Epic: Legends of Fantasy

by John Joseph Adams

  “I am not a god!” She pushed him, all control gone. He tripped over a bench and dropped to the floor. “Send me back.”

  “I cannot.”

  Her sword flew from its sheath before she realized she held it. “Send me back!” She held it to his neck. Her arms trembled with the desire to run it through him. But it would not move.

  She leaned on the blade, digging her feet into the floor. “You ripped me out of time and took me from my children.”

  He shook his head. “It had already happened.”

  “Because of you.” Her sword crept closer, pricking a drop of blood from his neck. What protected him?

  Halldór lay on his back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know...I was following the prophecy.”

  Reiko staggered. Prophecy. A wall of predestination. Empty, she dropped to the bench and cradled her sword. “How long ago...?”

  “Six thousand years.”

  She closed her eyes. This was why he could not return her. He had not simply brought her from across the sea like the other “gods.” He had brought her through time. If she were trapped here, if she could never see her children again, it did not matter if these were human or demons. She was banished in Hell.

  “What do the sagas say about my children?”

  Halldór rolled to his knees. “I can show you.” His voice shook.

  “No.” She ran her hand down the blade of her sword. Its edge whispered against her skin. She touched her wrist to the blade. It would be easy. “Read it to me.”

  She heard him get to his feet. The pages of the heavy book shuffled.

  Halldór swallowed and read, “This is from the Saga of Li Nawi, the Book of the Sword, Chapter Two. ‘And it came to pass that Li Aya and Li Nawi were raised unto adulthood by their tutor.’”

  A tutor raised them, because he, Halldór, had pulled their mother away. He shook his head. It had happened six thousand years ago.

  “‘But when they reached adulthood, each claimed the right of Li Reiko’s sword.’”

  They fought over the sword, with which he had called her, not out of the heavens, but from across time. Halldór shivered and focused on the page.

  “‘Li Aya challenged Li Nawi, saying Death was her birthright. But Nawi, on hearing this, scoffed and said he was a Child of Death. And saying so, he took Li Reiko’s sword and the gods smote Li Aya with their fiery hand, thus granting Li Nawi the victory.’”

  Halldór’s entrails twisted as if the gods were reading them. He had read these sagas since he was a boy. He believed them, but he had not thought they were real. He looked at Li Reiko. She held her head in her lap and rocked back and forth.

  For all his talk of prophecies, he was the one who had found the sword and invoked it. “‘Then all men knew he was the true Child of Death. He raised an army of men, the First of the Nine Armies, and thus began the Collapse—’”

  “Stop.”

  “I’m sorry.” He would slaughter a thousand sheep if one would tell him how to undo his crime. In the Saga of Li Nawi, Li Reiko never appeared after the wall of fire. He closed the book and took a step toward her. “The price you asked...I can’t send you back.”

  Li Reiko drew a shuddering breath and looked up. “I have already paid the price for you.” Her eyes reflected his guilt. “Another hero can kill the Troll King.”

  His pulse rattled forward like a panicked horse. “No one else can. The prophecy points to you.”

  “Gut a new sheep, bound man. I won’t help you.” She stood. “I release you from your debt.”

  “But, it’s unpaid. I owe you a life.”

  “You cannot pay the price I ask.” She turned and touched her sword to his neck again. He flinched. “I couldn’t kill you when I wanted to.” She cocked her head, and traced the point of the blade around his neck, not quite touching him. “What destiny waits for you?”

  “Nothing.” He was no one.

  She snorted. “How nice to be without a fate.” Sheathing her sword, she walked toward the door.

  He followed her. Nothing made sense. “Where are you going?” She spun and drove her fist into his midriff. He grunted and folded over the pain. Panting, Reiko pulled her sword out and hit his side with the flat of her blade. Halldór held his cry in.

  She swung again, with the edge, but the wall of force stopped her; Halldór held still. She turned the blade and slammed the flat against his ribs again. The breath hissed out of him, but he did not move. He knelt in front of her, waiting for the next blow. He deserved this. He deserved more than this.

  Li Reiko’s lip curled in disgust. “Do not follow me.”

  He scrabbled forward on his knees. “Then tell me where you’re going, so I will not meet you by chance.”

  “Maybe that is your destiny.” She left him.

  Halldór did not follow her.

  Li Reiko chased her shadow out of the parliament lands. It stretched before her in the golden light of sunrise, racing her across the moss-covered lava. The wind, whipping across the treeless plain, pushed her like a child late for dinner.

  Surrounded by the people in the Parliament lands, Reiko’s anger had overwhelmed her and buried her grief. Whatever Halldór thought her destiny was, she saw only two paths in front of her—make a life here or join her children in the only way left. Neither were paths to choose rashly.

  Small shrubs and grasses broke the green with patches of red and gold, as if someone had unrolled a carpet on the ground. Heavy undulations creased the land with crevices. Some held water reflecting the sky, others dropped to a lower level of moss and soft grasses, and some were as dark as the inside of a cave.

  When the sun crossed the sky and painted the land with long shadows, Reiko sought shelter from the wind in one of the crevices. The moss cradled her with the warmth of the earth.

  She pulled thoughts of Aya and Nawi close. In her memory, they laughed as they reached for her. Sobs pushed past Reiko’s reserves. She wrapped her arms around her chest. Each cry shattered her. Her children were dead because Halldór had decided a disemboweled sheep meant he should rip her out of time. It did not matter if they had grown up; she had not been there. They were six-thousand years dead. Inside her head, Reiko battled grief. Her fists pounded against the walls of her mind. No. Her brain filled with that silent syllable.

  She pressed her face against the velvet moss wanting the earth to absorb her.

  She heard a sound.

  Training quieted her breath in a moment. Reiko lifted her head from the moss and listened. Footsteps crossed the earth above her. She manifested her armor and rolled silently to her feet. If Halldór had followed her, she would play the part of a man and seek revenge.

  In the light of the moon, a figure, larger than a man, crept toward her. A troll. Behind him, a gang of trolls watched. Reiko counted them and considered the terrain. It was safer to hide, but anger still throbbed in her bones. She left her sword sheathed and slunk out of the crevice in the ground. Her argument was not with them.

  Flowing across the moss, she let the uneven shadows mask her until she reached a standing mound of stones. The wind carried the trolls’ stink to her.

  The lone troll reached the crevice she had sheltered in. His arm darted down like a bear fishing and he roared with astonishment.

  The other trolls laughed. “Got away, did she?”

  One of them said, “Mucker was smelling his own crotch is all.”

  “Yah, sure. He didn’t get enough in the Hall and goes around thinking he smells more.”

  They had taken human women. Reiko felt a stabbing pain in her loins; she could not let that stand.

  Mucker whirled. “Shut up! I know I smelled a woman.”

  “Then where’d she go?” The troll snorted the air. “Don’t smell one now.”

  The other lumbered away. “Let’s go, while some of ’em are still fresh.”

  Mucker slumped and followed the other trolls. Reiko eased out of the shadows. She was a fool, but would not hide while women were rap
ed.

  She hung back, letting the wind bring their sounds and scents as she tracked the trolls to their Hall.

  The moon had sunk to a handspan above the horizon as they reached the Troll Hall. Trolls stood on either side of the great stone doors.

  Reiko crouched in the shadows. The night was silent except for the sounds of revelry. Even with alcohol slowing their movement, there were too many of them.

  If she could goad the sentries into taking her on one at a time she could get inside, but only if no other trolls came. The sound of swordplay would draw a crowd faster than crows to carrion.

  A harness jingled.

  Reiko’s head snapped in the direction of the sound.

  She shielded her eyes from the light coming out of the Troll Hall. As her vision adjusted, a man on horseback resolved out of the dark. He sat twenty or thirty horselengths away, invisible to the trolls outside the Hall. Reiko eased toward him, senses wide.

  The horse shifted its weight when it smelled her. The man put his hand on its neck, calming it. Light from the Troll Hall hinted at the planes on his face. Halldór. Her lips tightened. He had followed her. Reiko warred with an irrational desire to call the trolls down on them.

  She needed him. Halldór, with his drawings and histories, might know what the inside of the Troll Hall looked like.

  Praying he would have sense enough to be quiet, she stepped out of the shadows. He jumped as she appeared, but stayed silent.

  He swung off his horse and leaned close. His whisper was hot in her ear. “Forgive me. I did not follow you.”

  He turned his head, letting her breathe an answer in return. “Understood. They have women inside.”

  “I know.” Halldór looked toward the Troll Hall. Dried blood covered the left side of his face.

  “We should move away to talk,” she said.

  He took his horse by the reins and followed her. His horse’s hooves were bound with sheepskin so they made no sound on the rocks. Something had happened since she left the Parliament lands.

  Halldór limped on his left side. Reiko’s heart beat as if she were running. The trolls had women prisoners. Halldór bore signs of battle. Trolls must have attacked the Parliament. They walked in silence until the sounds of the Troll Hall dwindled to nothing.

  Halldór stopped. “There was a raid.” He stared at nothing, his jaw clenched. “While I was gone...they just let the trolls—” His voice broke like a boy’s. “They have my girl.”

  Mara. Anger slipped from Reiko. “Halldór, I’m sorry.” She looked for other riders. “Who came with you?”

  He shook his head. “No one. They’re guarding the walls in case the trolls come back.” He touched the side of his face. “I tried persuading them.”

  “Why did you come?”

  “To get Mara back.”

  “There are too many of them, bound man.” She scowled. “Even if you could get inside, what do you plan to do? Challenge the Troll King to single combat?” Her words resonated in her skull. Reiko closed her eyes, dizzy with the turns the gods spun her in. When she opened them, Halldór’s lips were parted in prayer. Reiko swallowed. “When does the sun rise?”

  “In another hour.”

  She turned to the Hall. In an hour, the trolls could not give chase; the sun would turn them to stone. She unbraided her hair.

  Halldór stared as her long hair began flirting with the wind. She smiled at the question in his eyes. “I have a prophecy to fulfill.”

  Reiko stumbled into the torchlight, her hair loose and wild. She clutched Halldór’s cloak around her shoulders.

  One of the troll sentries saw her. “Hey. A dolly.”

  Reiko contorted her face with fear and whimpered. The other troll laughed. “She don’t seem taken with you, do she?”

  The first troll came closer. “She don’t have to.”

  “Don’t hurt me. Please, please...” Reiko retreated from him. When she was between the two, she whipped Halldór’s cloak off, tangling it around the first troll’s head. With her sword, she gutted the other. He dropped to his knees, fumbling with his entrails as she turned to the first. She slid her sword under the cloak, slicing along the base of the first troll’s jaw.

  Leaving them to die, Reiko entered the Hall. Women’s cries mingled with the sounds of debauchery.

  She kept her focus on the battle ahead. She would be out-matched in size and strength, but hoped her wit and weapon would prevail. Her mouth twisted. She knew she would prevail. It was predestined.

  A troll saw her. He lumbered closer. Reiko showed her sword, bright with blood. “I have met your sentries. Shall we dance as well?”

  The troll checked his movement and squinted his beady eyes at her. Reiko walked past him. She kept her awareness on him, but another troll, Mucker, loomed in front of her.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I am the one you sought. I am Chooser of the Slain. I have come for your King.”

  Mucker laughed and reached for her, heedless of her sword. She dodged under his grasp and held the point to his jugular. “I have come for your King. Not for you. Show me to him.”

  She leapt back. His hand went to his throat and came away with blood.

  A bellow rose from the entry. Someone had found the sentries. Reiko kept her gaze on Mucker, but her peripheral vision filled with trolls running. Footsteps behind her. She spun and planted her sword in a troll’s arm. The troll howled, drawing back. Reiko shook her head. “I have come for your King.”

  They herded her to the Hall. She had no chance of defeating them, but if the Troll King granted her single combat, she might escape the Hall with the prisoners. When she entered the great Hall, whispers flew; the number of slain trolls mounted with each rumor.

  The Troll King lolled on his throne. Mara, her face red with shame, serviced him.

  Anger buzzed in Reiko’s ears. She let it pass through her. “Troll King, I have come to challenge you.”

  The Troll King laughed like an avalanche of stone tearing down his Hall. “You! A dolly wants to fight?”

  Reiko paid no attention to his words.

  He was nearly twice her height. Leather armor, crusted with crude bronze scales, covered his body. The weight of feast hung about his middle, but his shoulders bulged with muscle. If he connected a blow, she would die. But he would be fighting gravity as well as her. Once he began a movement, it would take time for him to stop and begin another.

  Reiko raised her head, waiting until his laughter faded. “I am the Chooser of the Slain. Will you accept my challenge?” She forced a smile to her lips. “Or are you afraid to dance with me?”

  “I will grind you to paste, dolly. I will sweep over your lands and eat your children for my breakfast.”

  “If you win, you may. Here are my terms. If I win, the prisoners go free.”

  He came down from his throne and leaned close. “If you win, we will never show a shadow in human lands.”

  “Will your people hold that pledge when you are dead?”

  He laughed. The stink of his breath boiled around her. He turned to the trolls packed in the Hall. “Will you?”

  The room rocked with the roar of their voices. “Aye.”

  The Troll King leered. “And when you lose, I won’t kill you till I’ve bedded you.”

  “Agreed. May the gods hear our pledge.” Reiko manifested her armor.

  As the night-black plates materialized around her, the Troll King bellowed, “What is this?”

  “This?” She taunted him. “This is but a toy the gods have sent to play with you.”

  She smiled in her helm as he swung his heavy iron sword over his head and charged her. Stupid. Reiko stepped to the side, already turning as she let him pass.

  She brought her sword hard against the gap in his armor above his boot. The blade jarred against bone. She yanked her sword free; blood coated it like a sheath.

  The Troll King dropped to one knee, hamstrung. Without waiting, she vaulted up his
back and wrapped her arms around his neck. Like Aya riding piggyback. He flailed his sword through the air, reaching for her. She slit his throat. His bellow changed to a gurgle as blood fountained in an arc, soaking the ground.

  A heavy ache filled her breast. She whispered in his ear. “I have killed you without honor. I am a machine of the gods.”

  Reiko let gravity pull the Troll King down, as trolls shrieked. She leapt off his body as it fell forward.

  Before the dust settled around him, Reiko pointed her sword at the nearest troll. “Release the prisoners.”

  Reiko led the women into the dawn. As they left the Troll Hall, Halldór dropped to his knees with his arms lifted in prayer. Mara wrapped her arms around his neck, sobbing.

  Reiko felt nothing. Why should she, when the victory was not hers? She withdrew from the group of women weeping and singing her praises.

  Halldór chased her. “Lady, my life is already yours but my debt has doubled.”

  He reminded her of a suitor in one of Aya’s bedtime stories, accepting gifts without asking what the witchyman’s price would be. She knelt to clean her sword on the moss. “Then give me your firstborn child.”

  She could hear his breath hitch in his throat. “If that is your price.”

  Reiko raised her eyes. “No. That is a price I will not ask.”

  He knelt beside her. “I know why you can not kill me.”

  “Good.” She turned to her sword. “When you fulfill your fate let me know, so I can.”

  His blue eyes shone with fervor. “I am destined to return your daughter to you.”

  Reiko’s heart flooded with pain and hope. She fought for breath. “Do not toy with me, bound man.”

  “I would not. I reviewed the sagas after you went into the Hall. It says ‘and the gods smote Li Aya with their fiery hand.’ I can bring Li Aya here.”

  Reiko sunk her fingers into the moss, clutching the earth. Oh gods, to have her little girl here—she trembled. Aya would not be a child. There would be no games of hide and seek. When they reached adulthood, each claimed the right of Li Reiko’s sword...how old would Aya be?