by S L Gassick
“Phin, if we don’t get him inside this wheelbarrow on the count of three, then we have to make a run for it.”
“…What?”
“One … two … three.”
They lifted Milius with all their might and were able to just about get him into the wheelbarrow. Hemero could now see a deep wound in Milius’s back that was bleeding profusely, it was clear he would not last long without medical attention.
“Let’s go! Push! Push!” Hemero shouted and both he and Phin started pushing Milius into the night, with no idea where they were going save for Hemero’s powerful eyesight.
Soon all light had abandoned them and it meant all they could focus on now was the sound of their own breath. Their panting mixed in with the sound of the wheelbarrow had almost drowned out the horrific screams behind them. Hemero felt a burning in his lungs and could taste blood in his mouth – to think he was in bed mere moments ago made him wonder if this was a dream. He wondered how it was possible that things could change so fast, that one situation could so vastly radicalise into another within mere minutes. Was life like this? The moment you feel safe, being plunged into something else entirely? He hoped not. He had never felt truly safe, yet he never felt in danger as much as this very moment. Was this what his life would be like from here on in? Was it normal? The darkness was confusing him and as his mind wandered he suddenly realised that they could easily run right off a cliff.
“Phin, where are we going?”
“I thought you knew!”
“Just keep running. Maybe they can’t see us.”
Suddenly a scream broke through the darkness but this was different from the others. It was hoarser, like a growl and turned into high pitched indecipherable noise. Hemero quickly turned to look behind him and could see the strange creatures had reached Phin’s house.
“Hemero what is it?”
“Keep running Phin. Please just keep running, don’t stop.”
Hemero knew that they had to come across someone sooner or later but out here, there was nothing but farms and fields. They weren’t headed for anywhere and were tired but they were running on hope, and hope alone. It felt like hours had passed instead of minutes and suddenly it had become silent. This worried Hemero even more.
Then from out of nowhere they could hear all manner of noises and snarls around them. There were groans and screams and shouts, like animals and humans in pain, something guttural, something primitive and something evil. They had been caught.
Whatever these creatures were, they had been strangely quiet until they had snuck up on them. Phin seemed to be concentrating too hard on running to notice the noises, or maybe he chose to ignore them. Whatever had happened, Hemero suddenly had to come to terms with the fact that he was about to die. That all those things he had wished to do during his life were for nought. This was it. No-one would remember him. He would be just another orphan boy left dead in a field. Hemero began to slow down, married now to his fate.
Just then a light flicked on nearby penetrating the darkness as a small beacon of hope. They were not alone, there could be help.
“Quick Phin, towards the light.”
“Wait… I know where that is” Phin squinted into the distance. “That’ll be where Mad Moros lives. Mum said he’ll kill us if we go on his land.”
It was said around town that Mad Moros would trap and kill any children who played on his land and to stay away at all costs. There had been other rumours, that he was a former Dark Clan member that was thrown out for being too evil, that Gaea had cursed him to live forever all alone or that he was a crazy Half-Titan that was so hideous that to see him turned you to ashes.
“We don’t have a choice. I’d rather take my chance with one old farmer than a group of monsters,” Hemero insisted. He tried to pick up speed but dared not mention to Phin that he could sense the moving figures were getting closer. Were they now running? He hoped not but clearly these creatures were now close enough to see them in the meek glow radiating from this tiny light. Hemero wondered if this was what death was like? If he was running towards the inevitable? Perhaps he was already dead?
As they got closer, they were finding it more and more difficult to push Milius, and Hemero could feel that they were slowing down. His legs had now become tired and heavy, the ground they were pushing the wheelbarrow on was rough and rocky making it difficult to keep up momentum and sweat was dripping into his eyes with a vengeful sting.
Hemero knew that they wouldn’t make it at this pace. The snarls and frenzied laughter emanating from behind them spurred him on but it would only be a matter of moments before they would be caught.
As they crossed the large open field Hemero could make out the cottage that was shedding small traces of some much needed light onto their path.
All of a sudden the wheelbarrow went over a rock and Milius fell out landing face first onto the rocky ground. They stumbled over one another and Hemero felt his head hit something hard. He quickly sat up and dabbed at his forehead, it was wet. The warm sensation of blood in the cool night air felt like a welcome relief and there was an urge to stay there and let the world do to him what it so clearly was trying to do.
Hemero felt calm and all the noise surrounding them seemed to disappear. But he could see Phin - Phin was shouting something, pulling him up. He wasn’t sure what was happening but he could see Milius was laid out on the ground. Phin was desperately trying to put him back in the wheelbarrow and looked scared. Why didn’t Phin just leave them and save himself?
“Hemero…”
Where was this voice?
“Hemero…”
It’s… a woman? Was this a trick? Was he really asleep? Had he finally died? Was it Gaea?
“Hemero!” Phin slapped him hard across the face. “We need to get Milius out of here.”
The noises got louder and he could hear Phin breathing heavily. What had just happened? He got up to help and took Milius by the underneath of his arms, Phin grabbing his legs, but they couldn’t lift him high enough - they were just too weak and tired.
“Come on Phin. One more try. We don’t have time.” Hemero shouted.
Phin nodded with determination and in one last heave they were able to get him back in and continue moving again. Faster and faster they ran, trying not to topple the wheelbarrow. Phin was still crying and the voices sounded like they were right behind them.
“Help!” Phin was shouting into the unknown. “Help!” over and over again, but no-one replied. Hemero kept quiet and concentrated on the light. He was starting to accept that it was already too late and they were going to have to fight to protect Milius. He began to blame Gaea for the false hope, for letting him come to terms with his own mortality, then releasing a signal of salvation only for it to be dashed away so cruelly. It was Gaea playing a mean trick on him, he was certain. It was Gaea who had spoken to him just then in a moment of despair to give him faith, only to laugh at his demise.
They continued running blindly, pinning all their hopes on a miracle and praying that if they are to die, that their death be quick and painless.
Hemero could hear the fast, heavy breathing of whatever was behind them and at one point felt one of their hands brush against his back trying to grab him. They were that close now. It forced Hemero to run even faster in one final burst, to pull out some extra energy from the sheer will to survive, but Phin was whimpering and crying, holding him back and slowing them down.
“I can’t…” Phin was mumbling, “I can’t… please…” He looked ready to collapse and Hemero noticed they were now going uphill. This was it. This was the end.
Suddenly a hand pulled Hemero round by the arm revealing the melting face of a peasant staring right back into his. He must have only recently been set ablaze as his flesh was still dripping onto the ground like a thick gooey milkshake. One of his eyes were missing, his nose completely gone and parts of his skull shone through like specks of white paint.
Hemero could not utter a sound at
the sheer revulsion he felt with the sight and smell of what was in front of him. The once human creature roared with an agony not of this world and lunged forward to bite Hemero’s face.
Hemero closed his eyes and heard a chopping noise fly through the air. He quickly opened them to see the creature now lying headless on the floor. He shifted his gaze up to see a cloaked rider on a white, majestic horse. For a moment, Hemero wondered if this were an angel sent down by Gaea to help him.
The rider continued fighting the rest of the attackers and one by one they fell under his sword. In the chaos, Hemero now had a chance to take a good look at what monsters they were escaping from. As he looked closely, he could see they were clearly once field workers, their clothes cheap and muddy, but their skin now had a slight yellow tinge and their eyes were completely white as if they had rolled back inside their heads. But what disturbed Hemero more than anything was the way they moved, it was as if their bones were disjointed and broken, awkwardly trying to pull themselves forward with no sense of being able to walk or run properly.
Hemero took a good look at the rider, but all he could see under the grey cloak he wore was a strong arm protruding that carried a sword almost the size of the horse itself. How any man could have carried such a large sword Hemero did not know, there must have been some kind of magic at work.
The rider noticed the boys looking at him. “Run to the light!” he shouted[DG4] as he turned to gallop off into the distance. They quickly ran towards the small cottage and burst straight through the front door. Phin turned around and locked it behind them.
“Don’t lock it!” shouted Hemero, “what if he needs to come back in?”
But Phin wasn’t listening. Instead he was now trying to wake his brother up, but it wasn’t working. Hemero looked around to see if there was anything that could help.
They had run into an extremely messy kitchen. The smell was like a public toilet and it was very bare, nothing here was useful. Just then there was a banging on the front door. Something was trying to get in. Phin and Hemero looked at one another until they heard the door unlock and be thrown wide open to reveal the tall hooded rider that had saved them. The doorway framed him like some horrid painting, a figure covered in dirt and blood with a huge sword being dragged behind him. It was a sight worse than any of Phin’s stories.
The rider threw back his hood to reveal a surprisingly young face. It was, however, remarkably dirty. His brown eyes were large and dark, he had a long black beard with greasy hair and beneath the hair and dirt, Hemero could make out a burn mark covering the left hand side of his face.
“Thanks for locking the door” he grumbled.
Both boys just stood and stared at him. The rider smiled back awkwardly then proceeded to take off his muddy, blood-stained cloak and threw it on the ground by the door. Underneath was merely farmer’s wear, tatty and thread-bare, not at all the warrior attire they were expecting.
Still no-one said anything. The rider went to the sink, washed a cloth and filled a kettle. While the water was heating on the stove, he stared out of the window in complete silence. Hemero wondered what he was looking at - perhaps he wasn’t looking at anything. As the whistle of the kettle grew increasingly louder, still no-one moved until the rider grabbed a mug, sniffed it and placed it on the table. He then took the kettle and poured the hot water into the clay mug. He opened a cupboard and took down a glass jar full of brown powder. He took off the top and poured some of it into the cup. After stirring, he sniffed it again and walked towards Milius.
“Oh no you don’t!” shouted Phin jumping in front of his defenceless brother.
“Please,” the rider said in a mild, gentle manner, “it is for his own good. I mean him no harm.”
Phin reluctantly agreed and he placed the wet cloth over Milius’s forehead, before tipping the warm liquid into Milius’s mouth until he looked like he was drinking it without aid. Slowly, he opened his eyes and the rider stepped back to the table and downed the rest of the liquid in the mug. Milius and Phin embraced.
“Phin. Thank you.”
“I’m not the only one to thank.” Phin turned to Hemero and the rider. However, the mysterious man was just staring out of the window into the dark. Hemero saw that despite being a farmer, the rider was overweight and moved a lot slower than he had outside.
“Thank you Hemero,” said Milius, “and thanks be to you, stranger.”
“Tell me Knight of Gaea. What was your mission?” the rider stated, without turning from the window.
Milius was slightly taken aback by the forthright question. “I am not permitted to say. Especially to strangers.” Replied Milius, still weary.
“It’s Mad Moros,” Phin whispered.
Moros laughed. “Well then young one, I guess you are an honourable Knight. A very rare sight these days. No need. For there’s only one type of magic that can do this. When was the Kalad stolen?”
“Today,” Hemero blurted out. Milius shot him a fierce look but Hemero felt a compulsion to trust this man in front of him.
“Then we still have time. What you have encountered are local people arisen from the dead.” The rider sat down at his table and took out a pipe and lit it, the smell was intoxicating and Hemero had never smelt anything quite like it before. “The Kalad is a small golden artefact, shaped like a medallion or coin. Inscribed on it are some ancient symbols that give it its power. Much like this.”
The rider took a small shiny golden coin out of his pocket and showed it to the others.
“Is that it?” Milius asked.
“No. This has no power. Not in this world anyway. The Kalad can only bring those who are not completely decomposed to life – or some sort of life – unless they have no head. If they’re headless, they pose no threat. But the problem isn’t these Undead, it’s the living.”
“How so?” Milius got up, struggling slightly and sat opposite him. “How come you know so much? Who are you?”
“The living,” the man continued, “those with the artefact, can control these Undead with mere will. But what’s a few corpses? Useless. The last time this was used, it was a genocide. The poor, the helpless, the innocent.”
“What’s genocide?” Phin whispered to Hemero.
“Murder,” the rider replied, “on a huge scale. It’s a quick, easy way to control an army using the Kalad. The more you murder – the more troops you have at your disposal. A battle can quickly turn when your fallen comrades suddenly take up arms against you.”
“Was it the Dark Clans? Did they kill all those people?” Hemero asked.
“Let’s just say, it was a group of evil people drunk with power.” The rider gave an unexpected slight laugh. “But rest for now, you are safe for the moment. I will border up any windows and doors before I set to bed, do not fret. By the way, forgive me for not introducing myself before, I am Moros.”[DG5]
“I am Milius, one of…”
“I don’t care. Follow me. All of you.” Moros showed them into a small back room. “This room belonged to my children. They have since grown up and moved on I’m afraid.”
There were three small beds and there, painted on the walls, were children’s pictures of trees and fairies and angels and indecipherable doodles that could be mistaken for anything. The pictures, however, were faded through sunlight and looked like they had been there for a lifetime. The once youthful, vibrant colour of pencils, crayons and such had grown into a transparent portrayal of an existence that never was, the white paper yellowed and curled, the memory distorted. Moros walked out and left them to it.
The three of them got into the ice-cold beds but were so exhausted, they did not care. But Hemero, no matter how hard he tried, could not get to sleep. He noticed that a light from outside the room had been switched on since he last opened his eyes, so decided to get something to drink. Perhaps Moros knew who the mole in the Valhalla was or could help him find it.
As he entered the kitchen, Moros was sitting there with the large sword place
d on the table along with a bow and a number of arrows. The sword filled up the entire length of the table and more, which must have been about five feet in itself. He was just staring at the weaponry before him as if he daren’t touch them. Just as Hemero was about to sneak back to his room, Moros spoke.
“Come sit with me, Hemero.”
Hemero sat on the chair next to him and stared at the weaponry in the same manner. How did he know his name? A long silence took place until Moros spoke again.
“Do you know of this sword?”
“No Sir.”
“It is the Sword of Tierdevil. It was the sword Caraha used in the Battle of Tiekumos. It was the sword that has slain many self-appointed Kings of old. It was this very sword that travelled with Dahaus[DG6] as he travelled the Sea of Souls in his adventures.”
“If you don’t mind me saying sir, I thought those stories were just fairy tales.”
“Maybe they were.” This time Moros stared straight into Hemero’s eyes. “But maybe I met that man Dahaus[DG7]. Maybe it was he who gave me the blood of Pontus when I was a boy not much older than yourself.”
“That’s impossible sir. Those stories are older than old. I mean, really old, like older than Theus.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Theus is no spring chicken.” Moros smiled and picked the sword up. As he did so, Hemero felt a sudden urge to also take up the sword. He felt its majestic power surging through him like nothing else he had ever felt. The sword shone and glistened in the light as if it brightened the entire room.
Moros noticed Hemero’s interest. “Is it true what I hear that you live in the Valhalla?” he asked.
“Kind of. I live just outside it, in a little hut of sorts. It’s nothing fancy.”
“Then we are not so different. Though you are a victim of circumstance. You were very brave today young Hemero.”
“I wouldn’t think so. I was scared, it was terrifying.”
“But that is bravery young man. It’s not about being unafraid, it’s about conquering that fear. If you are fearless, you are a fool. Or mad.” Moros laughed.
