37 Days In A Strange World

by Dave Hazel

“I appreciate what your King says. But I ask, in all due respect,” Mykal spoke slowly. “Is that the real reason or is he afraid that I will defeat the great warrior Metz because Metz is too much of a coward to accept my challenge?”

  Norg and Krink were stunned and couldn’t believe what they just heard. They were fearful for Mykal to relay the words.

  “I’m not saying anything against your King,” he explained to the two who could understand him. “I’m saying it so that little rat bastard will fight me.”

  “You not know what you do,” Krink said in another attempt to get him to change his mind. “Metz great warrior. You not Metz equal. You not look like fighter. You look weak. Not skilled.”

  “Where I come from I’m a great warrior too. So is he afraid to face another great warrior? Now tell your King what I just said or I’m gonna go friggin whacko around here,” he laughed and made muscular poses, flexing his arms getting Boris and Sam to laugh. Doninka and Towbar looked at him like he had lost his mind. “Look at these babies,” he laughed and kissed his biceps, and held a pose.

  Norg passed on the message and there was total silence except for the rambling rage of Metz. They had never heard nor seen such antics. They were stunned.

  “I can only imagine what Metz is saying. Tell Metz when I killed his Quecktarb it was easy because it was not my equal. So to kill him would be much easier because he is not my equal either. Tell Metz when I kill him I will kill him quickly so he won’t have to listen to people laugh at him.”

  Norg and Krink stood silent. They looked afraid to relay the message. It seemed clear Mykal wanted to die rather than be a slave. They were sure his request to die would be granted. “Please re-talk,” Norg finally spoke.

  “It’s your job to translate, so please, just tell him what I said,” Mykal said politely but firmly.

  “Myk, Whadda ya doing?” Boris asked. “Are you trying to bait Metz into a fight?”

  “Yeah, I’m trying to do a David and Goliath thing here. Me being David, but he’s actually shorter than me,” he snickered.

  Norg translated the last message. Metz erupted in rage and charged toward Mykal in a fury of hate. King Krago shouted. Metz ceased immediately. Several other Dwarven warriors stepped in to stop his attack. Mykal’s hand rested on the butt of his .357 magnum should Metz not have obeyed the King.

  The King stood and spoke. He appeared frustrated and angry.

  Norg turned to Towbar. “To show kindness to Towbart, King Krago give second chance change course. If not, King consent battle pit. King say you to change. King not want you dead. King Krago say you Towbart speak friend. Change talk. Metz many victories in battle pit.”

  “I have no say in the matter,” Towbar explained. “My friend Mykal is his own man. If he desires to battle I wish him the best. If your warrior Metz thinks he can defeat my friend then they should settle it. I can not change the mind of my friend.”

  Mykal bowed his head. “Tell the King it’ll end in death, but I’m not gonna die.” Mykal laughed loudly, trying to anger Metz even more. He wanted to get inside the head of Metz psychologically. “Tell King Krago with his permission we don’t even have to go to the pit. We can settle it right here and right now. It will only take me a couple of moments to be done with him,” Mykal said confidently. He hoped his taunt would push Metz over the edge. “I don’t think he’s that much of a warrior. I’ve seen him act tough when he’s surrounded by fifty warriors keeping us prisoner.”

  “Some agree with thoughts. They never speak such words,” Krink said to Mykal while Norg relayed to the King.

  The King replied quickly. “King Krago speak, your words very sharp, your words false. He fear, Metz dead you, ah, dead you swift. Metz take tongue for words. King advise regret your words while living. King allow battle. King allow battle before King in King’s court. Metz agree battle now.”

  “He’s gonna allow me to fight for my freedom?” Mykal asked. He sighed with relief. He wouldn’t have to be a prisoner for any length of time, let alone for seven years. He unlocked the handcuffs, freeing them from his and Doninka’s wrists.

  “Yes. Battle pit made for such matters. King grant desire fight now. You make great mistake. Metz make you suffer great for hard words. Metz be allowed choice of weapons.”

  “Tell him to use whatever he wants and I’ll use whatever I want unless he’s afraid to fight a real great warrior,” Mykal taunted and Metz blew up at the translation. “Tell him I’ll use what I have on me,” he said and grabbed the icepick like dagger stuck in his waist band. His other hand rubbed the handle of his holstered .357 magnum. “Tell him to grab his best weapons. I want him to have a fighting chance.”

  “Things you say be strange,” Norg said. “I do know meaning. Metz say prepare to dead. Your head not good. Mouth speak fool talk again. Head not good.”

  “That’s right, I’m crazy.” Mykal pulled his hair back, made a wild expression and cried out like Jack Nicholson in The Shining. “Heeeerrrrre’s Johnny.”

  Boris and Sam chuckled at Mykal’s antics. “Myk, do you wanna use my .44? His head will split open like a melon.”

  “Na, that’s alright. My pistol will do just fine,” he said and rubbed the redness around his left wrist where the handcuff locked tightly. Mykal removed the rifle which he had slung over his back while they were being led around the underground maze. “I may want this back real quick,” he said as he handed his rifle to Boris.

  Metz removed some of his outer garments. One of his henchmen handed him his battle axe with a large gleaming axe head similar to the one he found under the snow mound left on the broken bridge.

  “Metz say ready,” Norg translated. “Metz say no rules. Fight to dead. Fight for freedom. Metz say you not freedom. Metz say he dead you.”

  “Norg, tell him I’m ready whenever he is.” Mykal smiled as he grabbed his ice pick like dagger with his left hand and felt the handle of his .357 magnum revolver with his right hand. He wasn’t going to draw the pistol until Metz moved first.

  “Myk-kal, please, you not live long fight Metz,” Norg tried to make Mykal see that he had no chance to fight against the great Dwarven warrior.

  “You not proper stand fight Metz,” Krink called out. His concern for the stranger sounded obvious. He like many Dwarves feared the stranger could not comprehend the fury that was about to be unleashed.

  “Trust me Krink and Norg,” Mykal said. “I’m no fool. Watch and learn. I’ll show you how we do it where I’m from,” he said with a laugh to be funny while tapping his chest with his dagger.

  “It be bad,” Krink shook his head slowly and looked to the ground. Mykal stood there with a skinny dagger in his hand to go against one of the greatest warriors ever, of the Dwarven world, and he didn’t appear to be worried. “We could been friends in time. Time not come now.”

  Mykal knew what Krink was trying to say and suddenly, something about that phrase, ‘time not come now’ struck Mykal with an odd fear. Did he remember to reload his pistol after he unloaded all six shots into the giant snow spider? He couldn’t remember. His heart almost stopped. The thought of Metz, the great Dwarven warrior, charging at him with a battle axe, his weapon of choice and expertise, and Mykal’s only weapon being a little dagger and an empty revolver rattled his thinking.

  ‘Yes I reloaded cuz I shot the Quecktarb. Then I reloaded the two rounds after that.’ He blew a sigh of relief. ‘But what if I drop it when I draw it from the holster? What if somehow the firing pin broke during all that’s happened? What if the rounds I took from the holster belt are bad rounds and they won’t fire.’ His breathing picked up rapidly. He frightened himself by over thinking. ‘What if I goof up and this challenge explodes in my face and it becomes an easy victory for the little bully?’

  “How do I get myself into this stuff?” He whispered to himself and quickly pulled the pistol out and pointed it into his own face to verify the rounds inside of the cylinder. “Yes, I did reload, whew!” He sighed again putting his mind a
t ease. “Sometimes my imagination is my worst enemy.”

  No one understood what he was doing especially the Dwarven people. They had no idea the odd shaped object was to be his primary weapon. It wouldn’t be effective to parry Metz’s attack. No sharp edges or points were visible. The two weapons together weren’t big enough to parry the big axe head. This hoomin had a strange way to face his death.

  Mykal waved his hands at Metz to lure him in. “C’mon you bearded little creep. I’m gonna cripple your ugly ass.”

  *******

  Metz knew he wouldn’t need any special technique in defeating the foolish hoomin, Metz charged in with the axe raised above his head. He decided to end it quickly by splitting the disrespectful hoomin’s head open with one blow. Metz growled an animalistic sound as his feet thudded against the shiny floor. The crowd took a collective gasp of air, waiting.

  *******

  Mykal waited, he held tightly to his grip and leveled the revolver toward the oncoming fury. He didn’t dare blink. He didn’t want to miss the right moment to make his move.

  “You not live stand there,” Norg yelled nervously. “You not care?” Norg turned to Mykal’s friends as if he couldn’t understand why they weren’t concerned for Mykal’s safety.

  “Watch this,” Mykal said when Metz came within six feet of him. He squeezed the trigger and made a frightful explosion rip the silence. The Dwarven people never heard such a thunderous explosion. All of them had been startled. They jumped reaching for their ears. Mykal’s people knew what to expect but the sudden noise startled them as well.

  For Mykal it all seemed to happen in slow motion. He had pointed the weapon downward so the bullet slammed into the left thigh of the oncoming little freight train of Dwarven wrath. It looked like an invisible force slammed into Metz’s left leg and stopped him in place though his body wanted to carry forward. The force, the pain, and the shock knocked him to the hard floor in a heap, but he held tightly to his battle axe. He managed to keep from uttering his pain, but couldn’t hide it from his face.

  *******

  The little warrior tried to rise. He looked traumatized, though he thought he slipped. The pain on his face registered unbearable. He tried to rise, but his leg wouldn’t work. The loud noise did something to him. Both hands were wrapped tightly around the axe handle and he tried to rise again. His leg gave out and his mighty frame collapsed and crashed under him. He let out a howl expressing both pain and his tremendous frustration.

  Metz tried to rise again but fell backward landing on his seat with both legs out before him. Others watched in silent disbelief while blood pumped from his left thigh. But how? The stranger never got close enough to strike him.

  The audience appeared stunned that the great warrior had been stopped by sound and he appeared to be in unbearable pain. There seemed to be a massive puncture wound in his thigh. But how could it have happened? Could it be magic? As a people they don’t believe in magic.

  His head told Metz’s this couldn’t have happened, but his eyes showed him different. He looked at the source of pain he saw open flesh and muscle trying to push out of the material of his trousers. The pain grew as he watched his precious blood flow from his body. With his stubby, muscular, hand he touched his blood. Somehow, something was terribly wrong with his leg. It felt like the bone broke. Pain clutched tightly onto his being. ‘How could this happen?’ His face seemed to beg.

  *******

  When the gasps died down and the shock settled Mykal spoke. “Tell him that could have been his head and he’d be dead right now. That’s how fast I could’ve killed him. Understand?” He had to raise his voice to get their attention. They seemed stunned.

  Krink communicated the message to the defeated warrior.

  “Tell him, I’ll give him a chance to forget everything,” Mykal said while keeping his weapon pointed to the seated combatant. “All I want is my freedom,” he added and watched the humiliated warrior tried to rise again. He used his battle axe as a crutch. Mykal heard it in the tone between Norg and Metz. The bully’s pride wouldn’t allow him to give up.

  “Metz not end fight. Fight to dead,” Norg relayed. “You end fight. Must dead Metz,” Norg said to show he wanted the bully to be finished off, killed, for personal reasons. Norg didn’t worry that he encouraged Mykal to kill Metz. His fellow citizens couldn’t understand him.

  “Must do swift,” Krink agreed. It appeared Metz had created many enemies over the years. “Metz not stop. Dead him.”

  “Tell him, I don’t really wanna kill him,” Mykal said while pointing his revolver at him. “I just want my freedom.”

  “No,” Norg barked. “Must dead Metz.”

  Metz spoke in anger. He held onto the battle axe as a cane and pulled a short broad sword from the sheath strapped to his side. He started to limp toward Mykal with his left leg dangling uselessly under him. Metz dragged a trail of blood.

  Mykal slowly backed up to stay out of reach of the sword. “Tell him to stop. I just want--”

  “No!” Norg yelled and cut him off. “King say dead Metz. Want freedom? Earn freedom.”

  Metz limped closer. Mykal squeezed off another round that thundered through the entire underground city. The echo seemed to repeat endlessly. The slug slammed into his chest punching Metz backward, throwing his arms forward dropping both weapons. A mist of blood droplets burst out his back. The piece of crumpled lead would have been heard hitting the solid wall had it not been for the echoing thunder that rocked the little world under the mountain.

  Metz clutched at his chest while sailing to the shiny gloss floor. To the surprise of all the Dwarves in attendance, the mighty warrior who intimidated and caused fear among many, hit the floor hard and his body never moved. There wasn’t a twitch, a gasp, or anything that signified any signs of life. The great and mighty warrior of the Dwarven people died.

  A brief moment passed which seemed to drag on forever. Many Dwarves ran to the limp body to see if in fact Metz really was dead. Mykal held his pistol ready, unsure how the Dwarven people would respond. Would revenge be on anyone’s mind? Would they be angry that he used his own weapons? Mykal felt uncomfortable waiting for the air to clear. He had no regrets for killing to win his freedom, but he didn’t like how it played out.

  Mykal watched a small pool of blood grow around the frame of the corpse. ‘If he wouldn’t have been so damned stubborn, he didn’t have to die,’ he thought. It occurred to Mykal that no one seemed to be saddened while he looked at the lifeless facial expression. Metz had the typical death stare he had witnessed repeatedly over the past couple of weeks- mouth slightly ajar, eyes half open staring into nothingness. His little rugged hands were still clutching at the fatal wound in his chest. The .357 magnum round exploded through his heart and out his back.

  This reminded Mykal of Palomee, the first town they went to where they had contact with locals. He, Boris, Kurt and Roy Jr. killed Gan and his henchmen for starting trouble with them. Mykal couldn’t remember any of their names. He could barely see their faces in his mind, but he did remember the horrible deed. That was less than two weeks ago, and it seemed like ages. Maybe Metz will be just a faded memory in a couple weeks.

  Mykal wondered if he would even be alive in a couple of weeks. It seemed like every time he turned around he had to fight for his life. One little misstep and he could be killed. How much longer could this go on? When will it end? How will it affect him if he ever returns back home? Will he ever be able to settle down in civilized society again? Suddenly, he felt old.

  “Are you alright Myk?” Boris asked. “You have a strange look on your face.” Boris, Sam and Doninka joined him.

  “Yeah,” he sighed and watched the little people try to get a response from the corpse. “Look at us, Boris. Whatta we turning into? When’s all this gonna end?”

  “Whadda ya talking about?” Sam said. “He had it coming to him. You got your freedom,” he chuckled. “You did what you hadda do. It’s time to celebrate.”
>
  “Is it? We’re turning into friggin maniacs,” he sighed and looked at Boris because Boris would understand. They have been together through this every step of the journey. Sam wasn’t there when Rich, Larry and Boris killed Mansfield.

  “What, would you rather be laying there instead? You’d rather he chop you up with his big ass hatchet?” Sam laughed.

  “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t know how much more of this I can take. Maybe I’m just tired. I dunno,” he paused, he knew he needed to get away to clear his head and think this situation through. As much as he wanted to go home, he feared it might not be the best thing for his family and that terrified him. “I’m just worried that we’re gonna be screwed up for the rest of our lives. I don’t wanna go home and end up like those Vietnam Vets who go nuts and hurt other people.”

  “It’s kill or be killed here,” Sam replied. “Let it go.”

  “I know, I know,” he agreed. “I’m just afraid that we’re changing and it can’t be for the better. I think we’re starting to like this stuff too much.”

  “I wouldn’t say we like it too much,” Boris disagreed. “I’d say we wanna live too much.”

  Mykal heard Towbar, Krink and Norg conversing with King Krago. Their discussion revolved on how the three strangers did not look the part of warriors. “They are the greatest warriors I have ever seen,” Towbar relayed to King Krago.

  “Myk-kal,” Norg called out. “King Krago desire speak some words to you.”

  The four of them moved before King Krago’s throne. Though the King looked average height for the Dwarven people his throne set high off the floor to have his subjects look up to him. The King sported a stern expression while he eyed the three hoomins. He settled his focus on Mykal.

  The King spoke and Norg translated. “King Krago say strange weapon make you fierce, mighty warrior. Greater warrior to Metz. King Krago say,” he paused to find the right term. “He podgect, pologet, he sorry,” he snapped his finger when he found the correct word in the common tongue. “King sorry not trust your words. He doubt you. He doubt you no more,” Norg shook his head enthusiastically which made his long beard braids sway wildly.