Rude Awakenings

by Jonathan Eaves

Grantt.

  'How the-' Anyx began, but then realised he had no time to wonder at the troll's sudden appearance. Instead he ran towards what he thought to be the centre of the stones (although it was hard to tell, what with the stones' constant shifting). What now? he thought, and he tried to drag up the doggerel of the prophecy into his mind. There may just be a clue within its words, he reasoned, though not with very much hope.

  '...from the races of the farthest North,' he mumbled. Okay, he thought, let's try 'DWARF!' His voice, still ragged from his near suffocation, still managed to carry clearly to his companions who were looking on expectantly.

  Any looked round. Nothing. Okay, then. 'TROLL!' Still nothing. He glanced over to the sun. Less than half its area was visible above the distant waves.

  Next line, then, he thought.

  '...One called the Awakener will therefore come forth...' Wonder who came first, second and third, the flippant thought suddenly entered his head. He looked beyond Robin and A'Veil to the advancing Grantt. He was only seconds away from reaching the stones. Concentrate, he urged himself. Okay, one called the Awakener... what's another word for Awakener?

  'REDEEMER!' he cried.

  Nothing.

  'SAVIOUR!' Not a thing.

  Bloody hell, he thought, I never thought I'd think this but I'd give anything for a Thesaurus.

  'LIBERATOR!'

  Bugger All.

  How about 'AWAKENER!'

  Nothing. Would have been a bit obvious, I suppose...

  '...the sharp little sod...'

  'SOD!'

  Okay, he thought. Perhaps it should just be an instruction.

  'MANIFEST YOURSELF!'

  'REVEAL THYSELF!'

  'APPEAR!'

  'OPEN SESAME!'

  'GOD GRANT ME YOUR PRESENCE!'

  'COME ON, WE HAVEN'T GOT ALL BLOODY DAY!'

  He looked over to Grantt. In the dimming light he could just about make out the massive troll thundering towards them. This is useless, he thought.

  'WHAT GOES ON TWO LEGS IN THE MORNING, FOUR LEGS IN THE AFTERNOON AND NONE IN THE EVENING?'[33]

  He sat down heavily, his head in his hands. It was an impossible task, he knew. What was the point...?

  And suddenly Grantt had reached edge of the stone circle, although, with all the shuffling, it was now more like a stone rhomboid...

  Anyx looked up to see Robin and Ron, swords drawn, circling the massive troll, who, in the twilight, looked very much like one of the Walking Stones, albeit slightly more defined and holding a bloody great club. Then the troll captain lunged forward and all too easily felled Ron with single blow.

  'Oh bugger,' said Anyx.

  Samosa rushed in to take Ron's place next to Robin. A'Veil was stood well back, Swallow standing in front of her, cutlass in hand.

  The troll captain paused in his rush and looked across to where the Maid was standing. 'I'll deal with you later, young lady,' he growled before launching himself towards Robin.

  Anyx got to his feet, unsure what to do. Grantt sensed the movement and looked across to the Stones. 'Dwarf!' he cried and charged forward, sending Robin and Samosa flying. Each fell, winded and barely conscious and now Swallow rushed forwards, whirling his cutlass around his head, but he was clubbed to the ground with ease, before he could even get close to the incensed troll.

  Four men lay either insensible or groaning with pain, and it had taken less than a minute. The troll stood in the midst of the carnage, untouched, before turning his attention towards Anyx.

  'Do not move,' he hissed at the Maid A'Veil, and then strode towards the dwarf.

  Anyx couldn't move, frozen by fear as effectively as he had been by Theodore. Grantt had always been a fearsome figure, but now his anger seemed tangible and Anyx felt truly afraid - for the second time in a few minutes, he thought somewhat pointlessly.

  'On your knees, dwarf,' the troll commanded as he reached the Stones.

  Anyx tried to resist the instruction but failed, slumping forwards, his body reacting only to Grantt's words and not from his own conscious thoughts.

  'The others, well, they'll be arrested and spend the rest of their lives in gaol,' the troll informed the dwarf through (literally) gritted teeth. 'But you, I have other plans for you, you little short-arse. I've always hated dwarves, but I've taken a personal dislike to you,' and he raised his club above his head. 'You, Anyx Abycshon, may just get to meet your God. But not in this world!'

  And then there was a blur behind him, and the troll suddenly fell forward onto his knees. The ground seemed to shake.

  The blur resolved itself into the shape of a man, perfectly poised, scimitar well-balanced in his hand.

  'Come on, troll,' Azif said quietly. 'Let's see what you're made of.'

  Rock, thought the dwarf. He's made of bloody great hard rock. And Azif is made of all those soft squishy bits that are easily damaged...

  Grantt climbed to his feet and turned to face the Moor, rage making him almost unrecognisable. His anger was practically igneous.

  'It will take more than a curvy sword to defeat me,' the troll warned.

  'Let's see, shall we,' countered Azif, and, with incredible speed, he slashed at the troll's legs.

  Grantt didn't even bother to move. The sword clanged against him, creating a small chip, but he stood unfazed. Azif jumped back quickly, as lithe and agile as a leopard, waiting for the troll to advance. But still Grantt didn't move. On the horizon the sun was little more than a hazy yellow blur. Sundown could only be seconds away, thought Anyx, before turning his attention back to the fight in front of him.

  Azif feinted left then swung a vicious swipe aimed at the troll's neck, but Grantt merely threw up his left arm to deflect the blow, forcing Azif to drop the ringing sword from his hand.

  'Enough!' cried the troll and he stepped forward to throw a crushing punch with his right hand, which landed squarely on the side of Azif's head. The Moor crashed to the floor, out cold. For a moment the troll stood over Azif's inert body and Anyx thought that he was going to deliver the coup de grace, but after a second or two he returned his attention to the dwarf.

  He moved to stand over Anyx, his club raised over his head, and stared into the fearful eyes of the dwarf. After a terrifying pause he opened his mouth. 'By the power vested in me by, well, me actually, I hereby sentence you to death,' he stated flatly, and he brought the club down.

  'Shhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiittttttttt!' cried the dwarf, his eyes firmly shut, and then he realised he was shouting for far longer than he ought to be had the troll completed the blow. Gingerly he opened one eye. And to his amazement there was a huge white-bearded stranger easily holding Grantt's arms and looking down at the dwarf.

  'Thanks,' said the stranger with a wink, before vigorously kneeing the troll between the legs. Anyx was unsure what a troll kept between his legs but he was sure that they must be made of rock and that kneeing them there must surely hurt the knee-er much more than the knee-ee, but the medallion-clad stranger seemed to be unfazed. Grantt, however, was rolling around on the floor screaming.

  The huge stranger reached down to help the dwarf to his feet.

  'Hi,' he said. 'I'm Wacchus.' He briefly touched his forehead with his forefinger before pointing it forwards, and making a clicking sound. 'You may have seen my image on the occasional temple,' he added.

  'Ugh,' was all the dwarf could manage to say. He looked around at his groaning companions. 'Ugh,' he added.

  'Take your time, my son,' said Wacchus. 'I've got all the time in the world. Thanks to you.'

  'I...er... expected-' Anyx stammered

  'Someone taller?' asked the God, who towered over the dwarf by some five to six feet as it was.

  'No,' replied Anyx. 'I expected, well... a flash of smoke, or maybe a lightning strike, or something. Perhaps a shower of gold, even-'

  'Hmm, a shower of gold.' The god fingered his medallion. 'That would have been kind of showy. But good, mind you. I'll have to remember it for next time.'


  'Next time?'

  'Figure of speech.'

  Anyx shook his head to try and clear his mind. 'Hang on a minute, so your Word was?'

  Wacchus nodded. 'Shiiiiiiiiiiiiitttttttttt, apparently,' he confirmed. 'Believe me, I'm as surprised as you are.'

  'But... how? Why?'

  Wacchus smiled. 'Well, Gods have the ability to talk from the very moment they're born,' He explained. 'I suppose, thinking about it, given the circumstances, what would your first word be?'

  Anyx considered this for a moment before nodding. 'Fair enough,' was all that he could think of to say. He looked over to where his companions lay, still in varying stages of consciousness. The Maid was tending to Robin as best she could but as soon as he moved, and managed to sit up gingerly, she turned her attention to Ron.

  'Will they all be alright?' Anyx asked.

  Wacchus nodded. 'They will all recover,' He confirmed, though whether by the Maid's ministrations or the God's will, Anyx wasn't sure.

  'There's just one other thing,' Anyx said, scrambling to his feet. 'The prophecy said the Awakener would come 'from the north...' But I was born and raised in Marasmus.'

  'Really?' said Wacchus. 'Well, well, it just goes to show.'

  'Show what?'

  'That your average, everyday prophecy is, well, generally a load of old boll-'

  Epilogue

  It would be nice to record that, following the resurrection of Wacchus, celebrations broke out across Terra Infirma, and, back in Marasmus, the people immediately threw off the yoke of the trollian oppressor and, in a spontaneous uprising, peace, harmony and afternoon matinees returned to the ancient city. But things seldom work out quite as simply as all that...

  What actually happened was that, over the following few months, the trolls, puzzled at the disappearance of Captain Grantt and no longer driven by his manic intensity, decided to relent in some of their more extreme policies and even to tentatively start negotiations with a view to turning Terra Infirma into a democracy by introducing free and fair elections sometime in the near future.

  With the relaxation of the regime there came about a re-emergence of minstrels and jesters, along with the re-opening of the theatre houses and gaming halls. And, most importantly, as Leonard De Matitis was concerned, there was a tentative restoration of belief, resulting in the throwing open of the long empty temples. But, even though he was partly responsible for the resurrection of Wacchus, and was first in line when the Great Temple of Gaiety flung open its doors, he still managed to find himself on a waiting list of three months.

  Nevertheless, at least now he had hope, he had said to Anyx, Robin and the others over a drink in the Golden Griffin, and that was a damn sight more than he'd had for the previous seven years.

  Now, a couple of drinks later, Lenny was asking what had happened after the Anyx had awakened the God, and, in particular - for this was the great mystery that continued to puzzle the entire population of Marasmus - what had happened to Grantt.

  'We don't know,' Robin replied simply. 'Grantt was still lying unconscious when Wacchus leaned over him. When the God stood back up, Grantt had disappeared.' He turned to Anyx who shrugged.

  'I heard Wacchus say what sounded like 'returning to the bones of the hills from whence you came', that's all.'

  Lenny looked across at the Maid A'Veil, who, it seemed to him, didn't seem to be too upset at the loss of her stepfather. But then again, she had a new protector now, after all. She had agreed to marry Robin, whose family estates were being returned to him, in the tradition of these things.

  Lenny turned his attention Azif. The bruising on the Infidel's face still hadn't gone down, but there remained a serene air about him. 'There's something else that puzzles me. How did you defeat the Ferryman?' Lenny asked.

  Azif smiled softly. 'I did not defeat him,' he said. 'In fact, I ran away.'

  'What?' Lenny had only just met the Moor and he certainly didn't consider him to be a coward.

  'You must understand that I used the only weakness the Ferryman possessed,' Azif explained, 'his