipped out, striking Ravenblade and tearing her free from where she was buried in the floorboards. The sword landed in Trick’s lap as Toki disappeared over the edge, swallowed by the smoking ravine.

  ‘No! ’ screamed Trick, pouncing on Boarhammer with such speed that the warlord was thrown. Perhaps he’d expected the boy to pick up the sword and figured that would be the attack he’d need to parry. As it was, he raised the naginata too late, and the weapon was ineffective, Trick having closed the distance in a blink of an eye. His attack was like nothing Boarhammer had ever faced: a flurry of wild, seemingly uncoordinated strikes. They were anything but for Trick, though. He was transported back to middle school in that instant, facing Big Ben Barker, the bully who had tormented him throughout his childhood.

  Trick was the berserker.

  His shoulder struck Boarhammer in the guts, making him double up. Trick’s heel caught him in the shin, sending him stumbling. His hands clawed at the man’s face, leaving red slashes in their wake. Elbows jabbed and knees came up as Trick frenziedly attacked the stunned warlord.

  Boarhammer found himself up against the balcony, the railing creaking as his weight fell against it. Trick’s hand shot out and he grabbed the black moon pendant from the warlord’s flailing grasp.

  ‘That’s mine, you murderous son of a –’

  The insult never left Trick’s lips. The tower lurched again, tipping back the other way and saving Boarhammer’s hide. Now Trick was stumbling towards the yawning chasm, losing his footing and snatching at the splintered floorboards. The initiative was with the Lord of Sea Forge, who spied the dropped sword skittering about on the floor. His eyebrows arched, as he seemed to recognize it for the first time. Bending unsteadily, he picked up the sword.

  ‘Ravenblade?’ he whispered, his eyes shining through the red mask of his bloodied, battered face. His nephew returned to his side now the fighting was almost over, keen to be with his uncle as he struck the killing blow.

  ‘Today is a good day, Hugo! I will be Boneshaker’s right hand! I will be greater than Tombstone in the Dark Lord’s eyes!’

  His laughter grew to a chuckling crescendo, a gurgle of phlegm and blood in his bloated throat as his victory was realized. The boy joined him, his shrill laughter even more disturbing than his uncle’s. Boarhammer’s white teeth formed a crescent moon of their own as he grinned, raising the blade to strike Trick.

  Trick hung on to the broken floor, his mother’s pendant clenched in his fist, stifling a sob as he prepared for the worst. Then, beyond Boarhammer, he saw a huge dark shape leap up from the arena, rising beyond the balcony, a great dark blob of warty flesh. A white-haired, blue-skinned warrior straddled it, his bare feet striking the giant toad behind the jaws.

  The monster’s mouth opened, and a long, sticky tongue shot out, covering six metres to strike Boarhammer in the back. The glob of mucus-drenched muscle took hold of the warlord, as surely as if he were a bug for lunch. The Lord of Sea Forge dropped Ravenblade and uttered a single squeal before the tongue retracted, ripping him off the tower top as the toad swallowed him in a great, greedy gulp. Then the blond boy was screaming, staggering, teetering on the edge of the jagged, smoking chasm.

  The tower fell – splitting, breaking and roaring, flames licking around Trick as the world gave way beneath them.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The jolts in his pocket were what stirred Trick back to consciousness; Sparky the lightning bug was releasing a sudden, sharp charge. Trick’s eyes blinked open as he stared up at the dirty sky. A trio of vultures circled overhead, black and menacing against the smoke-choked heavens, their squawks drifting down on the breeze. His throat was dry, the smell and taste of blood and soot a thick and heady mix.

  ‘You’re awake.’

  It was Erika. Trick turned his head where he lay on the ground. He was on a clifftop, high above the docks of Sea Forge, the Lower City sprawling out below him. The Shield Maiden stood watching over him, her back to the arena, which still smouldered, poisoning the horizon with filthy clouds.

  ‘How did I get out here?’ Trick asked, struggling to sit up as he gestured to the arena behind her. ‘Last I remember, I was in there. Where’s Kuro? How are the others?’

  ‘He’s on his feet. The ninja is mighty resilient. As are you, Trick Hope. You’re tougher than you look.’

  Trick managed a grim smile, even though his insides were screaming. Every sinew ached; his ribcage groaned and threatened to collapse at any moment.

  ‘Boarhammer’s tower. It came down, on fire. I don’t remember what happened …’

  ‘You were thrown clear as it toppled. Being on the balcony – or what was left of it – probably saved your life. Lucky I was in the arena to cushion your landing.’

  ‘I landed on you?’

  She laughed. ‘I caught you. What? You thought I’d let you break your neck after all you’d done? Our friends were on hand to drag you and Kuro to safety.’

  ‘Our friends?’ It was coming back to Trick now, the fight on top of the balcony. With sickening dread he recalled the horrors that had befallen Kazumi and Toki. ‘Zuma? Mungo?’

  ‘Both alive, thank Odin.’

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘They’re with Kuro in the arena’s ruins, searching the wreckage.’

  She didn’t need to say any more. Trick knew full well who they were looking for.

  A noise overhead made them both look up. Kaw landed in the branches of a nearby tree, ruffling his oily black feathers.

  ‘Yeesh, those vultures take some seeing off, I tell ya. Typical of them to turn up when there’s a free meal.’

  Trick heard what the crow was saying. The arena was no doubt still littered with the bodies of the dead, good men and bad.

  ‘You’re a carrion crow, Kaw. Reckon you’re showing great restraint not joining them.’

  The bird shivered. ‘Won’t catch me feeding on the dead, pal. I got more style than that. Anyway, you done sleeping?’ Kaw flapped down on to Erika’s shoulder. ‘You can’t be lying about. Get a wiggle on – there’s work to be done.’

  ‘Wait, Kaw,’ said Trick, drawing himself upright. Erika moved to help him but he raised a hand to ward her off. ‘I’m not dancing to your tune until you’ve answered some questions.’

  The crow looked back. ‘It’s the boss man, Kalaban, you really need to speak to, but I’ll tell you what I can. At least let us walk and talk, flap and chat. Every moment’s delay allows our enemies to regain the initiative.’

  Trick picked up his gear from the ground and followed Erika and Kaw back towards the arena. The great gates that marked the entrance to the coliseum hung from their hinges, the wrought iron twisted and broken where they’d been forced from their brackets. The paved road that led through it was cracked and shattered, littered with debris and spattered with blood. The horrors of the arena had clearly spilled out into the streets of the Upper City. People passed them by, familiar-looking thieves and weary civilians, carrying the injured and the dead from the ruined site.

  ‘Boarhammer’s men have been routed?’ asked Trick.

  ‘Most of them have been sent packing,’ replied Kaw.

  ‘But some of our enemies are still near?’

  ‘Oh, always,’ squawked Kaw. ‘Boarhammer’s mob might’ve been turned out of Sea Forge, but the Wildlands are still riddled with the Skull Army. That’s one warlord you’ve knocked off his perch, but there are others out there, and many more who’d take his place. Once Boneshaker gets wind of what happened here, you can be sure he’ll be sending more nutters this way.’

  ‘You should be gone by th
en, Trick,’ added Erika. ‘The men and women of Sea Forge can fight that battle themselves. You must visit other places that are in thrall to the Skull Army. Break Boneshaker’s hold on the Wildlands as you build an army of your own that can defeat his minions.’

  As they returned to the sand of the arena, the sun suddenly blazed down upon the three of them, the rays finding their way through the smoky air. The carcasses of slain monsters had attracted all kinds of carrion feeders, and crows and buzzards took flight from their feast as Trick and his friends passed by. Rescuers stopped what they were doing, waving Trick’s way, some calling his name. The boy looked away, uncomfortable with the acknowledgement of strangers.

  ‘Who said I wanted to build an army?’

  ‘If you want to return to your home, it is the only way. You have to fight your way out of this world, Trick. There’s no easy path, no simple shortcut.’

  ‘I still say Kalaban should build this army. He was a great warrior once, wasn’t he? He fought Boneshaker before. He can do it again.’

  ‘Kalaban would gladly fight the Lord of Darkness again, but only when the time is right. We are but a handful right now, Trick,’ Kaw said as they stepped between smouldering ash piles and tumbledown walls. ‘You need to rebuild your group. Two of your friends were lost here, and your spirit was no doubt bruised by this battle.’

  ‘Bruised but not broken,’ chimed in Erika.

  ‘People will follow Kalaban, though,’ said Trick, the weight of expectation heavy and uncomfortable across his shoulders. ‘This is his fight, not mine.’

  ‘It’s the fight of anyone with a good heart, child,’ said Kaw, his voice softening now, becoming less harsh. ‘We all must rise against our oppressors and make a stand, each of us however we can, in a bold or a small way. What I ask of you is huge, Trick. But, trust me, when the time is right, when you’ve rallied a force and we’re closing on Boneshaker, I will reveal myself.’

  ‘And you’ll take him down?’ asked Trick hopefully, realizing he was no longer talking to the crow.

  ‘Alas, no, my young friend. It will be the Chosen One who defeats Boneshaker, nobody else. And, if you are defeated, Boneshaker will ultimately triumph. But I can help you, Trick. I will be your shield when the final fight begins. I’ll draw his attacks and all his fury – let him think the battle is with me – while you strike the killing blow. Until then, it would cost us everything if the Lord of Darkness were to discover me alive. He would focus every godless soul in thrall to him upon me, and crush us all before we’d even struck a blow against him. You must be our champion, the Black Moon Warrior that the free people can rally behind.’

  Trick looked at Kaw. The crow’s talons were gripped tight to Erika’s shoulder, his body frozen like a statue. The black bird’s eyes were white, as the voice of Kalaban came through loud and clear.

  ‘I’ve said it before,’ said Trick. ‘I ain’t a warrior.’

  Erika stopped beside an enormous pile of scorched, smoking wood, where the sand beneath their feet was damp with water. It looked like the kind of enormous bonfire Trick might have seen back home in November, the only thing missing being a sky full of fireworks. The inferno had now been doused, and rescue parties worked hard to stop the fire spreading.

  Erika squeezed Trick’s hands and looked hard at the boy. ‘You took up the blade, Trick. When you had to, you wielded Ravenblade, and you smote Boarhammer. The warlord was one of Boneshaker’s favourites, his attack dog. And you, Trick Hope, beat him down.’

  ‘Hardly. I was just defending myself. He would have killed me if Mungo hadn’t jumped in.’

  ‘And that is our challenge, Trick,’ replied Kalaban through Kaw’s snapping beak. ‘We need to surround you with warriors. Men and women who will fight for you. Bleed for you. Die for you, if they must.’

  Trick looked around. Among the many ordinary people who had set to work rescuing the injured from the wreckage of the arena he spied warriors, men and women alike. He’d seen them before, in the arena, as the madness was about to erupt. They watched him with hard faces and cold eyes. Crixus was among them, the drunken gladiator who’d played his part in the Broken Shield brawl. He nodded at Trick. Were they judging him? Weighing him up?

  Right on cue there was a commotion beside the giant pile of smoking timbers, as a trio of people made their way through the debris. All three warriors were covered in soot and sweat, heads bowed and wearied from their exhausting work. Mungo and Zuma came first, the Celt and the Aztec carrying the body of a red-headed youth between them. Kuro came last, limping along solemnly at the rear. Trick staggered closer as the men laid their comrade down upon the sand of the arena.

  ‘Kazumi?’ whispered Erika as Trick rushed to his friend’s side. The men shook their heads.

  ‘No sign,’ said Zuma.

  ‘I’ll keep looking,’ said Kuro. ‘No warrior should be left behind, especially one so brave as the samurai.’

  ‘Wake up, sleepyhead,’ said Trick, kneeling to brush a curl of wiry hair from Toki’s pale face. The others gathered round him, all joining him on their knees in a circle. Toki’s eyes fluttered open, the effort taking all his strength. His painful smile revealed teeth stained red with blood. Trick fought back the tears as Toki spoke.

  ‘What an adventure we’ve had, Trick Hope,’ he managed to say, each breath a battle.

  ‘And we’ll have more, Toki,’ said Trick, taking his friend’s limp hand in his own and lifting it to his face. ‘Don’t be bailing on me, mate.’

  Toki looked past Trick to Erika. ‘Shield Maiden. You have found her. Take good care of Trick. He is a good man.’

  ‘Valhalla awaits you, Toki,’ said Erika stiffly at Trick’s shoulder. ‘You will be prepared for that journey as befits the greatest Viking warrior. I make you this promise also: I shall protect your friend, as you did before me.’

  ‘He isn’t my friend,’ whispered Toki, every word a struggle. He made a fist as he took his dying breath. ‘He’s my brother.’

  The hand fell against the young Viking’s breast, lifeless. Trick nodded, unable to hold back the tears.

  Toki hadn’t been much older than him. Indeed, he was the closest to him in age of any of the warriors. And he’d been a friend to him. A brother. Trick curled his fingers and reached out. His arm shook, knuckles trembling with emotion as they glanced against Toki’s limp hand. Blue-painted fingers reached out and held Trick’s forearm, steadying it in a firm, fierce grip. He looked up at Mungo, and saw that the wild Celt’s often crazed face was strangely calm and peaceful. Letting go of Trick’s forearm, he held his fist against Trick’s.

  ‘Brother,’ said Mungo, as one after another the surviving warriors each placed their fist against Trick’s and repeated the word.

  ‘Brother,’ they all repeated together, their fists joined, arms forming the spokes of a wheel of warriors. More warriors and civilians gathered round them, joining the heroes and paying their respects to their fallen comrade. Kaw flapped his wings, ruffling his feathers. From a great distance away, in a cave behind a waterfall, the hermit watched them. He nodded. He wept. And he smiled.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  It was dusk, and thousands had gathered in Sea Forge, lining the dock-front doorways, windows and rooftops. A flotilla of boats bobbed in the choppy water, each filled with mourners here to pay their respects. The grisly gallows and gibbets that had lined the harbour front had been torn down and all signs of Boarhammer’s reign removed from sight.

  The gates that had barred the way to the Upper City via the cliff road were open, for now at least. Never again would the poor be kept down. Whatever wealth was to be made in Sea Forge would be shared out henceforth. The gates would remain open, at least until the Skull Army returned. That would happen, no doubt, and the people of the city port would be prepared.

  Impressive though the crowd was, Trick felt cold and alone. Across the water, drifting on the tide, was the riverboat, loaded with a pyre of wood and straw. Toki lay upon it, hands closed ro
und the hilt of the sword that rested upon his chest. This was Toki’s final journey, to who knew where? Trick wasn’t religious; he had no idea what was out there when you died, if anything. Maybe there was a Valhalla for the Viking, where his forefathers would be waiting for him to drink mead and feast. Or perhaps he would find himself transported back to his own world and time. It wasn’t a theory Trick fancied testing. He shivered at the thought.

  Mungo, Kuro and Zuma surrounded him, while Erika stood apart from them. They were at the end of the long stone jetty that reached out into the harbour. She held a bow and arrow, the missile’s tip coated in oily rags. Kuro stepped forward, a burning brand in hand, as Erika brushed the arrowhead against the flame.

  The fire blazed immediately, devouring the fuel-soaked wrappings. She brought the arrow back, black feathers bristling against her cheek as she took aim. Then the arrow was flying, arcing gracefully through the air before finding its mark across the water. The flames quickly spread, feeding upon the packed hay on the boat as the funeral pyre caught light. Erika dropped her head and lowered the bow solemnly as the vessel quickly became an inferno, dark clouds belching into the twilight sky.

  The Shield Maiden stepped back to them, and Trick couldn’t resist placing a sympathetic hand upon her shoulder. She looked up, her blue eyes intense. No tears on show, just anger.

  ‘There will be a reckoning, friend,’ she said coldly. ‘My countryman fought for you, treated you as his brother. I take on his oath in Odin’s name. My sword and shield are yours, Trick Hope, and vengeance shall be mine.’

  In that moment Trick caught a glimpse of just how hard the Viking was, hewn from Nordic rock and carving her own legend upon any world she walked in. She handed the bow past Trick to Zuma.

  ‘My thanks, Aztec,’ she said, as Zuma nodded. He slung the bow over his shoulder where it rested against a quiver loaded with black-feathered arrows. Trick’s mind instantly returned to the arena and Kazumi’s awful end. He then spied Boarhammer’s golden mace swinging from Zuma’s hip. It figured; Zuma was there for the gold.