Or … or not completely ?
Questions, questions, questions … Questions, irritating both mind and heart. Lonely questions without answers. Servants of pain – spiritual anguish.
A pain again – this time from a hand. That’s not too much. That one will be gone.
They, it’s they who are guilty ! – once again he wanted to growl spitefully. Yes, it’s them. Harmful businessmen, liars, rascals. They have cheated him, as well as hundreds like him. He did not remember all details for now, but firmly remembered one thing – they have get his apartment by a deceit. Fucked company, false agency ! Bastards !
Stop.
Only not rage. No more hatred. He was already tired of it, too tired already. Thirty days – it’s such a big timespan to still continue hating.
Thirty days … how much he has learnt and understood during those thirty days !
With what contempt he looked at all these “needy” and unfortunate people earlier ! How much arrogance and complacency was in his eyes, obscured by formal well-being. How many simple human requests he rejected, referring to a lack of time … a lack … now, seemingly, he has this time in surplus – but what sort of time …
He even betrayed once – his close friend and the fellow worker. Wanted to earn money … has earned … And his friend got to prison for financial frauds – tried to prove, that he was a fictitious person. If only he also knew, who did that …
He has to pay for everything, he thought suddenly. For all things made. To redeem own crimes. A cruel lesson, indeed. He was, however, cruel as well.
He stood up. Looked around. He has come – has returned to his home … Not to himself, though, not to his home. He perfectly remembered what was his home for now. And nevertheless … something uncontrollably pushed him to enter this familiar front door, to feel house smells – for the last time in his life. He will not return to this building anymore.
And then, having thrown aside all cowardly and bitter thoughts, firmly pushed his fractured hand to a breast, he has moved on – started wandering to a front door of this house. The door slowly swung open and some married couple went out of the doors – probably on a walk. He made a jerk and approached the entrance.
The young girl made a wry mouth and whispered something to his beloved one’s ear. The beloved one tried to strongly seize a man with a ridiculously bent and pressed to a breast hand, moving to a front door, but that man has suddenly whispered : “Only for a minute. It’s my former home”, - and a man’s hand, almost ready to seize this nasty vagabond, has suddenly slowly dropped somehow, a flickering of understanding moved in his eyes for an instant and, having murmured “yes, certainly”, he stood aside.
… Forward and upwards – to the third floor. Here it is, close and familiar … almost native. And who might be living in his apartment for now ?
He listened. Somewhere behind a door the dog was vigorously barking, possibly meeting his master. Somewhere a child was crying. Somewhere people were swearing. And only once during all that half an hour that he was standing, having leant against a wall and remembering former life, somewhere from above a many-voiced and joyful laughter has reached his ears.
He came back a short time after. Away from his home. Or straight to it ?
The ground floor … mail boxes, similar to cast bunkers. To look in ? But who can write him ? Who ?
And still he looked into it – in a box with large and bold number “30”. The thirtieth day … the thirtieth apartment … it’s even somewhat amusing …
There was only one letter – with his initials on it. With his ! He looked at its date. Yes, it was brought 29 days ago – the apartment was still owned by him that day. He has overrun its text. At first the bewilderment, then amazement, a smile and a pain were reflected in his face. However, if somebody has accidently seen his face this instant – he would accept its expression for some sort of predatory grin.
Not trusting his own eyes, he looked through the text lines once again. Everything is correct. His mind was still serving him well. There is no mistake possible. Large letters and words “notice”, “fortune”, a name of his sister, living abroad, and a sum of one hundred thousand dollars were the last things that twisted in his consciousness that day. His legs gave away and he felt down, unconscious.
A rising sun could be seen in a building’s windows …
31.10.2010
Warrior of Odin
The loud roar - a furious war-call filled the area and forced to shudder, apparently, even the sky. Hundreds and hundreds of warriors were running towards each other, dressed in sparkling chain armors and inexhaustible fighting passion was sparkling in their eyes. There was neither doubt, nor fear - only a thirst of battle and a war fury - to kill the enemy before you fall on the battlefield yourself. But those who have fallen in a fair fight are winners already, they are destined to enter the sparkling halls of Valhalla and the almighty Odin himself will lead them into new battles forevermore. Let him guide them into this struggle for their enemies to fall before the power of the mighty Odin!
A blow - a turning. A turn - a strike. The joy filled him - finally a battle which he has thirsted for so long, a decent struggle once more! A waving of hand - battle axe falls upon a helmet of the enemy - and he heavily falls to the ground. Another swing - and a blow of monstrous force dissects a chain armor of one more. Drops of blood, streaming from a body of the enemy … repeated blow - and a new enemy has fallen. Here his fighting comrade swings too - and practically splits in two parts another foe.
There were no rules here - and more nimble and crafty sometimes prevailed. A sword, which has fallen flatwise on a back of his battling friend … some sort of squeezed rattle, coming from his throat. Here his comrade falls on a knee, trying to turn and strike back the attacker - but the attacker, who have sneaked from behind, strikes again, this time with the edge of his blade - and it breaks off chain armor plates … One more instant - and everything is finished.
In such instants he ceased to feel the pain. He ceased to feel weight of his weapon, for the hundredth time striking into iron plates, he ceased to feel time itself. A shout of desperation and pain broke from his breast - pain from the death of his friend with whom he has been diving one bread and hardship of war marching. He has been twisting and twisting his lethal weapon, feeling no weight - and enemies scattered before him. Most brave - or stupid - perished instantly. More careful preferred not to get inside the dance of sparkling steel. But enemies were many and their number has been, apparently, only growing.
Shouts and groans. Sounds of clashing blades. Battle was boiling.
* * *
The battle has been raging for a day - and warriors of Odin have prevailed. Only a hundred warriors from former several thousand …
“Glory to the Great Odin!”- battle shout was carried around, once the last enemy has fallen.
“Glory to the Odin!” - many warriors repeated in an echo, him including. They have won the battle, they have prevailed once more. Their fallen brothers will stand in the light halls before the Great Father - for new battles and new victories. And one day he will meet them too …
* * *
He moaned. In powerless fury punched a table with such a force, that it has almost collapsed half-in-half.
Why, why, why? Why should he do that? Words fell into silence and were dissolved in it without a trace. Words were gone - yet his inner voice did neither abandon him, nor give a chance to rest. No longer a voice of the warrior of Odin.
Monastery. Why should they attack this monastery? This is unworthy battle! Murder of innocent ones for the sake of looting of stronghold’s treasures …
And he, he must lead his hundred-warriors squad - only to see how monks fall under blows of axes and swords, having lifted their crosses highly and begging their unknown to him god for protection … This will be a massacre instead of a battle - bloody slaughter because of avidity. And he, one of the best, will be their leader… and he cannot refuse for the price f
or that deed is a death and eternal damnation, forever depriving the one from entering into the golden chambers of Odin. Why doesn’t he have a choice? Why must he exterminate defenseless ones - not warriors in any sense?
Or must he?
He roared in powerless frenzy. Swept up on the house. Then grasped an axe and started smashing everything in vicinity. Then somehow ran across a butt with water and tipped a head over there. This helped. He returned to his senses, calmed down.
Has been silently sitting, reflecting. So an hour has passed. Then he has sharply and fitfully risen up, as though having solved for himself a question of utmost importance.
“It is decided”, - he thought clearly, - “it is decided”.
* * *
They were landing ashore from war galleys and he was commanding them - warriors of Odin. Warriors of a god, deadly for their enemies.
And battle shouts and enthusiasms were born once again. His brothers-is-arms were almost the same - yet their enemy was different now … Here the last of warriors is descending on a coast - now he should lead them into battle against yet unaware of their presence defenders of a monastery, that has conveniently arranged itself on a slope of mountains one kilometer away from here.
“Now or never. Now or never”.
“Warriors”, - he cried out. - “Great warriors of Odin, who have won in hundreds and hundreds battles for the glory of our god! We are daring and courageous, and Odin leads us into the righteous battle! The fate of our enemies has already been sealed, for Odin himself directs us!”
A loud shout of approval was his answer.
“But I call to you, warriors. Whether we are going to fight for a worthy purpose for now? Whether a battle that is awaiting us is worthy of the glory of true fighters? We are obliged to destroy foes of ours - but whether they are real enemies for us? We have always battled worthily and have finished battles as conquerors - yet we will not leave this fight as conquerors, brothers! This fight is not ours, it will not lead us to the glory and golden halls. We must not conduct it!”
Rows of warriors started arguing. It seemed as if they all were greatly confused.
“Even one, a single one from you, support me, brothers. At least one courageous enough for that…”
“Yes, Hrothgar said right! This battle is not ours!” - and one of his soldiers stood forward, saying these words. “I too have thought of that when has received my task to go under his command - and I have decided that this fight is not a deserving one. We will find no glory in this battle, but rather kill those who are unworthy to fight against the Warriors of Odin!”
Warriors started whispering among themselves. Some were winding heads in confusion, looking at what others were going to do. Yet this did not continue for long - totally not long. Only several dozens of seconds.
“You are the traitor! You dishonor victorious fighters! You are unworthy of entering the halls and will be forevermore damned for that cowardice!” Another warrior came forward, as if almost spitting out these words in him.
“Betrayer!”, - he repeated and has approached Hrothgar, highly raising his battle axe. But during that moment the one who have supported Hrothgar has blocked his way and unshakably risen up in arms, being ready to fight - or to die. They are really going to die here soon - two against dozens …
And so he spoke again. Convinced them of an error, which they were almost ready to make. Urged them not to start this unworthy battle. Told of better battles and worthy encounters. He tried to find all those words clear for them - speaking their language, which have almost become distant for him.
And while he was speaking, another dozen of soldiers left the ranks and stood nearby him - in their eyes there was the same courage and readiness, if required, to die here - as well as in his own. Yet entire thousands of fighters remained motionless. It seems that they are really going to die today - and be subject to eternal damnation for this apostasy …
“Listen not to this coward and liar! Each one, betraying the mighty Odin in battle is losing the right to enter His halls forever. Cowards are not welcomed in the halls of daring! Let us wipe off these traitors and liars - and start a great battle! Attack, true warriors of Odin!”
Accusatory words once again - and the ardor of warriors is flaming up. Confusion is disappearing from their faces to be replaced by fierceness and pitilessness once more…
“Well, brothers, we have to die here today”, - he mentally addressed eleven true warriors. But they perfectly understood him even without these words - only have stronger seized their weapons in hands and moved closer to him - shoulder to a shoulder.
An instant - and one hundred of warriors is rushing towards them.
An instant - and weapons are clashing.
Instants - are like eternities themselves.
Here twelve warriors stand shoulder to a shoulder, ready for fighting and dying.
Here the first run up foe swings his blade - and his blow is beaten off.
Here more and more enemies are coming - and blades are striking tirelessly - they, these twelve, didn’t feel weariness this day.
Here the first of them is wounded - and they stand closer to protect him inside the formed circle.
His war cry, which was carried far away by a wind. And here the first wave of enemies rolls back from them as from an indestructible barrier. But enemies assault once again - and two more defenders are wounded. Circle closed even tighter and attacks became even more furiously.
First, second, third, tenth, twentieth … Enemies ran up and were forced back away from them - like from impenetrable wall. But there were many … so many of them … Here only five defenders keep fighting - the others have either been wounded or killed.
Four … three … two …
Only he and the warrior who have first stood for his defense remained. Here he turns to face him - and great wisdom and understanding shines in his eyes.
“Let us battle, brother!”, - and he stands to his back, protecting.
So, standing back to each other and striking aside incoming blows, they have held for two more minutes. And then almost seven dozens of warriors have crushed them and overwhelmed - and rushed to a monastery, encouraging themselves with wild roars …
* * *
Instant? Eternity? How much time has truly passed?
He didn’t know - only remembered his last fight - one of twelve fighters - and a final blow of pole axe, which have crushed him.
He didn’t die? He didn’t … Enemies have considered him dead and didn’t finish off …
But … if they haven’t managed to resist them … it turns out that monastery has been plundered and razed … They haven’t stopped them, they have failed …
He moaned - even not from incredible pain, swirling throughout all his body, but from an aching sensation of melancholy and grief. They couldn’t stop them… He and eleven nameless warriors …
Having made extreme efforts and cried from a cutting pain, he managed to rise up. About thirty warriors lied motionlessly before him, having silently observing the sky. And among them were his courageous fighters. Died ones … Let they, worthy ones, be not damned, but blessed instead - and find peace in the world they are travelling to now!
He looked around - there was no sign of war galleys. This means that fight has already finished and warriors sailed back home. It means the monastery cannot be saved anymore … But maybe someone managed to survive the attack there. Somebody … even if one of monks is still alive - he is obliged to help him, obliged to come for a rescue - that way he can at least rectify his mistake. Besides, he hasn’t a way back for now, he is both the exile and a cursed one - damned by his own people … let they consider him as dead instead.
Still constraining groans from intolerable pain, he rose up and slowly started walking in the direction of monastery. One thousand meters, just one thousand meters … his debt.
He walked and fell. Then rose and walked again. And fell again. Then he started creeping by the ground.
Probably, a day passed. Possibly, a whole eternity instead. He knew not - he had one purpose and one way for now - and he was walking it. Even being practically flat-out - was still walking. And when at the long last strong walls of a monastery appeared before his obscured look, he has risen on his weak hands and smiled.
“I have found you at last”, - his lips whispered silently, and he fell unconscious.
* * *
Quiet sad song. Someone’s hands, sliding on his face. And then - a cold water stream. He groaned and moved.
“Alive!”, - he heard through a veil, enveloping him.
Alive. He lives still. What for, if he wasn’t able to fulfill his duty? What’s the point? He tried to open own eyes - but only some vague red haze welcomed him. Then he closed them and submerged into a dream.
He slept and slept. From time to time he woke up for about ten minutes - and then fell asleep once again. When he has woken up again and tried to open eyes for one more time - the bloody mirage has gone. And then he has vaguely distinguished a human figure inclined over him and heard her voice - a tender voice of the girl.
“Sleep, it’s still too early for you to move. Wounds haven’t yet healed. Sleep”. He didn’t resist a dream.
Then from time to time he woke up to hear her voice again and tried to distinguish her face through a haze - and failed to do that for many times. But that memorial day came once, when he has roused without assistance - and both his sight and hearing have cleared up.
“I have found you at last”, - suddenly almost-forgotten words came up to his mind.
Yes, it was a girl, still very young, probably seventeen - eighteen years old. Only an adult hardness could easily be read in her eyes already.
And then he dared to ask.
- Where am I?
- You are in our monastery, - the girl answered. - In my monastery, - she added and sobbed.
On the Wings of Hope : Prose Page 9
