The Ageless Giant

by B K Suitter

  “You must not wake. Now follow me,” and Jase walked away from the campsite and Michael followed, turning once again to look at his brother who was still watching him as he lay on his blanket. This time the eerie feeling was too much and Michael gasped and woke from his sleep. He sat up quickly to survey his surroundings. Tris was still asleep, and Jase just laid there staring up into the sky while looking at nothing.

  “What’s wrong, Michael?” Evaylia asked in a tired voice as she stirred awake.

  “I’m not sure,” he said, “but something is not right.” It was still early in the morning and the sun was just starting to peek over the horizon. “Tris, wake up,” Michael said in a hushed voice. “Tris, wake up, now,” he said a little louder.

  “Why are you whispering?” Evaylia asked, her voice becoming nervous as Michael stood up and gestured for her to do the same.

  Tris started to wake as Michael reached down and shook her gently.

  “Michael, what are you doing?” Tris asked, sounding tired and more than a little irritated.

  “Something is wrong, get up,” and he moved over to help Jase stand, his older brother doing so without any complaints.

  “C’mon,” Michael told the others and he moved off in the direction that Jase had walked in his dream. The others followed behind him with Tris holding onto Jase’s hand and leading the way. The four walked a long winding path that led them to the forest edge, and they stopped when they saw the commotion in the town center not far from where they stood concealed in the trees.

  They watched as soldiers in black leather armor moved about the gathering of townspeople that were on their knees in the dirt road. The morning sun reflected off the metal weapons that the soldiers carried, and it looked as if most of the small community was there.

  Michael could see his father down on his knees with his hands tied behind his back and there were soldiers around him, one talking to him and gesturing out to the crowd of people.

  “Michael, what’s going on?” Tris asked in a quiet voice.

  “I don’t know, Tris,” he whispered back. “Just watch and…,” Michael’s voice was cut short as he watched their father get struck hard by the soldier he was talking to. Tristania started to cry out but Evaylia quickly grabbed her and covered her mouth.

  “SHHHH…,” Evaylia whispered to the little girl as she squirmed to break free. “If they hear us, then we will be caught. What do you think they want, Michael?” Evaylia asked as she tried to calm Tristania.

  “I don’t know,” he started to say.

  “They mean us no harm,” a little girl said from behind them, startling them all as they turned around.

  “How do you know what they want?” Michael asked with suspicion, for he had never seen the girl before.

  “I don’t know what they want. I just don’t think they want to hurt us.” The young girl was dressed in a simple white nightshirt that was long to her knees.

  “We will stay here and be quiet until we know for sure,” Michael said, and they sat down in the tall brush and watched the townspeople being loaded up into cages and taken away. Tris cried and argued that they should help the people, and even though Michael wanted to rush to his father’s aid, he knew there was nothing he could do. He knew that doing anything would put Tris, Evaylia, and his brother in danger – not to mention the small girl that appeared out of nowhere.

  “We will go to Warmwater and get help,” Michael said to Tris. “They have soldiers there that will help us free father,” and he turned to Evaylia. “They will help us free your uncle as well,” and he looked again at the town he called home as the last of the soldiers in black were preparing to leave. “And they will punish those men that came here today,” Michael said angrily, and the group walked away, moving through the trees in the direction that would take them to the city of Warmwater.

  “By the way,” Michael said to the little girl that had just joined their group. “What is your name?”

  “Mara,” she answered in a tiny voice.

  9

  Year of the Frost Horn 2318 A.A.

  The nameless man knelt in the sand with his arms down at his side and his eyes wide open. Blood was pouring from the open wound on the side of his neck as a man-like beast tore at his flesh with razor sharp teeth. Both the man and the creature were staring at Torique as he rowed slowly away from the island. Both wore sinister grins as the beast-like man tore another meaty chunk from the neck of the helpless man. The beach was covered with half eaten bodies, the men and women all staring at Torique, all with the same evil smile. The creatures that fed on them also eyed the captain as he continued to row away, and some were gesturing for him to come back and deliver more of the innocent people.

  A hand shot up from the cold ocean waters and grabbed onto the side of his small rowboat, startling Torique as he pulled at the oars. Then another hand reached up, grabbing at the boat as well. Slowly, a head rose up out of the waters as the arms pulled the body up the side of the small craft. Torique continued to row as he watched the slimy scalp with small patches of long brown hair rise until a half rotten face with empty eye sockets appeared, and the captain felt sick. As he rowed, he started retching uncontrollably and the thing slowly climbed into his boat. He began to vomit blood, and tears poured from his eyes as he stared at his wife, who sat there across from him with a face rotting away.

  “Elizabeth,” Torique whispered.

  “What have you done?” the dead woman asked in a haunted voice. “Torique, my sweet, what have you done?”

  Torique shook his head slowly as he cried, and he let go of the oars and held out his hands to his wife. Elizabeth raised her arms as well, her eye sockets staring lifeless into his. Then she shrieked with madness and shot forward, driving Torique over the side of the small boat and then grappling with him in the water, attempting to pull him under.

  Torique woke screaming in his bed, fighting off Elizabeth as she slapped at his hands to keep him at bay.

  “Torique!” Elizabeth screamed, “you are dreaming! It was a dream!” she continued to yell as they wrestled in bed. “It was a dream,” she kept saying until reality overcame Torique and he rolled out of bed, gasping for breath as he hit the floor and laid there.

  “I’m ok,” Torique said as he lay on the floor soaked in his own sweat while his wife hovered above him, kneeling on the edge of the bed and shaking her head.

  “You are not ok!” Elizabeth yelled as tears streamed down her face. “Every night you do this to me! What has happened to you? Ever since you returned from your voyage out to sea, you have had these nightmares! Tell me what happened,” she begged. “I can’t help you unless you tell me!”

  “You can’t help me at all!” Torique yelled back as he stood. “You can’t!” and the man left the room as his wife washed in tears.

  *********************

  The Watchtower stood tall above the Asar River and guarded the border of the Eastern Kingdom. It was constructed of black granite excavated from the Northern mines and it housed a small garrison of Riverwatchers. At the top of the tower was a huge vat filled with flammable liquid and combustible wood that could be lit as a signal fire. The huge blaze would alert the Arani Kingdom when King Uriah’s army finally crossed the Asar River.

  “The Beoraki helped us build these towers nearly fifteen years ago,” said Simeon Redsword, a large man with flaming red hair and a thick orange beard to match. “There are eight watchtowers in all – five along the Asar River and two more built to the north of here, closer to Castle Sunflower. Eight is the largest watchtower of them all and it sits in the valley near Shipwrecker Cove. When the Asarian army invades, we will light the signal fires on each of the towers all the way to Eight, and the Beoraki will be warned of the invasion and King Ironheart himself will ride from Coldstorm with a hundred thousand Northmen. That will be the end of King Uriah, my boy.” Simeon was instructing a recruit to the Riverwatchers – the title given to those that lived in the watchtowers and overlooked
the Asar River.

  “Will King Ironheart really come to our aid?” asked Tye, a young man of eighteen summers. His birthday was two days ago and to celebrate his becoming a man, he drank too much strong ale and foolishly joined the Riverwatchers. He was tall and thin with short brown hair and a boyish face.

  “He will,” replied Simeon. “The Northern King would love another chance to end the reign of Uriah. Had the Kadomi not intervened in their last war, the Asarian King would already be dead.”

  “Wouldn’t King Ironheart be dead if not for the snow dragons?” asked Tye slyly.

  “If you believe the Beoraki King can be killed, then you’re a fool. I for one think him immortal.” The two Riverwatchers stood atop the large tower and stared down at the Asar River below. They could see the tiny figures of the Asarian army staying busy on the other side, working about the camps and tall siege towers that stood like giants among their ranks.

  “Why would you think him immortal? He’s not a god,” Tye dared say.

  “Don’t let the Northmen hear you say that, boy, or they will split you in two,” and Tye gulped and looked around nervously as if one such man could have heard him speak such a daring phrase. Simeon laughed at the boy’s reaction, his hands holding his large belly as it shook in place. “Don’t worry, boy, you’ll be safe as long as you’re with me,” said Simeon as he gave Tye a hardy slap on the back, knocking the young man forward a step. “Anyway, I think him immortal because he hasn’t aged a day in the last twenty years. In fact, he looks to be thirty winters in age, not sixty as I know him to be.”

  “How old are you, sir?” Tye dared to ask, and then shrank back when he saw the harsh look that Simeon gave him.

  “Are you dense, boy?” the large man replied. “Don’t go asking men their age because they might be thinking it’s none of your business.” Simeon turned back to stare down at the vast army below. The sun was setting and the small soldiers that moved around with purpose began casting long shadows.

  “I’m sorry for asking, sir” said Tye, his high-pitched voice sounding sheepish. “I’ll not ask again.”

  “I’m sixty summers, boy, same as the Beoraki King. But to see him looking young and full of strength while I grow fat and old…,” and Simeon trailed off to a whisper while he stared out across the Asar River. “It was forty years ago when I first met King Ironheart,” the old Riverwatcher began his tale and Tye moved up beside him, staring out over the expanse that was the South. “I was with my father and we had led an expedition across the barren Wastelands to visit the Temple of Carami.”

  A strong wind blew the dry sand around in fits as the long train of people trekked across the barren desert known as The Wastelands. The pilgrimage of thirty people on their way to the Temple of Carami had started in the Arani Kingdom many weeks ago. The expedition was led by Coronas Redsword and his son, Simeon, and they had five brave knights from Castle Sunflower and five mercenaries in their group to protect the traveling band of faithful worshippers.

  The sand gale bore down on the troupe, stinging the flesh of those not completely covered in wraps and sand turbans. They huddled over in their desperate walk, forcing their tired legs to drive them through the unrelenting storm. Some of the men and women crouched low on horses that trudged along slowly while others dismounted and led their steeds by the reins. Pack animals such as stubborn donkeys and old horses had to be pulled along, fighting with every step and causing their owners to fall far behind in the caravan.

  The group had traveled for several days through the desert when the storm raged upon them from out of nowhere. They were a day’s journey from the temple, spying the tall towers of the huge citadel far in the distance, when small dust devils started forming around them. Steadily the winds became stronger until the full force of a blinding sandstorm scoured down upon them.

  “We must keep going!” yelled Coronas Redsword to his son and those that could barely hear him over the gusting winds. The trail of people stretched out farther and farther as the torrid storm separated the group, causing the knights and mercenaries to fall back to keep the party from scattering across the desert.

  “We should stop and wait for the others to catch up!” cried Simeon to his father. “We must band together until the storm has passed!”

  “No,” Coronas yelled back. “We must keep going!” He put his head down and shook the reins of his large courser, encouraging the animal to drive on through the blowing winds. Simeon did the same but continued to call out to his father, begging him to stop so the group could come together.

  “We’re becoming too spread out!” Simeon yelled. “They’ll get lost in the storm!” His father kept riding, oblivious to his cries. Simeon shook his head in frustration and forcefully turned his mount around and gestured to the mercenary beside him to follow. They rode slowly back down the line, encouraging the weary travelers to push onward through the driving winds and blowing sand.

  At one point, they came across a brave knight who was leading his large stallion by the reins while three helpless women rode on its back, each huddled together close with their heads down. Simeon rode on, silently commending the selfless man and calling out to others to show courage and keep going. The mercenary rode up beside him and pointed into the blinding storm. She rode a gray mare that danced nervously beside Simeon’s charger – his mount becoming increasingly agitated as well.

  “Did you see that?” she yelled above the storm. The woman was dressed in leather armor and pulled down the cloth wrap that was about her head to expose her mouth so Simeon could hear her.

  “I’m seein nothing in this blasted storm!” he called back.

  “There it is again!” the woman cried, pointing more forcefully and kicking into her mount to get the animal moving. The horse whinnied in a desperate fit and began turning in circles. Simeon’s mount high-stepped back as he peered through the sheet of blowing sand, and he could see what the woman was pointing at; strange shadows that appeared to be human but moving much too quickly through the blowing storm.

  “Who is that?” Simeon yelled, and he could hear a scream above the noisy winds. The mercenary’s horse began to buck, and more screams erupted all around them as the gray shapes darted through the storm.

  The mercenary could not control her horse and she was thrown off, landing hard on her back and Simeon watched as her mount took off into the blowing sands and was quickly lost from sight. Suddenly, a gray shape fell upon the woman and the strong winds blew a spray of blood across Simeon’s face. He immediately drew his sword while jumping off his horse and he came down hard with a controlled chop of his blade into the back of the creature, sinking it deep into skin and bone and then what appeared to be sand as the thing simply blew away and merged with the storm.

  Simeon quickly grabbed at his horse’s reins as it tried to pull away, yanking him back as another gray shadow descended upon the vulnerable woman. Again, Simeon sliced down with his sword, cutting deep into the creature’s head and causing it to look up into his eyes while the blade passed through its skull. For a moment, Simeon could see the distorted features of a human head that appeared rotting and long since dead. It screamed in his face and then turned to sand and blew away with the wind.

  Simeon reached down quickly and scooped up the woman with one arm while he tried to control his horse with the other. With a strength driven by his fear and adrenaline, he tossed himself and the woman up onto his horse and madly spurred the steed away.

  They rode hard through the blinding storm, retracing their path towards the front of the caravan. All around him were the fleeting gray shapes of the sand creatures and the humans they hunted in the storm. Simeon was hindered as he held onto the woman that was across his lap and seemingly unconscious while he raced on. They passed the valiant knight that had allowed the three women to ride his horse while he walked and found him desperately fighting with a sword in one hand and the reins of his stallion in the other.

  Simeon kept riding and was anxious to fi
nd his father when suddenly a man came out of nowhere to stand in the path of his charging horse. He had his hands up high, begging him to stop. Simeon pulled hard on the reins and tried to halt his large mount and the horse skidded to a stop and reared up, throwing both Simeon and the mercenary onto the sandy ground. Then the animal raced off and the man ran after it, both disappearing into the storm.

  Simeon reached down to pick up the woman at his feet, the sand blowing hard in his face, and he stopped. He watched as three of the gray shapes came lumbering his way and he drew his sword and prepared to fight. As the creatures came closer, the one on the right merged with the one in the middle, making it larger and more menacing. Then the one on the left disappeared into that creature and it became larger still. Two more of the sand demons joined with the monstrous creature and soon it stood before Simeon, towering over the man and standing near to twelve feet tall.

  Simeon started to slowly circle away from the female mercenary that lay unconscious at his feet. The sand blew hard around them, covering the woman’s arms and legs and threatening to drown the rest of her in grit. Simeon raised his sword to keep the attention of the huge sand creature away from her, and his foot became bound in place in the sand. He looked down to see a hand grabbing onto his boot and he quickly swung his sword and cut himself free. More arms grew from the shifting sands with hands that reached for Simeon’s legs and he slashed at them and continued to step away.

  The huge creature advanced towards him, a long cudgel growing from its hands as it stepped forward. The monster raised the club up over its head and roared a deafening cry equal to that of the storm. Simeon looked up and raised his sword in a feeble attempt to block the powerful weapon while hands of sand grabbed onto his legs and held him in place.

  Doomed was Simeon, but before the sand demon could deliver the killing blow, a ghostly shadow appeared above and behind it, and Simeon watched as a man descended from the sky with his own weapon. A long bow staff came arcing down in a powerful overhand chop to crash onto the skull of the mighty beast, then driving downward through its sternum, splitting its chest cavity in two, and the huge sand demon exploded into a shower of sand, knocking Simeon to the desert floor.