The Heir of Eyria

by Osku Alanen

  Nijakim continued, voice lowered. “If I heard you right, you betrayed your vow to our village only once before. Was it your brother?”

  “No,” Eldon whispered.

  “Then how could he have sent us? I give you my word, Eldon. We are not deceiving you.”

  The man rose, walking back to the bars with slow, tired steps. “Has it truly been that long? Nineteen years?”

  “What are you rambling on now?” Arin muttered. He, too, was growing anxious by the man’s sudden outburst, fearful of what it could mean for him. What was the pendant of his mother to this delirious old man?

  “So, close to two decades have passed since those terrible deeds I committed?”

  The words the old man spoke of made no sense. Arin thought it best for him to take a step back lest the man’s fists struck him my accident. But what was he raving about? Who was this old man?

  “Young Arin,” the man replied. He seemed calm now. “Let me feel the pendant, once more. Please. I promise you I won’t take it away from you—you have my word.”

  Arin swallowed. “Very well.” He let the cold metal touch the old man’s fingers once more.

  A while later the man said, “Tell me one last thing, young man. Is there a mark on your lower back—a burn mark?”

  Arin shook his head.

  “Why,” Nijakim asked, frowning. He, too, had walked to the bars, and now looked Eldon in the eye.

  “So, it has healed then? I am glad. But by the gods, could it be so? After all these years? Oh, for us to meet like this. This is not how I imagined our first meeting to go, my grandson. Not in my wildest dreams.”

  “What are you saying?” Arin whispered, voice barely above a whisper.

  “You are my grandson, young Arin. A grandson I thought long dead. It would seem the poor girl took you to safety from my madness, after all. I can finally ease this burden I have carried for all these years, if only a small part of it.

  “How can you be so sure, old man? Who are you?” Nijakim said.

  Could this be it? The meeting Arin had waited for all his life? Was this frail, old man of his blood? Had he found his family, finally? He wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn’t think of anything. His mind was blank; he was not ready for a reunion—and here, of all the places.

  “Can I… feel your face, boy?”

  Arin remained silent, too shocked to express the turmoil he felt in his heart with words. Arin took a deep breath and let Eldon’s shaking fingers feel his face. They went from cheek to cheek, from mouth to forehead. Feeling, touching, caressing. Then it finally hit him; this man was family. He felt tears running down his cheeks, and he let his grandfather’s wrinkled fingers wipe them away. If the bars hadn’t been there, he would have hugged him.

  “You have my nose,” the old man said proudly, grinning. The gaping holes where the old man’s teeth should be made Arin woozy, not due to their absence, but because of the smell of sickness.

  “Who… are you truly, old man?” Nijakim questioned. “You are no commoner. We have spent only days here, in your lands, but you carry yourself like the nobility here. What… crime did you commit to deserve your imprisonment?” He didn’t hesitate as the old man reached forward and touched his face as well, frowning.

  A moment later, the man took a step back, coughing into his hands. He fell upon a fit, and both Nijakim and Arin could do nothing but share at this frail old man with worry. There was no use lying: the man was deathly ill.

  “Forgive me… my lungs aren’t what they used to be. I’m afraid my health has been neglected as of late. I fear my brother no longer thinks me useful. I am only a bag of bones to him, now. A toy.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Arin asked.

  “I fear you are in no position to help anyone, my grandson. But thank you for your concern. It means to me more than you could possibly fathom.”

  The heavy door to the dungeons opened, its unoiled hinges screaming in agony as three well-armed guardsmen entered. “You two, step forward,” A grim-looking guard said. “It’s time for your sentence.”

  “What… what are they accusing you for?” Eldon asked.

  “of murder, old man. Now step back.”

  “Oh, what have you done?” Eldon wailed.

  “It’s a mistake. They caught the wrong men,” Arin replied.

  “That’s what they all claim,” one of the guards opening the door to their cell said. “You killed our Captain, you scum, and for that, you’ll hang.”

  Arin exchanged a look with Nijakim, but the man shook his head. He was right, there was not much they could do against four guards with heavy armor, not when two of them were aiming their crossbows at them. They had no choice but to submit.

  “You must invoke the Old Law. Invoke it or you stand no chance!” Eldon shouted as they were escorted out of the dungeons.

  Chapter 15

  Ronan

  Ronan stared at the entrance to sewers, grimacing. “You reckon this will work?” It was not how he wanted to spend his day— pushing through other people’s feces and gods know what else laid down there.

  “It has to. There’s no other way in,” Rust replied.

  “There’s no fucking way I’m jumping into the water. No way,” Rose whined, pressing her nostrils together with two fingers.

  She was right; the waters below were not inviting. Then there were the steel bars preventing their entrance. But if Rust thought it was the only way in, then they had no way but to take it.

  “Well, if the lady finds another entrance, I’m all for it. Trust me, I’m not looking towards to this any more than you do,” Rust replied.

  Ronan stretching his already aching muscles, preparing his mind for the challenge that laid ahead. Nothing worth doing ever was easy. “Well, time’s a wasting, I reckon.”

  Ronan sighed, rolling up his sleeves. He entered the brown, putrid waters leading away from the city, gasping as he dived into the water, chest-deep. He turned back towards his friends and grinned, beckoning them to join him. He waded through the putrid sludge, against the current, and towards the bars preventing their entrance to the city. The metal bars groaned and whined against Ronan’s bulging muscles, but they didn’t budge—not even when he put all his strength into it. He could feel the metal bending, but it was not enough.

  “Going to need a hand here,” Ronan grunted, the veins on his forehead bulging with the effort, as he tried twisting the bars back and forth once more.

  “Coming,” Rust said, jumping in the water. He grabbed the bar with Ronan, and together, they tried bending it from one side to the other, hoping they could do enough damage if they kept at it. Ronan couldn’t help but notice Rose’s lips slightly curling upwards as she watched the two men, covered in shit, grunting and sweating while she watched them.

  Then, the metal gave in so suddenly it caused Rust to lose his footing, and he fell backwards into the putrid waters. He quickly emerged through the surface, gagging.

  “Shit shit shit,” the man cursed.

  Rose finally jumped in the water as well. “You’ve got something in your hair,” she chuckled, removing something Ronan couldn’t identify from his head. Suddenly, she yelped.

  It was a bone—a fingerbone. Human.

  “What the hell are your people hiding down here?” Rose grumbled, staring at the fingerbone with disgust, throwing it as far away as she could.

  “You know,” Rust begun as he paddled through the sludge, and towards the darkness that laid ahead. “I’ve heard stories of this place. Stories of how something… evil lives below the city. I thought it a just that—a story to keep the children away from the sewers. But, eh, guess there’s some truth in that.”

  “That’s not funny,” Rose groaned. For someone who appeared fearless, her voice seemed higher than usual, Ronan noted.

  Rust shrugged. “Just something I heard is all.”

  “You reckon there could’ve been a better time to tell this story?” Ronan laughed.
>
  “I suppose. Sorry about that,” Rust said, wiping his hair with his shirt.

  They paddled through the sludge in silence. A moment later, the tunnels turned shallow, the water no more than the height of their ankles. Ronan was not enjoying this one bit, but it could have been worse. The smell was overpowering, but their noses grew numb to it fast enough.

  The tunnel squirmed around and around, and to Ronan’s discomfort, he realized he no longer knew which way they came from. With no knowledge of the correct direction, they could do nothing but flip a coin and hope for the best. A single torch was their sole guide through the dark twists and turns of this underground world.

  “Quiet. Did you hear that?” Rose hissed, grabbing Ronan by his left arm, digging her fingers deep in. She seemed frightened.

  “I hear nothing.”

  “Same here,” Rust grunted.

  “I’m sure I heard something,” Rose muttered, letting go of Ronan’s arm once she realized who she had leaned on.

  Ronan knew Rose had probably imagined the noise, but then again, when had she been mistaken before? Her senses were incredibly sharp—he had witnessed it time and time again. Ronan found his fingers reaching for his twin hatchets at his hips. It never hurt to be cautious—and prepared.

  A while later, they found themselves on dry land. This was no longer a part of the sewers, Ronan realized. It seemed more and more like a natural formation to Ronan—a congregation of caves. Its tunnels reminded Ronan of his youth. He had ventured into a cave like this in his youth, hadn’t he? With another child, no less. He had called the boy his friend once.

  Ronan’s family had been nomads. Not a year they spent in one place. Always wandering, from one place to the next. Across all the three main island of the North. Growing up, it had been hard for him. Whenever he tried making a friend, they always left the next day. But there was one boy, from the same tribe. He always followed Ronan wherever he went. They had become close friends, but then he passed away, just as quickly. A sickness, his father had said. A horrible sickness. Ronan remembered the last time he had seen the boy: blood ran down his cheeks as he convulsed in his death bed, in agony. There was nothing anyone could do. His parents made Ronan watch as they burned they boy’s body the next day. They told him he had carried an illness of the blood. Contagious. A bad way to go. The other children of the tribe had avoided Ronan like a plague after that, hadn’t they? They thought that they, too, would catch it, if they were to play with him. He wasn’t much for friends after that.

  “There, right ahead. You see that, Ronan?” Rust mumbled.

  “An opening?” Ronan said, startling to the present. He had been absorbed by this memory of a boy long lost.

  And sure enough, the narrow tunnels grew large, and eventually, they stumbled into an opening, both grand and wide—enough to hold a small army. Ronan stared in awe as another city, hidden deep under the earth, unveiled before his very eyes. They stood upon ruins of a civilization long forgotten.

  “Where are we?” Ronan whispered, mesmerized by the decayed buildings.

  “I’ve heard of this,” Rust said. “It is said that Eyria was built on ruins of another kingdom. Hundreds of years ago.”

  “Another kingdom?”

  “Aye. King Eyria the first chose this land here for a reason when he built his kingdom. The riches this land provided were plentiful, and the open sea provided a route for trade—and a way of escape should the enemy try to invade our lands. The ruins of a civilization long dead laid here, buried in some cataclysm forgotten by the ages. Some say that when the brother-gods yet warred, Erebus unleashed an earthquake here, burying the worshippers of his sibling under an avalanche of stone and dust. The scholars say that this was the final battleground—where the brother-gods fought to their dying breath.”

  “I see,” Ronan muttered. A battle of gods? It all seemed like a fairytale to him—a legend, nothing more. Still, the grandness of it all reminded Ronan of the Forbidden Mountain. If he still possessed the sense of adventure of his youth, he would have searched through those ruins with eagerness.

  Your companion is wiser than he looks like, the voice in his head added.

  And what would you know of gods, Daemoni? Ronan whispered, careful his companions wouldn’t hear him.

  More than you, child, the voice laughed. I remember those times like yesterday. For one as ancient as I am, time does not flow like it does to your kind. Why do you think I’m still one with you, Berserker? I am patient. The defiance of your destiny is admirable, but no matter how many years you cast me aside, I will win in the end. It is inevitable. They all succumb in the end. What makes you think you’re any different?

  With no warning, Rust halted his advance, and Ronan crashed onto him, their only source of light almost tumbling to the distance.

  “Sorry,” Ronan muttered.

  “Never mind that,” Rust said, voice barely a whisper. “Listen.”

  Ronan listened. A faint growl, somewhere up ahead? He felt chills going down his spine; they weren’t alone.

  “It’s coming our way,” Rose whispered, nocking an arrow.

  Ronan swallowed nervously, drawing both of his axes. They were still in pristine condition, but Ronan was under no illusion they would stay that way for long. Everything broke down eventually—no matter how well they were forged. Still, no matter how good his weapons were, they did nothing to ease his racing heart, the sound almost deafening in Ronan’s ears.

  Footsteps.

  “Prepare yourselves,” Rust growled brandishing his mighty weapon.

  The shadows came towards them, fast. Rapid footsteps, but they were not the sound of boots. Ronan then saw them; a pair of yellow, cat-like eyes spying them through the darkness. Not one. Not two. But at least a dozen eyes watching them, waiting.

  “What are they?” Rose whispered.

  Ronan opened his mouth to reply, but a sudden, screeching howl drowned his voice. The howl echoed through the opening as it met walls somewhere in the distance, out of reach of the light of their feeble torch. The deafening howl was then answered by at least a dozen more of the creatures.

  “Lycans,” Ronan shouted his reply.

  “What?” Rust asked.

  “Daemoni. Their teeth are sharp as fuck. And judging from the look of it, we stumbled upon their nest.”

  “What is it with you and the Daemoni? They seem follow you like fucking rodents,” Rose hissed.

  “I reckon it must be my smell,” Ronan replied dryly.

  “We can talk about Ronan’s stench when we get out this mess, but for now, I’d say we have bigger worries than that,” Rust said, biceps bulging with the weight of his weapon. He locked his back with Ronan, as did Rose. They stood there, waiting for the Lycans to act.

  The glowing eyes lurked in the darkness, moving left and right, silently. These were not mere beasts, Ronan knew. They moved in coordination, their purpose to surround them.

  “I take it you’ve faced these things before, Ronan?” Rust asked, swinging his torch towards the glowing eyes. They appeared to fall back whenever the fire came closer.

  “Aye. Once or twice. Aim for their necks. Only thing that will kill them for good.”

  Are you sure you don’t need my assistance, Berserker?

  This is nothing, Ronan whispered through clenched teeth. I’ve faced things far worse than this.

  We have, the voice corrected. Together.

  The first of the beasts slowly walked towards Ronan, howling with deafening intensity, making Ronan’s ears ring. Then the beast charged, its long, sharp, deadly claws extended.

  Ronan saw the leap coming, and he reacted well in time. Both Rust and Rose reacted simultaneously, charging their respective targets.

  Ronan rolled to the left, using his momentum to swing his axes around in a violent whirlwind. They both sunk deep in the beast’s back. The beast howled and cried, jerking itself loose, one of the axe still embedded deep into its flesh.

  “Careful, Ronan,”
Rust shouted. He had dispatched his target with ease, decapitating the beast with a single swing. “Can’t have you go unarmed against these things.”

  “Still got one, don’t I?” He brandished his remaining axe at the beast, beckoning the beast to come closer.

  Rose dispatched her target with ease; a single arrow through its neck was all it took.

  If there was anything Ronan had learned in all his years, it’s that the Daemoni were beasts. They were smart beasts, aye, but beasts nevertheless. And beasts acted without thinking when provoked. And just like he intended, the injured beast charged for Ronan yet again. The Lycan lunged, aiming for Ronan’s throat. Ronan crouched, his left knee touching the ground. He raised his razor-sharp axe upwards, cutting open the beast’s stomach in the process. The beast fell on top of him, bathing the northerner with blood and intestines. It jerked twice, and then it stopped moving. Ronan took the carcass in his arms and threw it towards the eyes glowing in the darkness.

  One by one, Ronan saw the eyes in the darkness disappear.

  “That’s it?” Rose asked, confusion in her voice evident.

  “Aye. Lycans are pack animals. I reckon they judged their nest at risk they saw many of their kind fall. They judged us too much of a risk.”

  “I can live with that,” Rust sighed with relief.

  “Still,” Ronan said calmly, “it’s best we don’t stick around longer than we have to. They might attack us again if we venture too close to their nest.”

  “Right,” Rust grunted, lifting himself up, grunting with effort. “My legs could use the rest, that’s all.”

  “I reckon we all could use the rest,” Ronan sighed, trying to wipe away the mess from his clothes, failing miserably. The beast’s blood burned. Just like most Daemoni, Lycan’s blood was toxic for humans. He had no choice but to endure the pain and hope they would find a way out of this mess sooner rather than later. “Which way do you think, Rust?”

  “I’ve not the faintest idea,” Rust sighed. “It’s like a maze down here.”

  “Do you think that the city guards know of the Daemoni lurking beneath?” Ronan asked.

  Rust shrugged. “Who knows? I figure they don’t care. Out of sight, out of mind and all that.”