Blessings and Trials (Exiles and Sojourners Book 1)

by Thomas Davidsmeier

  Even on the attack, Haliel was forced to favor his injured leg. If he survived this encounter, the Faithful knew he would heal quickly, which didn’t help him at the current moment. Despite Haliel’s weaker attacks, the Eater gave ground more easily than before.

  Backing slowly up under the flashing onslaught of Haliel’s Heavenly sword, the Eater left a trail of swirling eddies of greasy smoke. The Eater was intentionally backing toward a pile of unused benches leaning against the sanctuary wall. When it had reached them, it separated from Haliel with a strong parry and charged up the benches and leaped off the top.

  Haliel’s reflexes were supernaturally quick, and he recognized what the Eater was doing. As the Eater escaped over his head and the stack of benches came tumbling down like a waterfall of wood, Haliel jumped right between both. Using his wings and the wall, Haliel performed an aerobatic flip and ended up right on the trail of the Eater.

  The rather unpleasant possibilities of Haliel’s excellent use of height, leverage, and gravity were obvious to the Eater. It managed to duck under one of the Faithful’s outstretched wings, yet, Haliel still sliced across its shoulder. A jet of dark smoke like guttering candles shot out of the gash.

  Both beings’ wounds caused more smoke to fill the area. Unholy black smoke came from the Eater, and the natural smoke from the searing drops of liquid metal came from Haliel.

  Reaching out with its mind, the Eater of the Unwanted tugged and pulled at the haze that was thickening and surrounding the combatants. It wrapped the two of them into folds and layers of the sooty darkness, slowly obscuring more and more of Haliel’s view. The Eater had used this tactic before, but not often. Producing and controlling the smoke took effort and energy which it preferred to use to make the fire in its belly lash out.

  Haliel took another wound to his forearm. Frustration drove him to sweep at the smoke with his wings, trying to clear the haze. Its blackened flesh hid the Eater well when its flames died down. Haliel did not see the Exile slide to the side until it was too late.

  Brutally ripping upward, the Eater of the Unwanted severed half of Haliel’s wing. It instantly melted into a shower of the glowing droplets. Each exploded in a little blast of heat and light wherever they hit. The Eater tried to dodge away, but was too close. Peppered with the incandescent droplets, the Eater ended up pocked with little divots. It was the other-worldliness of Haliel’s blood that was doing the damage. Whatever physical object it had struck would have dissolved the same way. Despite the pain the Eater was coming out ahead. Each little divot sent out its own jet of black smoke, adding to the Eater’s cloak.

  Haliel’s soul was set to boiling in righteous fury. His sword flashed like lightning, and he roared like thunder, as he bore down on the surprised Exile.

  “Thy place is in the Pit forever more!” cried Haliel as he locked blades with the Eater.

  Haliel used his wounded forearm as a weapon. The hiss of the Faithful’s glowing blood dissolving part of the Exile was matched by the Eater’s howl of pain.

  “If only the Lord would cast thee there now,” shouted the Faithful as he twisted his body for a ferocious strike. “After I put this blade through thy wretched skull!” and Haliel spun like a whirlwind and drove his blessed blade into the Eater’s dark skull.

  But, the Eater wasn’t there. Haliel’s blade slashed through a thick, man-shaped patch of smoke. Lunging low out of the swirling haze, the Eater caught Haliel off balance. Two brutal blows later, the Eater had to abandon its sword in the Faithful’s side. A torrent of radiant blood arched out around the blade’s handle, burning everything it touched, even the Eater’s already burnt flesh.

  The immortally wounded servant of the Most High God stumbled and lurched, his energy and physical life pouring out of him. Desperately, he searched for his enemy, the enemy of his Lord and Master. Through clenched teeth, Haliel hissed, “Lord, don’t let the wicked prosper, don’t let me fail Your children again...”

  By sheer will, Haliel was keeping his material form together, but he was losing strength quickly. Staggering a few more steps forward into the smoke, Haliel felt his grip over his material body slip away. He cried out, shouting the name of the Son of the Most High God in the Ancient tongue. Then his body exploded like a sun dawning and setting in the underground night.

  The light of Haliel’s death throes had shown through the curtain, but the roar the titanic explosion had not even made a whimper on this side of the magical barrier. Everyone had felt the jolt and reverberations solidly through the stone floor though.

  “Your friend has been slain, but my wall is not down.” Kuruskos had circled around, so his back was toward the shimmering curtain dividing the sanctuary. “The Eater will want to join with me and kill you. Then once you are dead, it will devour your little charges next.” Kuruskos nodded toward the children in the shadows. His voice betrayed a revulsion that surprised Dargar.

  “I’d rather that disgusting thing not get that chance. I should have never agreed to work with it. I should have never taken this job. I’ve always hated that thing since we first fell.” Kuruskos’ beautiful face was screwed up in concentration for a moment, even as he absentmindedly parried a thrust from Dargar’s blade. “Now’s your chance before I change my mind. Cut me down and even the odds. Do you think the Son’s Blood could make the hundred years of agony more bearable?”

  As the still dazed Eater watched from behind the magical barrier, Kuruskos raised his horn high over his head like he was preparing for a crushing slam, leaving a wide sweep open to the Wildman. Not thinking or worrying about the Exile’s strange final words, Dargar swung with all his might, ripping through the Exile’s physical frame. A great rush of wind and cacophonous roar of voices and languages blasted out of the gaping wound across Kuruskos’s abdomen. The typhoon of sound tore his whole body to shreds. The ram’s horn trumpet clattered to the ground. The wall holding back the Eater of the Unwanted disappeared.

  CHAPTER 4 - SURVIVORS

  23rd of Sorun, 2nd Year, 31st Aion

  “Oh Most Mighty and Wisest Lord Abzu, these creatures you have made are truly wonderful and will serve the Legions well. Those who had the opportunity to be the seed and stock have been blessed countless times over. But, we have begun to notice a worrisome occurrence as the hastened generations of these Wildmen go by. While their natures are almost always true to your intent, that is to say they are violent and aggressive, yet still obedient to their masters and not the least intelligent. There are a rare few who are different. They arise with all the wildness and strength which we so gladly welcome, but with it comes a glimmer too much of a human mind.”

  – Dispatch on 28th of Enocha, 3rd Etos, 25th Ksistaion, from the Greenshoulder Mountains to the Imperial City of Kaladar from Kareth Barnnor, Wizard of the Second Circle

  The Eater of the Unwanted was stunned. “I knew that winged idiot was no warrior, but you actually slew him. Out and out sent him up above.” The yellow eyes stared out of the charred, now pocked face. The Exile hefted its now much shorter blade, half of it having been dissolved by Haliel’s blood. Despite its victory, the fight had been hard on the Eater. It was not just the wrecked sword. The Faithful’s boiling hot essence, and the effort of shrouding the huge space in smoke, had taken a steep toll on the Eater’s energy.

  Dargar was not tired. The “battle” with Kuruskos had mostly been dancing and talking instead of fighting. Dargar took three steps back toward the altar where the three children were huddled. He assumed they were cowering in fear like a part of Dargar wished he could, so it surprised him when Litharus darted out of the shadows bringing him a crude shield.

  “You left yours in your quarters or somewhere, didn’t you?” asked Litharus in the common tongue.

  “Yes,” grunted Dargar in his own speech, not sparing more than a momentary glance. “Where did you get this…” but he understood when he looked at the crudely wrought handle, which still looked like one of the votive candlesticks from the altar. Though the con
cept of sacrilege was relatively new to Dargar, he hoped using this shield made of altar service would not be sacrilegious. For his part, Litharus was rather proud of his improvisation, though he too wondered about giving offense to powerful beings. Though, the powerful being Litharus was most worried about offending was his mother.

  There was no time left for such concerns. The dark creature was gliding up the aisle between the benches. Dargar hissed over his shoulder in his own Wildman speech, “Get back, and remember our plan for one powerful enemy. I will try to get him in place.”

  The guttural mash of Dargar’s own Wildman tongue could not hide his uncertainty. The boy tried to be encouraging, “He won’t know what’s hitting him.” Litharus retreated to the two girls in the shadows by the altar. “We’ll be ready and praying.”

  The Eater of the Unwanted slowly advanced past the benches to the open area before the altar. I wonder why there are so few benches in here? Maybe they weren’t very popular. Don’t know why you’d mess with a dead god who wasn’t even here when you’ve got lots of living gods walking among you. I’ll never understand how Sojourners even exist. Then again, I don’t understand why everyone doesn’t choose to worship me either. How could the Son of the King of the Celestial City come here? Impossible. Bah! Humans are just fickle fools, no taste in deities.

  It’s not like we exactly invested in scouting or military intelligence. This was supposed to be a waltz-in-and-kill-anything-that-moves sort of operation. Instead, I find a Wildman in the robes of these heretics? The Eater put the mystery out of mind and focused on the enemy at hand.

  It cautiously approached the Wildman, forcing itself to recall stories of Wildmen killing Exiles in battle. Most were in Kaladar’s war against Gorram and his wolfmen. Frankly, good riddance if you ask me, that idiot was a megalomaniacal lunatic. Gorram had double-crossed the Eater through a loophole in a contract long ago, and the Eater would never forget.

  This Wildman did not look anything like the legionnaires that had done in Gorram’s vassal Exiles. Still, something made the Wildman look surprisingly formidable to the Eater. It reminded itself, He is nothing more than an abomination, a blending of men with beasts through Abzu’s sorceries. Might as well be a stag or wild boar... Or, maybe a bear… Actually, more like a bear crossed with a gorilla. What on the three continents did Abzu put together to make these things?

  There was something about that sword that added to the Eater’s unease. Hadn’t it been a longer, narrower two-handed sword when the Wildman killed Kuruskos? Why is it a single-handed, broad blade now? It looks like it could hew through a small tree or two with no problem. It couldn’t be...

  “Do you understand the common tongue, castaway child of Abzu?” asked the Eater, trying to remind itself this hulking enemy’s race was found wanting and discarded by his fellow Exile. Surely if they couldn’t perform up to standards with the guidance of Abzu the Wise, they must be complete messes out in the wilderness on their own.

  “Not child of Abzu,” shouted back Dargar in his broken common, that made him sound like an imbecile. “Child of Lord of Heaven. Washed in blood. Clean. You want be cleaned?” Dargar thought that since that line of conversation had seemed to cause the other Exile to give up, maybe it would work on this one too.

  “I have better uses for blood than to bathe in it, you thick-skulled fool. Though I’ve heard the Pale Lady… Nevermind. These Sojourners have tricked you, my simple-minded swordsman. You were made by an Exile and belong to the Exiles. You cannot belong to any other god, let alone that made-up god they say sits in Heaven and never comes down. I was in Heaven. I saw no god there greater than I.” These pretty lies tumbled out of a burnt and cracked face that reminded Dargar of some feasts in his home village. He now deeply regretted having partaken in said feasts, but the image still fit. These were words of death.

  They had closed enough they were now moving and sizing one another up. Neither stayed too long in one posture, not wanting to give the other a chance to plan an attack. Still, Dargar stayed between the Eater and the children by the altar. The Eater only watched how Dargar moved. It was trying to see if Kuruskos had at least wounded him. Rather disgusted with its fellow Exile, it realized Dargar was still a picture of health.

  “Sojourner God real. He come down. Walk earth. Bleed and die to pay for me. Go back to Heaven to wait. You just mad cannot go back to Heaven too.” Dargar actually managed to roll a deep bearish laugh out, even though he was facing some Exile monster who had just slain the most powerful being he had ever met. Of course the other Exile had died easily enough, so perhaps this one would too. The first one had been acting strangely, talking and listening, not just hurling insults back and forth like this burnt thing.

  “You don’t understand, you dimwitted lout. You were made by an Exile out of humans and animals. You’re an Abomination! You are the very definition of a perversion of nature. The Sojourners are supposed to kill you on sight. Maybe they’ve gone soft. Or, soft in the head more likely.” The Eater resisted the urge to slap his withered palm to his cracked forehead.

  “No. Wildmen not like Savages of Gaia, not like sorcerers or three-eyed priests or machine men. Maybe very first Wildmen were. Not now. Now born, not made. No ask to be Wildman. No want serve Abzu. Lord of Heaven give choice to all. Choose serve Lord of Heaven.” Dargar continuously moved through fighting stances like Haliel, revealing his long training with the Faithful Servant.

  Worried at first, Dargar then thought, If this hunk of roasted meat is going to try to talk me out of fighting, it must not be sure it can win. I don’t know how we can do anything but fight, but I’m not going to make the first move. Well… Unless I see an opening or a weakness...

  The Eater was gliding back and forth, inching closer. He was hoping to get a feel for how the Wildman would fight. One part of its mind was processing the situation, He might be moving like that Faithful I slew, but there is no way he’ll fight the same. That sword means he’s not going to fight like our Wildmen in the village. Why couldn’t the Pale Lady get me Wildmen like this one? Ours all had stone axes and wooden war clubs, like they were afraid of metal or something. The Eater let its curiosity boil too hot and it blurted out, “Are you from the wilderness around here? Or did you go to Kaladar and get educated or some such?”

  The Eater was so close Dargar did not pay attention to the question at first. But, the uncertainty in the voice revealed a weakness to Dargar. A swell of confidence and a rush of energy came as he unconsciously decided. Grunting in response, he suddenly lunged forward.

  The Exile easily parried away the heavier-than-expected sword stroke. Then the shield caught the Eater by surprise. The Wildman punched the Exile using its shield like a giant metal fist.

  Living in and around cities had accustomed the Eater to blade versus blade for most of the past hundred years. Shields were used on the battlefield. No one carried one around the city, at least not the cities that it frequented. And shields were certainly not used in proper duals. Anyone bringing one to a dueling grounds was considered a coward.

  Can’t exactly call this fellow a coward, can I, thought the Eater as it took another metallic punch to its shoulder. Black skin stuck to the shield and peeled off in disgusting strips. Like its collision with the wall earlier, the damage to the Eater was only cosmetic. I wish my sword was whole. My flesh will heal with worship, but I’m going to have to do another asinine favor for Hephastor to get this sword reforged.

  The Eater slid a step back and let the flames inside its body begin to flicker and grow, giving more of its energy to that part of its being. If he is going to use something as ridiculously effective as that crude shield, I’m just going to have to marshal all my available resources. Surely there can’t be anything worse than this beast man thing left to fight in this wretched cesspit.

  Dargar saw the flames and knew he had to act. If the Exile could attack him with those flames, the fight would go very badly. He began to attack, trying to maneuver the Exile into posit
ion. The Eater’s flames began to dance, but it still kept its distance. Dargar wondered, Maybe some aren’t as good at fighting as the stories say they are. That other Exile... No, he let me kill him. Lord, You only know why. This one has to be cooking something up, isn’t he, Lord? Please help me get him to the spot.

  Dargar charged, white sword flashing and shield bashing.

  Focused on its flames, the Eater was caught off guard. To be fair, it had been expecting another attack, but the complex ferocity was beyond what it thought the Wildman could do.

  That annoying shield! I wish my fire was high enough already, howled the Eater to itself. I need to give a little more ground. Patience. Almost there.

  The Wildman wove the shield and blade together into one painful, unpredictable flow as he pushed the Exile back. Each of the Exile’s counterattacks was met with shield or blade.

  The Eater of the Unwanted was driven back toward the corner where the side wall of the chancel met the wall of the transept. There, along the wall of the chancel the Eater noticed an odd feature it did not recognize from visits to other holy places. Three stone steps rose up to the edge of a long, low rectangular trough. The Eater might have guessed it was a ceremonial horse trough if it was in a temple to Xanthos the Swift. There the trough would have been solid gold, not just stone. Whatever it was, the Eater realized the Wildman was trying to maneuver it back toward it. If the Wildman wanted it there, then the Eater did not want to be anywhere near it.

  Dargar shoved his blade through the distracted Eater’s side. Fortunately for the Eater, it had nothing between its hip and ribcage. As the white sword slide harmlessly through the gap, the Eater caught a glimpse of little flickering symbols along the blade. They were in an old script, not used since before the Diaspora of Man, and they were changing shape.