The OverLord jumped on him again. He wrapped his arm around Van and hoisted him up, then slammed him hard to the dirt. Van’s breath shot out of him. He writhed in pain and stared up helplessly at the OverLord. The OverLord reached down to grab Van, but Van batted away his extended hand, then lunged up and grabbed the OverLord’s collar and pulled him to the ground. Van rolled to the side. By the time he got his feet under him, the OverLord was already up.
The bars seemed to close in on Van as the OverLord, stripes of sunlight crossing his grim face, bore down on him again. Van held his ground, but the OverLord lowered a shoulder and sent him sprawling against the other side of the cage. He gripped Van’s hair and bashed his head into the bars. Then he twisted Van into a chokehold. His enormous forearm pressed into Van’s windpipe. “Still you fight for this world?” he growled in Van’s ear. “They would happily let you and all you love die.”
Van drove an elbow into the OverLord’s side. The OverLord grunted and spun away. Van jumped in behind him, wrapped his arms around the OverLord’s massive girth, and tossed him over his head, sending him sprawling to the center of the cage. The OverLord crashed awkwardly into the ragged stone base of a toppled tombstone.
Van sucked wind as he watched the OverLord struggle to his feet. The Nether titan had one hand on his ailing back. He was new to pain. He was used to relentlessly attacking and overwhelming his opponents. But he could no longer ignore the damage he absorbed. Kyle had given Van a chance when she’d tracked down and destroyed the urn.
The OverLord stretched his neck. Then he stomped towards Van again. Van feigned a side stumble on a broken hunk of tombstone, then he jumped up and clotheslined the OverLord. The mighty Nether titan fell to the ground, and Van dropped a knee onto his injured back. The OverLord roared pain. Van gripped the OverLord’s head and slammed it into the ground, catching the edge of the broken chunk of tombstone. Ash poured from the wound. “You don’t belong here,” Van said as he stared at the dusty black gore. “I’m sorry you suffered. But you can’t share your misery. It’s yours, not ours.”
The OverLord shot an arm out and caught Van’s legs. He toppled Van over and rolled onto him. They grappled on the ground, twisting and squeezing, raining wild punches on each other. Van drove a fist into the OverLord’s injured back, and the OverLord howled in agony again. The OverLord looked up, his teeth clenched in hatred, and furiously swung his head back at Van. Van dodged and drove the OverLord’s face into the dirt and pressed it there with his forearm. The OverLord faltered for a second, his strength seemed to be fading. Van quickly wrapped his arms around the Nether titan’s midsection and hoisted him up upside-down, dragging his head off the ground. Van shambled over a step, then another, and lined the OverLord up over the flat chunk of tombstone. He drove the OverLord’s head into the tombstone, putting all his weight behind it. There was a loud crack as the OverLord’s skull caved.
The OverLord’s legs went limp and he toppled over on the ground. Van fell back and gritted his teeth, staring at another dead titan before him. This titan built of nothing but suffering. “Be at peace, brother,” Van whispered quietly as the OverLord melted into ash.
Metal shrieked as the top of the cage was ripped away by a giant hand. As the shadows cast by the bars fell off of Van, he could feel the raw strength of the giants’ gazes once more. He stared at the ground a moment longer, then looked up defiantly. Malachisin and Jugor looked back.
“You assholes happy?” Van asked.
Chapter 25.
The sun glared down brightly on the broken cemetery, but a chill wind kicked up with Van’s defiant words. Around him, the remaining Nether troops were crumbling to ash. The OverLord had served as the anchor for the Nether and his death had unmoored the rest. The wind swept the ashes across the cemetery. Van turned away from the black grit that buffeted his bare arms and face. He was looking at the pit when the black hole itself blew away as though it had always been a mere smudge on the cemetery grass. Within moments, all traces of the Nether forces were gone. The havoc they had wreaked was not. The broken bodies of Empire City’s defenders lay scattered across the muddy grass. Van saw more dead humans and titans than he could readily count. Several valkyrie were also dead, sprawled in the mud, their wings broken at odd angles.
The survivors looked around with grim faces. Van saw Owen and Sevendhi standing with Harlan. He saw Alkylis helping Queen Aoleon to her feet. At last, he spotted Kyle only a few strides away. She stared up, her eyes dark. Van turned to watch the giant Malachisin slowly rise to his feet.
The ground rumbled, and Van again felt that curious shift in scale. The giant had been crouched down over the cemetery, his hands the size of buildings. But he stood again, rising to an unfathomable height. He towered over Empire City. Jugor stood as well, and the two stared at each other, as still as mountains, the city a fragile nest of life between them. Van hoped they were finished, that they’d toyed with the people of this world enough. That they would not themselves fight and destroy all that was left of Empire City. Van looked at Kyle, longing to reach out and grasp her hand. If it all ended today, at least he’d have her by his side. But he didn’t move as the giants quietly determined their fate.
Finally Malachisin scoffed. “THIS WORLD KNOWS NOT WHAT TO DO WITH THE FLEETING BREATH YOU GIVE IT,” he said, looking down on the survivors. For a moment, Van felt Malachisin’s sweeping look narrowed in on him. He would have been driven to his knees were he not already on the ground. But he forced himself to look up and meet the giant’s sinister white eyes. Malachisin seemed to hesitate a moment, as if reconsidering. Van thought the giant might raise a fist and crush the life from them after all. The giant snorted again and turned away.
With a single stride, Malachisin was miles away, his mighty back blending into the mountains in the distance. His head faded into the grey clouds. Jugor stood a moment, staring after his brother. “PERHAPS NOT,” he said to himself. “BUT THAT IS THEIR CHOICE, NOT YOURS, BROTHER.” He glanced downwards. His golden eyes found Van’s and the giant nodded, a tilt of his enormous head. Then he walked away in the direction opposite Malachisin’s path.
In just moments, both giants had faded from view and the land stilled. Van took a deep breath, then he wiped sweat and ash from his brow. Almost immediately, the silence in the cemetery was broken by a flurry of activity. The valkyrie lit out after Malachisin. Injured soldiers began calling for help even as the crowd from the nearby streets surged into the cemetery, some to aid, more to simply gawk.
Van felt a firm hand grip his shoulder, and then Owen Grit was pulling him up. When Van had his shaky legs under him, Owen folded him into a hug. Van held on tightly. When Owen finally let him go, Van turned and looked for Kyle. He was not surprised, but still bitterly disappointed, to see she had already left. Van fought a sudden, crushing loneliness. He swallowed hard to keep from crying in front of his friend.
“She’s gone,” Owen said quietly. “Went with the others. Chasing that thing. Do you think it will come back?”
“No. I don’t think so. Not in our lifetimes. I guess the valkyrie just want to be sure, though.” He sighed.
“That’s good,” Owen said, reaching out to shake Sevendhi’s hand. “Should we go get a beer?”
Harlan stepped up and handed the Patriot’s board to Van. “It is a good idea. And you will tell us the stories of the Patriot Jack Hammer again, Van. We will remember our heroes.”
Van gripped Harlan by the shoulder and turned the board over in his other hand. The other titans gathered around. The Landshaker stared off into the distance where the giants had disappeared, mesmerized. The other surviving ONWC titans were boasting over their various exploits. The Grunt-and-Groan crew stared at the ground, waiting for instructions. Kir was among the many dead, and their pain was palpable. Eagle shambled up to the group, carrying Creature’s armored shoulderplates. Tears streaked the ash on the titan’s face.
“Yes,” Van said loudly to the weary survivors, “the Patriot died fi
ghting for his country, even if he died outside its borders. We’ll make sure his body is returned there. And we will talk of all the fallen titans.” He nodded to Titus, then reached out to grip Eagle’s arm. “All the fallen titans.” He glanced around the wreckage that surrounded them. There was so much to do. “Someone should repair the fence. Keep the crowd from getting in. People might get hurt. And what about the other bodies?”
Owen shook his head. “That is not your job. You are not running for office. You’re done here.” He glanced at the other titans around them. “And, Van,” he added, looking at all the bustle of life in the cemetery, “thank you.” The other titans began clapping, shouting Van’s name. Then they turned to one another, clasping hands and gripping shoulders, all talking at once.
“Let’s go,” Van said, eager to find a place away from all the eyes on him. He squinted at the horizon one last time, wishing the valkyrie had stayed. But they’d be a part of the stories too. As would the heroic soldiers who’d held their lines. Hopefully, some of them had something good to say about Captain Jahrom. Stories to tell over a well-earned beer. He walked past the Landshaker, who still stared after the giants, gaping, childlike with wonder. “C’mon, son of Ergoth,” Van said.
“What did you call me?” the Landshaker asked. His hands were twisted together. He stared after Van, but when Van didn’t answer, he joined in with the other titans leaving the cemetery, and said, “Those things were huge.”
Chapter 26.
The party moved to Moody’s Mourning Hole and raged on through the night. Van nailed the Patriot’s board up over the bar. Dim Hurgen lit his boots on fire. Grim Tidings put his head through the ceiling reenacting the Van the Beer Man versus Panam Manley tournament match. Beer was spilled, glass was broken, tables smashed. As the sun finally began creeping in through the windows, more and more titans and soldiers started to sprawl out across every surface inside and violently snore into the dregs of their beer mugs. Van decided it was time to go. He grabbed a barrel and headed for the door.
Van winced at the morning sun and quietly eased the door shut behind him. Outside on the dusty cobblestone street, Owen, Sevendhi, and Harlan sat on wooden chairs they’d dragged into a circle. Harlan had a cigar parked in the corner of his mouth. Owen and Sevendhi passed a joint. All looked up, shading their eyes against the sun, as Van approached.
“You look ready to travel,” Owen said. He leaned back, his injured leg stretched out before him. “If you leave now, you’ll miss your victory parade… again.”
Van shrugged. “They probably need me back at the brewery.” He wasn’t sure if it was true, but he was done with Empire City. At least he hoped he was.
“Well, they’re lucky to have you. Don’t let them forget it.” Owen looked around the circle with a smirk. “We kind of figured you’d make an early exit, so we made the call to set up out here to catch you before you snuck off. Looks like the plan worked.” He squinted at Van’s barrel. “You walking? And carrying a barrel the whole way?” He shook his head. “Sounds about right.”
Sevendhi blew a wavering smoke ring at the sun then smiled at his accomplishment. “Van, I received word from Queen Aoleon late last evening. The valkyrie are doing their best to track the giant Malachisin’s movements. They had lost sight of him once, and do not plan to do so again.” He leveled bloodshot eyes at Van. “She told me not to follow her, but of course I will try. She also told me under no circumstances was I to allow you to follow me if I disobeyed her first order. They also send their most sincere thanks and gratitude for all you have done to keep this world safe. We owe our fleeting breath of life to you.”
Van stared at Sevendhi. After a moment, he asked, “And Kyle?”
Sevendhi shook his head. “She included no word, I am afraid. But if you permit me to speculate, friend Van, that is a message in itself. I think she would want for you to head home. She carries the fight forward, as she must. But you have done your part, at least for now. I have no doubt you have made her most proud and had a most profound impact on her life.”
Van looked at Owen and Harlan. “He always did have a talent for bullshit, didn’t he?” The other titans smiled but said nothing. Van shifted the barrel to his other hip. He could feel the miles calling him. “What are your plans?” he asked Harlan.
The titan looked up the street. “I will head north. I will bring word back to the northern ranges that Tehmura has been avenged. And I will tell the same to my Maggie in the hopes she will rest easier. She was never one to fear bloodshed. She will savor a detailed description of Bearhugger’s last moments.” He glanced up. “I hope that is okay with you, Van. I still owe you a debt.”
Van waved a hand. “Consider it repaid, Harlan. And I’m sure our paths will cross again.” He looked around. “All of us.”
Owen grimaced as he tested his injured leg, then he shook his head. “I’d walk with you, Van, at least as far as Rockton, if it wasn’t for this knee acting up from the fight. You sure you won’t wait for a carriage?”
Van shook his head. “I want to walk by myself. See a little more of the world.” And maybe, on the long road, wrap his head around everything that had happened before being thrown back into his life in Headwaters, for better or worse.
The titans rose from their chairs, and each took a turn shaking Van’s hand. After their goodbyes were complete, Van headed down the street. He heard the others laughing behind him before he’d reached the end of the block, recounting and embellishing the tales from the night before.
Then Van walked across Empire City. Many of the people recognized him as he went and waved or cheered. Others were already back to the business of their daily lives, as if death’s shadow hadn’t cast itself over them just yesterday. Van felt the aches falling off of him as he tread across streets first of cobblestones, then dirt. When he finally reached the city gates, he turned to look back, but only briefly. Then he followed the road out of Empire City and towards his home.
Epilogue
JUST SHY OF ONE YEAR LATER
“Van, where the hell have you been?” Garret shouldered through a ring of festival-goers to lean in towards Van. The sun was retreating over the schoolhouse and a solitary worker had begun lighting the lamps that lined the streets. Across the town square, a drunk and rowdy crowd had gathered around the ring set up for the Headwaters Annual Beer Festival. They were shouting for the fight to begin. Garret was in charge of the event this year and he winced as their chants grew louder.
Van sat on a low stone wall surrounding the newly unveiled statue of the Great General Grand Reffe. With one giant hand he gave a sweeping gesture at the statue looming just behind him. The other hand slopped a bit of beer from his mug. “I’ve been on my ass, Garret. First on a stool down at Tyler’s, and now here.”
Garret’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the spill. “Wait, that’s not Titan’s Reach. I told you to drink the new stuff.” He smacked his forehead. “C’mon, Van, people are watching you!” He glanced curiously over the rim of Van’s mug. “What are you drinking?”
Van gave it a sniff. “Kingsland, I think.” A passing group of tourists waved eagerly to him as they crossed the dirt square. Van waved back with an easy smile. A lot of visitors this year. Beer sales would be through the roof.
Garret fired a few smiles around even as he used his body to box out members of the crowd who seemed eager to approach Van for autographs or handshakes. “Damnit, Van, Kingsland is already established. I told you to drink the new ale this week. This is a big event for Titan’s Reach.”
Van rose slowly, making sure his golden eyes held Garret’s. He’d learned he could count on the eyes to do a lot of the talking for him. The freshly lit lamps of the town square would be gleaming in them. He leaned in over Garret. “And I told you that’s a stupid name. And a strong ale needs more malt backbone.” Garret stared back and swallowed hard. Van spoiled the effect by laughing. “Relax, man, I’m here. We need to get the match going?”
“Yes! We need t
o get the match going. The crowd wants the match going. The titans want the match going. The announcer—”
“Okay, okay. I’m coming.” Van took a long pull on his Kingsland and turned back to look at the statue behind him. The enormous bronze titan stood tall, his eyes looking intently downward. When Van’s friends had arrived for the unveiling a few days ago, he’d been surprised to hear them say they’d seen the pose before. It was the same one Van had held while studying the Parkland Cemetery from the rooftop before the first Battle of the Graves, as it was now widely known. The festival organizers said the statue unveiling was one of the reasons this year’s festival had drawn a record crowd. That or Van’s role as a special celebrity announcer, which he was apparently rather late for.
Van marveled at the easy strength etched into the bronze face. Had he ever really looked like that? Sometimes the events of last year felt like a distant memory. Which might be why Van appreciated the statue so much. He wasn’t sure it had a bigger fan than him. “I just wish we knew more about what he really looked like,” Van said. “It’s something, though, isn’t it?” He glanced over at Garret, who was looking impatiently at the ring, wincing at the chanting crowd. Van scowled and sipped from his mug. “I thought you might be one of the ones who gets it, Garret. You know, for someone who wasn’t there.”
Garret took a deep breath and looked back at the statue. “It’s pretty awesome, Van. I think I do get it. But it’s hard to be impressed by something so… distant when I’ve got the next thing standing right next to me.” He looked at Van and nodded sharply. “Now, can… we… get… going?”
“It’s not hard for me,” Van said quietly. He rubbed a hand on the low stone wall, fussing for a moment over the beer he’d spilled.
“It’s fine, Van,” Garret said impatiently. “Something tells me the General wouldn’t mind.”
The Piledriver of Fate (Titan Wars Book 2) Page 20
