The Fallen

by R. L. Drummond

  “Stop! I demand you stop!”

  “Oh, shut up!” Jenko shouted at the watchman in irritation. He then resumed his concentration upon Belial’s archer and as he placed his fingertips upon what was left of his throwing knives, he murmured seriously to Vella, “We need to close this fight, Vella and I’m running out of knives. Can I count on you?”

  “You have to ask?” Vella asked as she slid another bolt into the crossbow’s flight groove.

  The speeding watchman suddenly slumped forward in his saddle lifelessly and as he slid to the ground under the pounding hooves of his horse, the black feathered arrow that had claimed him became trampled into splinters. In that moment arrows ripped through the air murderously, fired with such an incredible, exhaustive speed that Vella gasped in shock. This guy’s good…too good…She thought forebodingly.

  She crouched instinctually as feathered death streaked for her faster than she could follow, but with the sweeping roar of Tellan’s bastard sword, Vella gasped yet again. She blinked at the shards of arrow shaft that lay brittle around her feet and as she glanced up at Tellan in horrified awe, she saw the scowl of concentration upon his face. How – that’s impossible. He cut that down from the air…She thought with incredulous uncertainly as he cleaved yet another arrow from Jenko’s path.

  She shook herself at Jenko’s shouted order and with the flashing of his throwing knives, Vella raised her own crossbow and took aim. But in spite of the deadly blades that shredded the air in search of him, the white haired man stretched forward over his saddle and drew back his bow yet again. This time Tellan’s guard lost against the speed of the arrow and when its metal tip slashed his cheek like a lion’s claw, he grunted at the heat of blood that spilled down his face.

  Vella set loose her bolt and it seemed to her as though the archer swayed almost dismissively in his saddle, spurring his horse on evermore with a speed that sent her heart thundering in despair. Her eyes widened in impotent fear when she looked into his silver eyes, for he had drawn his bow once again and she knew with unquestionable instinct that she was his new target.

  At that moment, the wagon jostled over a poorly repaired section of the road and with Vella’s staggering came the unseen fortune of the archer’s change in target. Vella dropped onto her knees with a scream when a tearing arrow bit deeply into her shoulder and she hissed at the hideous sensation of metal biting into muscle.

  “Vella!” Jenko cried as he scooped a hand under her arm. He hauled her onto her feet and as he pushed her towards the driver’s bench, she placed a hand upon his chest in protestation.

  “I’m fine, Jenko! I can still fight!”

  “Not this time, Vella.” Jenko replied gravely, for he had already realised forebodingly that this particular foe was of a greater calibre than most humans. Vella was good, but she was no match for this archer; and she was too important to him to risk…but he wasn’t about to tell her so.

  His head whipped up in alarm upon the last desperate cleave of Tellan’s bastard sword, for it had missed another arrow from its flight and the loud grunt that was ripped from Tellan told Jenko that his chest had been claimed.

  “My Lord!” Jenko screamed as he sprang into standing and with the unsheathing of his sabres, the archer’s feet came away from the horse’s stirrups in a predatory leap that brought him soaring through the air like a swooping vulture.

  The wagon rocked precariously when the white haired archer landed upon its arrow prickled surface and as he stood ominously before his quarry, Tellan and Jenko both gasped in horrified shock.

  “Timran…” Tellan whispered in stunned horror at the man he had once known as brother, his utterance a mere breath under the crushing weight of agony upon his heart.

  But Timran stood silently, cloaked in the palpable field that was Belial’s choking dark, his emotionless silver eyes unblinking in a face so pale that blue veins snaked along his skin like poisonous roots. His hair that had once been of the same brown as any Asgardian, was now the purest of white and within that sallow visage came the impression that all colour, all life, had been drained from him. He still stood tall, strong and proud as he had been in the Line of Baldur, but the armour Tellan had taken as simply damaged was the very same he had worn the night he had fallen from the cliff. Tellan’s eyes sketched the dull plates with horrified woe: covered in pits and dents, punctures and rife with rust…Belial had hollowed their brother…and had left him in the Legion of Asgard’s armour as a mocking reminder of where his champion had come from.

  “Brother…” Jenko whispered in tortured despair and with this sentence came a murderous sigh of metal as Timran drew his short sword.

  Jenko had barely lifted his sabres against the astonishing speed of Timran’s first strike and as he staggered back against the force his attack brought, Tellan leapt forward with a thrust of his own. But Timran swept his blade aside and with the heavy punch that forced Tellan onto a knee, the point of the short sword came forward for his heart. Jenko cleaved down upon the short sword’s murderous strike however, and as the short sword bit deeply into the wagon bed, Jenko battered the pommel of his other sabre down upon the shoulders of Belial’s champion. But even as he staggered onto his knees, Timran turned his mercurial eyes upon Jenko and his rising fist sank deeply into the angel’s stomach with unforgiving force. Jenko gasped for air as Tellan regained his footing and with a slash of his bastard sword that sought the back of Timran’s legs, the ragged voice of Belial’s champion hissed in exertion.

  Timran’s short sword thwarted Tellan’s crippling strike and as the two rapidly traded blows in screeching steel, Jenko stepped smartly forward and stamped down upon the back of Timran’s leg. A wordless hush of ragged air escaped Timran’s mouth as he crumpled onto a knee and immediately, Jenko snaked a strong arm around the neck of Belial’s champion, hauling Timran against his body for purchase. Jenko grunted as he squeezed as tightly as he could, hoping he could choke out his brother rather than kill him; but Timran’s strength was as immense as it had ever been. He gaped in shock as Timran reached up and flipped him over his shoulder and when the chill of steel pressed sharply down upon Jenko’s neck, he wondered in displacement if this was his end.

  But a sharp sting of nicked flesh was all Timran was granted upon the flesh of Jenko’s throat, for Tellan launched forward with a devastating knee that slammed into Timran’s chin with the power of a falling mountain. Timran sprawled backwards and as Tellan raised his bastard sword for a final thrust, he snarled at the distasteful knowledge that he had no choice but to kill his lost brother.

  But Tellan’s victory was far from secured, for Timran reached for the arrow within Tellan’s chest and with a silent hiss, he levered its broken shaft cruelly. Tellan stumbled with a shout of agony and the powerful, downward force of his bastard sword became firmly lodged in the bed of the wagon.

  Jenko stumbled onto his feet and knocked Timran’s short sword from his grip, spiralling the weapon into the whipping air of Reya’s escape. And when Tellan fell onto his knees with a grunt as new blood flowed from the arrow shaft within his chest, he hissed to Vella, “Cut the horses loose, Vella…get Reya out of here!”

  Reya looked behind her shoulder and with a flutter of her eyelids at how darkly the chest of Tellan’s overcoat was stained from the arrow lodged within him, she gasped at how badly Jenko fared in his own struggle. Among the fresh cuts and bruises that scored his face, she knew the arrowhead still within his leg brought him agony and as she looked at the white haired man locked in furious battle against him, she shivered in grave recognition.

  She knew then in that moment who this man was, the man who had watched her in The Cauldron, and within the metallic gleam of those dead eyes, she despaired at the unspoken knowledge of what had happened to the fourth of Baldur’s men. Tellan’s free hand hastily drew his dagger from his back and even as he brought the blade forward in defence of Timran’s sudden surge for him, Timran clamped his hands around his wrist.

  Reya kne
w then that something had to be done, that this once proud warrior Belial had perverted to his cause would stop at nothing to claim his prey. She looked ahead down the trade road the now ravaged wagon clattered along and, when she saw the approaching bridge that loomed in the distance, she nodded firmly to herself in determination.

  And even as Jenko surged up in defence of his commander, Tellan’s own dagger in danger of being pushed into his heart by Timran’s manipulating strength, Reya calmly passed the reins into Vella’s hands.

  “What are you–” Vella began, but as the horses powered on in their interminable gallop, Reya stood decisively and glared at the bridge in grim resolution.

  “Reya, get down!” Vella cried in distress as she flailed a hand behind her for a grasp of the girl’s dress, but when a wild jolt of the wagon all but tugged the reins from her hands, she cursed and redoubled her grip.

  Alerted to Vella’s shout, the three men locked in ferociously close combat looked up and upon the sight of his prey, Timran hissed raggedly. Tellan and Jenko both grunted and frantically pounced forward as one, in the hope that their combined weight could somehow thwart Timran’s sudden rise. They contained Belial’s champion as best they could, forcing his arms and back against the wagon, but the proximity of his master’s prize lent Timran inhuman strength. He shoved Jenko with the power of both his feet, nearly sending the angel cleanly off the wagon were it not for Tellan’s interference and, freed of their hold, he rose imposingly before Reya.

  Reya gulped fearfully at the monolithic solidity of that colourless face, the silver pools that gleamed molten with dead light upon her. But still she remained where she was, straight backed and as proud as she imagined her father would have been and, upon Timran’s first step towards her, Tellan scrabbled from under Jenko’s weight fearfully.

  “Reya! Stay back!” He screamed with his heart in his throat and he launched himself onto his feet, consumed by an overwhelming hope that he could somehow reach her before Timran.

  But the wagon jumped alarmingly over the threshold of the bridge and as Tellan collapsed onto all fours, all he could do was stare helplessly up at Timran’s broad back. The crushing sensation of Reya’s vulnerability suffocated his heart like a sea of molten lead and as Timran staggered determinedly towards his prey, Tellan impotently reached for his niece in frantic terror.

  He felt then as though his entire chest had been constricted by an unseen hand, a twisting claw of abject terror that filled his soul with chilling dread. He desperately clambered onto his feet once more, but even though he struggled forward through the wagon’s shuddering journey, it seemed as though the deepest of canyons was between himself and Timran.

  But in spite of the fear that rippled terribly throughout her body, Reya determinedly stood her ground and glanced behind her shoulder as the horses rocketed over the bridge. She shivered at the waves of cold air that resonated so palpably from Timran’s outstretched, bloodless hand; but rather than shy away from his lifeless hiss, she turned towards him once more and glared defiance.

  Even as her guardians gaped in disbelief, Reya grasped Timran’s cold hand and a sinister sense of impending dread flooded Tellan’s being. It felt as though he watched from outside his own body when, with a stabbing terror that pierced his heart, Reya hauled Timran towards her with a cry.

  “Reya!” Tellan and Jenko both shouted fearfully as they watched her wrap her arms around Timran’s body and Tellan could only watch on with helpless, wide eyed horror when Reya fell backwards from the wagon’s edge.

  A fearful gasp lodged frozenly within his throat as he watched her plunge over the side of the bridge and he became heedless of his own actions when he all but leapt after her plummeting decent with a hopelessly outstretched hand.

  “Reya!!” Tellan screamed with an all-consuming horror as he watched his beloved niece plummet towards the canyon river impossibly far below.

  Jenko leapt forward with a life–saving grip upon his brother’s overcoat for fear that Tellan was for over the side himself and as the pair stared with unblinking disbelief at the roaring water that churned so powerfully below, Tellan screamed with an anguish that destroyed his sanity.

  I’ve lost her…He thought with a strange, almost calm hysteria amid the throat–wracking screams that somehow sounded muffled in his ears. In that moment fragmented images from so many memories of Reya’s life flooded his mind, an erratic flash of remembrance that screamed accusingly of how drastically he had failed her now. Her laughter, her eyes, the warmth of her smile; all of it gone in an instant that he should have prevented, that he should have protected her from. He was vaguely aware that he was being moved, buffeted by Jenko’s tight, wrenching grip upon his overcoat as he screamed his own grief for Reya’s fall to her death. But as the pair watched on in hopeless sorrow, a flash of bright blue light flared blindingly throughout the canyon, so bright that they grunted and averted their eyes from its searing flame.

  When they looked back with incredulous hope at what she had done, there was no sign of Reya, or their hollowed brother…and within this unexpected occurrence came a renewed terror for Tellan: he truly had lost her.

  Wind whipped past her face, so fast and cold that she wondered in displaced shock if the sheer force of it had shredded her skin. But the scream that burst from her mouth was masculine and in that moment, Reya realised she was seeing through her father’s eyes yet again. She was confused within that realisation however; she thought she had mastered her own control over her dreams, that she had learned how to watch her father’s memories, rather than act them out. Why was she behind his eyes?

  She didn’t remember when she had fallen asleep, but she must have. Although…the last thing she remembered was falling off the bridge with her arms wrapped around Timran–

  The sharp punching impact of her back against rocks brought her screaming agony and with it her attention snapped back into the body of her father. Endless impacts pounded along Reya’s body as she tumbled and bounced against the cliff wall, its rocks wet with ocean spray and moss, ripping her flesh and snapping bones. With the final impact that broke her ribcage and shattered her legs, Reya’s head spun in a whirlpool of tortured agony that seized her focus. Blearily, her eyesight faded darkly and as she looked down upon the trembling hand that was coated in so much thick blood, Reya heard a voice within her mind that was not her father’s.

  In her dream she gasped breathlessly with the insidious knowledge that she wasn’t in fact seeing through her father’s eyes at all, but she was witnessing a moment of Timran’s past. How this could possibly be, she didn’t know; but when she felt Timran try to move, she felt the stabbing pain of his broken body and his anguish at how his life was about to end. There was so much blood on the rocks already that he didn’t understand how it was that he could still be alive…there was no chance Baldur would find him on time.

  All his broken shell could do now was wait for the moment his soul passed from his body and as he lay there, blinking raggedly at the moonlit sky, his mind snapped back into livid clarity.

  Belial! Timran thought with a stab of horror.

  And with the thought of that name came grasping hands upon his throat that choked and shook him mercilessly. Belial loomed into his vision suddenly and Timran gasped at the bloody state of the demon prince’s face. He was just as wounded as Timran, but Belial still clung tenaciously onto his Dark like a feral dog with a carcass, refusing to let go of his newfound mortality. Broken arrows pierced the demon’s torso, deep slashes bled him inexorably and broken bones from the fall jutted through his very flesh. But none were as dreadful as the destroyed eye socket that had collapsed like melted wax, and Timran stared up at the bloody mess with a gasp.

  Timran reached up for the demon’s hands and clawed weakly at the strong grip he held him in, defiant that even though he was soon to die, he would still fight against Belial’s victory. But the wounds of his fall were not light; they drained his strength like the flame of a smothered candle and
his efforts proved in vain. He then clawed desperately at what remained of the demon’s face, seeking his eyes and soft flesh with his fingers and thumbs, anything that could remove this death grip upon him. But when the demon dislodged his grip only to callously drive a hand deeply into the gaping wound in Timran’s side, he cruelly twisted the tortured flesh from within the angel’s body, and Timran’s scream ripped from his throat.

  Suddenly, Belial pressed his hand firmly against Timran’s chest and with a sudden pulse that tugged insistently on the edge of his instincts, a deep horrified despair seized Timran’s mind.

  No! Timran thought as he thrashed madly against that hideously drowning sensation.

  Belial didn’t just want to kill him…he wanted to steal his Light.

  There was a piercing agony within Timran’s heart then, a sharp, rusted sword thrust as the demon prince ripped the first shreds of Timran’s Light. Demonic eyes burned white hot in Belial’s charcoal face and Timran convulsed spasmodically at the awful toll such a horrendous torture forced upon his being. Little by little, each agonising tug upon his Light brought him screaming in incoherent pain and he despaired with the irrefutable knowledge that he was weakening already. Timran grieved at how every morsel of his Light pulsed more power into the demon prince’s terminal grip, and when he felt the worm of Belial’s Dark squirming at the threshold of his soul, Timran thrashed desperately.

  “No!!” Timran screamed, but the demon prince snarled in feral joy as he continued to devour the angel’s Light, feeding his demonic Dark with a force that demolished Timran’s waning energy with unstoppable power. In that moment Timran knew that he was truly doomed, for the demon’s poisonous Dark twisted within him already like a cancerous parasite. It murderously tore his Light and tortured his soul, bringing with it the agony of unspeakable torture as he was forced to become everything that Asgard stood against.