The Heir of Eyria

by Osku Alanen

  “Oh fuck,” Ronan whispered breathlessly.

  “It’s… magnificent,” Raven said with awe.

  A wolf with eyes of glowing charcoal and a breath that smelled like death itself appeared in front of Ronan, looming over him. It’s fur… stained red by dried blood—a creature from nightmares.

  “Be on your guard. Don’t make any sudden moves,” Raven warned, slowly drawing his blade. The beast’s growling grew louder as it saw the naked steel. Yet, it did not attack. What was it waiting for?

  With a calm, composed manner, Raven started giving them orders. “New girl… you stay behind. Rose. We’re counting on you. Aim for its eyes. If you can blind it, we will have the upper hand. Oh, and cut the thief’s bonds; she’s no help for us with her hands bound behind her back.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Rose growled.

  “Rust. Ronan. Aim for its legs. That’s the only way we’re going bring something of that size down. Go on my signal.”

  Both men nodded gravely, keeping their eyes on the beast. Ronan quietly drew his axe, both legs standing firm on the barren ground underneath. He saw Rust slowly circle towards the other leg; he obviously wanted them to strike from both sides. They could confuse the beast by attacking from multiple sides. It was a good plan.

  Time seemed to stand still. They all seemed to hold their breaths. Then, out of nowhere, the beast crouched, as if it was about to leap. Yet, it didn’t. Was it waiting for something?

  “Ever hunt anything like this before, Ronan?” Rust asked. He held his massive sword with a firm, two-handed grip. Ronan knew the man was strong, but to swing a sword of that size….

  “No. Thank the gods.”

  “If you’ve got some of that Berserker blood left in you, friend, now would be the time to show it.”

  “Aye,” Ronan replied with a grim tone.

  “Charge!” Raven shouted.

  Just as the words left Raven’s lips, the beast lunged, sharp claws threatening to rip Ronan’s face into a bloody mess as it leapt towards him. By instinct, he leaped to his right, moments before the beast crushed him. He hit the ground painfully, barely avoiding the sharp edge of his axe.

  “It’s going for the women,” Rust cried, sprinting after the beast. They had misjudged the beast, and now they would pay the price. Rust couldn’t reach them in time—there was no chance. Ivy screamed in horror, trying to cover her head with her hands as the beast came towards mouth dripping with saliva.

  Raven appeared in front of the beast’s eyes, holding his hands wide open. Was the fool trying to taunt the beast? He would stand no chance against it. Miraculously, the beast stopped. It simply growled, teeth bared—and it did not attack Raven. Whatever the reason, it bought them a few precious seconds—enough for both Ronan and Rust gain their bearings and circle the beast. This time, they wouldn’t fail.

  Rust howled, sinking his massive blade deep into the creature’s flesh. The beast might be cunning, aye, but even it couldn’t keep its eyes focused on all the men around him. Ronan followed Rust’s advance in suit, striking its right hind leg with his axe. The blow didn’t do nearly as much damage as he had hoped—it was as if the beast’s skin was made of steel—but it was enough for the beast’s footing to fail.

  The beast screamed in agony. It turned around, desperately trying to lose the sword embedded into its flesh. Ronan managed to roll away just in time to avoid a kick that would have shattered his ribs.

  Rust wasn’t so lucky. The beast struck him straight on and he flew backwards, landing painfully on the rocky floor, rolling over multiple times.

  “Rust,” Ronan whispered. He thought his new friend dead, but much to his relief, he saw the man moving—he still lived. Still, the creature had sunk its claws deep into Rust’s flesh, and Ronan could see the man losing blood. The battle had barely started, and they were already one man short.

  The beast howled again. The sheer force of it made Ronan drop his weapon momentarily. He had to bring his hands to his ears to avoid his eardrums from shattering. The pain was unbearable; he could hardly see.

  Only Rose seemed unaffected. Ronan could barely keep his eyes open, but he saw the girl nock an arrow. She was obviously in great pain, but her endured it.

  She fired at the beast, aiming for its eyes. The arrow swept through the air, right past the beast’s head, missing its target. The second arrow hit the target closer, missing its eye only barely.

  The howl ended, and the beast turned its gaze towards Rose.

  Ronan could hear nothing but loud ringing in his ears, but the pain itself was gone. He picked up his axe, ready to charge the beast again.

  You cannot do this alone.

  The voice was back.

  “No,” Ronan growled. “I can do this.”

  You are but a shadow of your former self—you lack the strength. Only together we can face this magnificent creature.

  Then, out of nowhere, Raven charged, daggers revealed in both hands. He leaped, digging them into the beast’s flesh. The beast jerked around, trying to lose him, but Raven’s grip prevailed. Little by little, he climbed its back, sinking his daggers again and again into the beast’s back; It drove the beast mad.

  The beast’s head turned; it tried desperately to reach the attacker on its back, but it couldn’t; Raven was out of its reach. It whined in agony. Slowly, Raven climbed, feet steady, heading for the its head. Ronan couldn’t help but stop in admiration of the bravery when the man stared the beast directly in the eye, mere moments before he sunk his dagger in.

  The beast cried in agony, as if unable to comprehend why the world around it suddenly dimmed. But even still, Ronan could see it was not enough.

  The creature rolled, sending Raven flying.

  The beast’s underbelly was unguarded now. Ronan took advantage of the confusion and charged for the creature’s stomach. If he was fast enough, he could open its stomach and end this fight.

  What Ronan had learned quickly in his youth was that battles were pure chaos. And anything could happen in the heat of it—a man could die in the blink of an eye. And just as he feared, Ronan’s charge ended short—by a single kick to his chest by the beast. The blow hit his chest straight on, shattering his ribs.

  Ronan fell to the ground, fighting for a breath.

  You need me.

  “No,” Ronan gasped. “I will never… submit.”

  I can save you, the voice in his head urged.

  Ronan could feel his consciousness fading. Blood flowed down the cut on his forehead, slowly pooling into his eyes. The world around him turned crimson—like it always did when he lost control. “No,” Ronan gasped.

  You don’t have a choice.

  Staying awake seemed harder and harder; his eyelids felt heavier by the second. Was someone shouting for his name? It sounded like Raven, but the voice felt so far away. He blinked, and to his horror, he saw that his hands were moving on their own.

  The Berserker looked at his arms through blood-covered eyes and laughed. The blood had all but stained his teeth. He knew his ribs had broken, and he knew that it hindered it, but he didn’t care. Pain was good. Pain meant he lived. And after so many long years, he was finally in control again.

  “Ronan?” someone asked standing next to him. He sounded alarmed, scared even. The berserker thought he recognized the man, but he cared not for him. He saw only his prey.

  The beast still laid on the ground, struggling to get up.

  The Berserker charged for its exposed stomach, sinking his axe deep into the flesh once, twice. The beast gained its footing back; it bared its teeth, trying to bite off his head. The Berserker blocked the bite with his axe, laughing in excitement as the beast flinched away with a shattered fang.

  Stop it. I will not let you have me again, Ronan howled inside the berserker’s mind.

  “It is my turn now,” the Berserker answered. The Northman had imprisoned him for so long. He would not let him take control again.

  I banished you once, and I can do i
t again. You hold no power over me. I did not consent. I will not let you use me again, no matter how broken my body is, you bastard.

  “No,” the Berserker gasped, holding his head in agony. He fell to the ground, convulsing.

  Ronan emerged, gasping for his breath, barely conscious.

  He could see the beast looming over him, but Ronan couldn’t move a muscle. He was too drained, too broken.

  They had fought well, but the beast was still standing.

  “Finally,” Raven shouted with excitement. “Get to it, my good man!”

  Ronan heard unintelligible muttering from behind him and he saw Avalon slowly walk towards the beast. His hands were held forward and was drawing something in the air. The air around him seemed to glow. The man took of his hood, revealing a bald head. The runes covering his flesh started to glow.

  The man muttered two words and the world around him fell silent.

  The beast stood still, confused. It seemed like nothing had happened. It hesitated and took another step towards Ronan, but its footing failed. Then, out of nowhere, the creature let out a terrifying shriek and it started to convulse. Its legs snapped inwards and its spine folded on itself, like the sound of a tree trunk being snapped in half. The beast’s body folded on itself again and again, until nothing remained but a ball of flesh and bone and a bloodied spot on the desolate ground.

  The ball of flesh floated in air, growing smaller and smaller until a crimson orb remained. Avalon touched the orb, and it vanished. The mist surrounding the battlefield slowly disappeared. The man fell to his knees, and Raven rushed to his aid. He held up his arm in protest, motioning for Raven to stay back. Something seemed to crawl out from beneath the man’s skin. Fingers? No. It was a hand. A human hand tried to fight its way through this man’s skin. Something was very wrong, and Ronan felt sick looking at it. Was Ronan imagining it? He felt tired, so very tired. A heartbeat later, Avalon stood up, covering his face with his hood. The runes on his flesh had turned dim again, too.

  The pain hit Ronan then. The broken ribs. The battered muscles. They had won, and the beast was slain. He didn’t feel like a winner, though. His sight was failing, and breathing was getting difficult. Looking down his chest, Ronan saw a blue hue spreading along his ribcage: something inside of him had broken and he was bleeding. He felt his consciousness fading. Raven shouted in alarm, and Avalon walked to Ronan with calm steps.

  The last thing Ronan remembered was the feeling of cold, gentle hands pressing against his broken ribs, followed by a burning sensation coursing through his veins.

  Chapter 5

  Arin

  The next few days passed in a haze, and Arin found himself absorbed in the comfort of a mundane routine. A training session. Food. Sleep. Anything Arin could do to keep the thought of Nijakim’s imprisonment at bay. He had protested to Elder Kelmunir of his brother’s unfair treatment, praying he could show mercy for a man who had dedicated his life for the order.

  It had all been in vain.

  Elder Kelmunir had fought long and hard, but he was in the minority; the other elders could not risk the secret going out. What is the value of a single man if his words could undermine the teachings of an order a thousand years in making? Still, to see him treated so pained Arin greatly—there had to be something he could do. Surely, they wouldn’t imprison him for life? It was a small comfort his friend had always preferred the world inside of his mind to the one waiting for him outside.

  Arin vented his rage in the training chamber, striking whoever of his training partners was unlucky enough to be matched with him with feral intensity. Brother after brother fell to their knees with bruised fingers and aching ribs. He had always been quick to snap, but this time it felt different. This was pure anger he felt.

  “Enough,” Master Nazek shouted, stepping into the ring. He grabbed Arin’s arm forcibly, twisting it until the pain was enough for Arin to let go of his dulled blade. “Remember who you are fighting for. These men are not your enemy.”

  Arin bit his tongue, the anger welling up inside of him. “And who is the true enemy? The Daemoni?” Arin said with a mocking voice. “We don’t have the right to claim that.”

  Nazek frowned at his answer, sending the other trainees away. It was just the two of them left in the chamber. “I know the anger you feel of brother Nijakim’s fate must be great, but you mustn’t lash out. A warrior must make hard choices, sometimes painful ones. Don’t let whatever nonsense the boy has convinced you of ruin the bright future ahead of you. You are destined for great things, brother Arin. We need men like you. Don’t throw it all away for naught.”

  “But….”

  “You are so very young still,” Nazek muttered, eyes gazing into distance. “There is so much worth fighting for in our world. One of these days, you will get to witness and do great things, too. The world around us is changing, more than a boy your age could ever comprehend. And some day, you will be part of that change.”

  It was sometimes difficult to remember that Nazek had spent a lifetime fighting the Daemoni across the world. For someone who had never even left the comfort of the Three Peaks, the thought seemed distant, alien.

  “What is it like, the outside world?”

  Master Nazek pursed his lips, smiling slightly. “Oh, there are wonderous things there. Massive cities where more people walk the streets than you can count. Sights that would make you gasp in awe.”

  The old weapons’ master’s face darkened.

  “But there are also horrors, horrors you couldn’t dream of. Women raped, killed. Children mutilated, taken advantage of. Entire people slaughtered for no reason at all. Not only that, there are the Daemoni. Always ready, ever watchful. They hide deep in the woods, underneath the cities of men, slumbering, waiting. That is why men need us—to show them the way. We are the light in the darkness. Whatever sins our ancestors may or may not have committed is of no consequence, but for the sake of morale and unity, it cannot be known by the Swords we send out to the world. That is a burden for the chosen few. Surely, you wouldn’t wish this torment upon your brothers? Do you understand me, brother Arin? Do you understand why you must stay your tongue?”

  “I do,” Arin acknowledged, bitterly. “It’s just all… so much to take in.”

  “I know.”

  ***

  “What is your mission, young Arin?” Elder Kelmunir asked. The other three elders had gathered around him, judging him in stern silence.

  “To serve the order of Kun’urin. To act as a Shield, ready to protect those in need. To safeguard both our home and our traditions from those who would take them away.”

  Elder Kelmunir smiled, nodding in approval. “You may rise, brother Arin—a Shield of the Order.”

  This was the right thing to do. All his life, he had waited for this moment: to become a fully-fledged member of the community, to protect, and to serve. All his youth, he had fought against bullies and those who shunned him because he was an outsider, and here he finally stood, as one of the order. One of them.

  “… as a Shield of the order, you will be tasked to protect one of the elders.”

  Sure, the imprisonment of Nijakim pained him greatly, but he had done it to himself, hadn’t he? Why should he feel bad about it? A month had passed since that terrible day, and Arin had done his best to calm his raging heart, but it still tormented him every night.

  “… this is a great honor, one rarely granted for one so young.”

  He understood the reasoning behind it. The necessity of it. But to isolate him? A man who happened to stumble upon an ancient tome? Nijakim was a good man—a great man. He treated men and women alike with kindness. He had eyes that saw only the best in others. No. Arin wouldn’t give up. he would fight for Nijakim. Fight for him to get him his life back. For a scholar of the order, the Three Peaks were all he had ever know. Surely, the Elders didn’t think he would flee? Where would he go?

  “… you will stay with Elder Kelmunir night and day.”

&nbs
p; He should visit Nijakim soon, to at least ask how he was doing. Arin was ashamed to admit that he hadn’t visited him since his incarceration. He felt like he had failed the man.

  I had nothing to do with his imprisonment. Yet why do I feel guilty?

  “Lost in thought, are we?” Kelmunir whispered in Arin’s ear, smiling. “I know the ritual must be boring for someone your age, but you could at least pretend to listen.”

  Arin winced, realized he had missed almost the entirety of the speech. The rest of the elders had already left, and Arin had just stood there, eyes staring into the abyss. It was not a promising start to his life as a Shield. “I’m sorry.”

  Kelmunir laughed. “Don’t be. I know as well as anyone that the old words can be boring. I was once young too, you know? And if you can believe me, I was just as hot-headed and impatient as you.”

  Elder Kelmunir, a young man like him? That was almost impossible to imagine. All his life, he had seen Kelmunir as an old, wrinkled man. He had not changed one bit while Arin had blossomed from an infant into a full-grown young man. It made him realized how young he truly was. Compared to him, Arin was but a pebble, while Kelmunir was the mountain itself.

  “Walk with me. There’s something I need to show you.”

  They walked out of the building, which held the seat of the elders. The upper village filled to the brim with fanciful decorations. Fresh snow had fallen on the streets last night, and most of the less travelled roads were still covered in it, inaccessible until men like him cleared them. They walked down the slow decline, towards the lower village. Arin could feel quiet, muzzled cheering coming from the main square. Was it truly time for the winter festival already?

  When they passed the gate separating the upper village from the lower, Arin was shocked to notice the gatekeepers—both veteran Shields—saluting him. It made him tear up. All these years, they had looked past him as if they saw nothing but empty air. Now, he was finally one of them. It made him almost forget his hunger of one day joining the Swords. Shouldn’t he be happy with the life he held here? His life had meaning now. But why did he still feel like a piece of him was missing? Arin knew why.