The Heir of Eyria

by Osku Alanen

  “You will do no such thing,” Rust said. “Enough blood has been shed already.”

  Ronan saw the woman bite her lip, but she nodded silently.

  “I’m truly sorry you had to witness such a hostile event, my friend,” Raven said to the barkeep cowering behind a desk. He held a piece of cloth by his nose, trying to make the bleeding stop. “Please, take this as an apology.” Handed over a handful of coins to the barkeep, pocketed it hungrily. He shared a fierce look with Ronan, the implication clear: no more trouble here or you’re out.

  “No need to get the local authorities involved, is there?” Raven smirked.

  “I think not. I reckon everything is just as it should be. No harm done,” the barkeep answered.

  The coins Raven had handed over were probably more than the man made in a year, and Ronan knew the man had debts, for he had thrown his collectors out on more than one occasion. Not only good with a blade, Raven was rich, too.

  And by the gods, Ronan needed the coin.

  ***

  Ronan struggled to fall asleep; the events of the last few days had weighed heavily on his heart. He rolled around in his bed, a chilly breeze washing over his body through the cracks in the walls, making him shiver. Groaning, he raised himself up, muscular arms leaning on his bed. Gods, why did he have to piss several times a night, now? He was getting old.

  Ronan walked past the guest rooms where his new companions spent the night but stopped when he saw a light coming from Raven’s room. Was he awake, still? Ronan crept closer, pressing his head against the wooden door. He heard faint whispering, which Ronan thought was peculiar, since he was certain the man entered the room alone. Was it another one of his conquests as the daughter of the Captain had been? Ronan held his breath, listening carefully.

  “I’m glad that you are satisfied.”

  Ronan frowned. Who was he talking to?

  “Yes. I’m confident he will.”

  He? Ronan thought.

  “… why there? What’s there for us?”

  Ronan bit his lip, carefully turning the handle, praying the hinges were properly oiled. He had his suspicions about the man, and this was a mystery he didn’t want to leave unanswered. He opened it just enough to see if anyone else was sitting opposite to him.

  There wasn’t.

  Raven was sitting on the floor, cross-legged. He seemed to be in a trance of some sort. But there was something… peculiar in his arms. A pendant? The way it glowed…

  “I see, now. Eyria it is.”

  Ronan frowned. Eyria? That was a small, southern kingdom, wasn’t it? He had never seen the place before, and he didn’t care much to visit it, either. But why would Raven want to travel across the world there, and who was he talking to?

  “You can come in, Ronan. I know you’re there.”

  Shit. “Look, Raven. I know it seems that I was listening, but I swear—.”

  Raven raised his hand, smiling warmly. “Oh, don’t worry about all that. I was mumbling to myself—it’s something I do occasionally. But that’s enough of all that… is there something I can help you with? What’s keeping you up at tonight?”

  Ronan pursed his lips. Should he tell the man? They had only just met, but something about the way Raven looked at him… he felt like he could trust him with this. “My… son. He was injured, not long before we met. Injured because of… me.”

  “I’m truly sorry to hear that, Ronan. I am,” Raven whispered. “What happened?”

  “The boy followed me on a hunt,” Ronan said, voice breaking. “There were three Daemoni there. One of them dug its fangs in his neck, poisoning him. He’s alive—thank the gods. But barely. I… was careless. I should’ve seen it coming. He’s resting now with a friend of mine. Eira.”

  Raven shook his head. “It’s not your fault. You can’t ever protect anyone, no matter how hard you try. And as you said: he’s alive. I have no doubt in my mind he will recover. Thank you for sharing this with me, Ronan. I value that you trust me enough already.”

  Ronan nodded. “Well, I reckon it’s best to get to know each other fast if we’re to kill that damn Daemoni, eh?”

  Raven showed a coy smile. “My thoughts exactly.” He paused, touching the pendant hanging from his neck.

  Ronan pointed at the pendant. “Uh, about that thing… I swear I saw it glow.”

  “It’s something, isn’t it? An artifact from the past. A worthless trinket, really. Sure, it glows, but that’s about it. It was gifted to me by someone important, and I still hold onto it. Sentimentality, I suppose?” Raven laughed.

  “Aye, I reckon a man should have something to hold onto.” What do I have left of my past? Nothing—I left everything behind, Ronan thought with regret. “So, you’re heading for Eyria after we’re done with the beast.

  “Correct.”

  “I see.” Ronan frowned. If the man was to travel to Eyria, that would mean his duty with the man would be finished. They would leave, and he would stay here with his son. That suited him well enough.

  Raven yawned. “You know what, my new friend? I believe it is time I retire for the night. We have an eventful day ahead of us. I suggest you do the same.”

  “Just one more thing,” Ronan awkwardly added.

  “Yes?”

  “You know that once the beast is dead, I will stay here with my son, right?”

  Raven showed a warm smile. “I know. Don’t worry, I would never force a man to join us.”

  Ronan grunted, satisfied. “Well, I reckon I should get some sleep while I still can.

  “Good night.”

  “Night.”

  Ronan yawned, remembering his full bladder. He went to relieve himself like he had intended. He returned to his room shortly after, hoping he would sleep a dreamless night.

  ***

  Ronan woke up with a groan. He stretched his legs, feeling a cool breeze touch his bare skin from one of the cracks in the walls, a ray of the morning sun shining through. This was the highlight of the day for Ronan. It was when the troublemakers were still sound asleep or passed out from night’s drinking. It was the only time of the day were honest men begun their days—shopkeepers, fishers, blacksmiths. He saw nearby fishermen loading their nets to their vessels, ready for to set out for the sea. He saw the butchers sharpening their tools, ready to fill their stands with fresh meat from animals they had raised up themselves. He could hear the loud hammering as the blacksmiths prepared to forge the fine weapons and tools their hard forges could create. Not a single man amongst these wore a frown this morning. These men had all a purpose—to earn an honest wage to feed their children and wives. These were the people who kept this town alive. And gods, these men lived full lives. A family. A job. A life in solitude is not something a man should live for—fearing daggers behind every corner.

  I had a family, Ronan reminded himself. Once.

  Ronan, too, had been looking for something to live for—something more than himself. For so many a year, his life had been devoid of meaning; he did anything that could earn him a coin of two, regardless of what it cost him. But no more. He had a son to care for. And after this job with Raven was done, he would return to his son—with a gift, no less. He would make his son happy, and if the gods saw willing, teach him how to care for something. Yes, a wolfhound would be perfect for him. Strong. Fearless. Protective.

  Ronan’s smile quickly vanished as he saw a familiar man approach him with hasty steps.

  “Well, well. Look who’s turned up.”

  Ronan nodded, frowning. “Fjoll.”

  “I swear it, man. You are a hard man to find. Are you avoiding me on purpose?”

  Ronan shrugged. “I reckon you’ve just not been looking me hard enough.”

  The man scrutinized Ronan closely for a second but seemed satisfied with his answer. He grunted. “No matter. The Huntress wanted me to find you.”

  “What for?”

  “The beast you and your new friends have been looking for has been spotted.”

/>   Ronan swallowed. This wasn’t good. He had hoped he would have time to visit his son, to see how he was doing. But if the beast had been sighted, they would have no choice but to depart for it immediately.

  “Where?”

  “One of our hunters followed the beast right to its lair, right to the Forgotten Mountain. Took a child with it, the bastard did. The Huntress paid the grieving mother a visit, the poor gal.”

  “That so?”

  A beast corrupted by the Daemoni, yearning for human flesh—it was not something Ronan was looking forward to meeting. But whatever the reason Raven’s group was hunting the thing might be, it needed to be put down. What if it had taken his son instead? Ronan shuddered at the thought.

  The man snorted. “Aye, lucky you. The huntress thinks the food must be scarce as winter draws near; it has no choice but to venture close to human settlements to grab a bite. I’m just glad I’m not the one who’s after the beast. I wouldn’t go near that place even if you’d pay me my weight in gold. The place’s bad luck, I tell ya.”

  Ronan cocked his eyebrow. “Bad luck?”

  Fjoll grunted. “There’s a reason no one’s gone near that place for decades, man. Place is cursed, I tell ya. Every hunter Hera has sent there has ended up either missing or dead. You remember Jory, right? The hunter whose last rites you interrupted last night? Yeah, I thought so. Well, Hera thinks the damn beast might’ve gotten him, too. She’s out for blood, I tell ya, the Huntress is!”

  “You think the beast killed him?”

  Fjoll shrugged. “Who the hell knows? Hera seems to think so, and that’s good enough for me.”

  “Right,” Ronan muttered. Going after the beast sounded worse and worse by the moment, but it’s not like he had a choice. He had promised both Hera and Raven he would join them, and he wasn’t a man who would go back on his word. His word was all he had, now.

  “Well, guess I better and go share the news. My thanks for bringing the word all the way here.”

  The man nodded. “Aye, well. Good luck and all that. Try to stay alive, would hate to see you hit the bucket, too.”

  “I’ll do my best, I reckon,” Ronan muttered his reply as he watched the man disappear into the muddy roads. He let out a frustrated groan. Leaving this soon—without a single word to Eira or to his son was not what he had intended to do. But things like this were inevitable, weren’t they? Nothing ever happened the way you wanted.

  Back at the tavern, he saw his new companions sitting by the fire, focused in a hushed conversation. They all look tired. Tired and grim. It was Raven who first noticed Ronan had entered. He motioned him to join them.

  “So, the beast is sighted, then?”

  Ronan startled. “How’d you know?”

  The man grinned. “A lucky guess. And, well, it doesn’t take a genius to see what that frown means. Well, then, my friends, I suppose we should be on our way!”

  “Aye, chief,” Rust replied, stretching his arms.

  Rose groaned audibly, holding her fist by her mouth, suppressing a burp. She looked even paler than last night. How much had the girl drunk last night? “If we have to,” she muttered.

  Ronan saw Avalon leaving the tavern without casting a single glance their way. “Where’s he going?” Ronan asked.

  “Avalon? Don’t mind him. I asked him to run an errand for me. And, well, he goes as he goes. But don’t worry, the man tends to end up right where he’s supposed to.”

  “Right,” Ronan grunted.

  Raven stayed silent for a moment, watching the fire dance happily while both Rust and Rose left for their things. Only Raven remained, along with the innkeeper. “Exciting, isn’t it?”

  “What is?”

  “The moment before a battle. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it—the thrill? The tingling in your fingers, muscles yearning to draw steel?”

  Ronan nodded, following Raven’s gaze. His eyes seemed like they were on fire. “Aye, I know the feeling well enough, I reckon. But as I said before, I’m not half the man I used to be. Those days are behind me.”

  “I’m not so sure, my friend. I believe you have plenty of fire left in you, still,” Raven whispered with a slightly amused look.

  ***

  Ronan knelt on the muddy forest path, frowning. They had been traveling for close to a day now, heading towards the mountains in the distance. It didn’t take long to find the spot where the hunter, Jory had died. Ronan hoped he might find tracks, to see if the beast was truly heading for the Forbidden Mountains, but after a night’s rain, any possible tracks of the beast had been washed away—just their luck. Ronan considered himself a decent enough tracker, but even he couldn’t perform miracles. He cursed their poor luck.

  Ronan shook his head in resignation. “I reckon the beast’s long gone.”

  Rose snorted, pointing at a nearby branch, just above Ronan’s head. “Did you get dropped on your head when you were little? Look around you, fool. Any tracker for their crap could see that.”

  Ronan flinched. “Well, now.”

  Rose shook her head in disgust, leaving Ronan behind as she rushed onwards.

  “What’s with her?” Ronan asked Rust quietly, fearing the redhead would sense what they were discussing.

  “Rose? Don’t take it personally. She’s always like that. Takes a while to warm up to,” Rust said with a laugh.

  “Aye, I sort of got that.” Ronan frowned, looking at Rose more closely. She was a beauty, no doubt. A woman with a vibrant, ginger hair. Yet the way she frowned constantly… she had her scars, no doubt—but there was a fire inside of her, too, a terrible rage barely kept at bay. What had happened to this poor girl?

  After an hour of walking through the muddy forest, they found the next traces of the beast. A branch of a tree had been broken in half, as if something huge had rushed past. “That way?” He pointed over to the horizon, much deeper into the woods. Where was the best heading? The Forbidden Mountains didn’t lie in that direction.

  “Where else?”

  “Right,” Ronan grunted. He wanted to believe the girl would warm up to her, like Rust had said. But Ronan knew also that here was no helping some people. Some people were just born angry, and a life touched by anger rarely lasted long.

  Rose crouched down, fingers tracing the cold ground. He saw her neck then—a scar? Had she done that to herself? She did not seem the type. At that instant, Ronan understood. The hatred he could see in her eyes finally made sense. She was a victim. Ronan decided to stay at a distance. I’m the last person that can help this poor girl.

  The group journeyed on, following the tracks left by the beast. Ronan didn’t mind it, to be honest. It was nice to follow someone else for once. The vegetation here was growing lush, for it was mostly untouched by men. He had never ventured this deep inland, and he was growing increasingly worried he couldn’t find his way back to Riverend on his own. Luckily, he wasn’t alone. This wasn’t like when he was hunting the Daemoni in the woods earlier. Back then, he had been scared out of his mind. Being alone does that to you. You see enemies in every shadow.

  “Ronan,” Rust whispered.

  The rest of the group were quite far ahead of them, and only the two of them remained behind.

  “What is it?”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Ronan grunted. “Aye.”

  “Why did you become a hunter?”

  The question made him pause for a moment. It was a question he had pondered a lot, yet he had never found a satisfying answer for it. Perhaps he didn’t know the reason himself either, not truly. “I guess some things just happen that way, you know? I was never any good with anything else, to be fair. Whenever I try to build something, it breaks down.” Ronan squeezed his fists into tiny balls, knuckles turning white. He saw the countless scars on his hands, hardly remembering their origin. “These hands were made for breaking things. I reckon there’s not much I could do with these.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “No?”r />
  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “What?”

  “Your son. Don’t you dare tell me you haven’t brought anything good into this world.”

  Ronan laughed. “Aye. You’re right. I reckon I have done something right.”

  And these are the same hands that also failed to protect the boy. If he dies, what do I have left? Nothing but memories and regrets. But these words Ronan left unsaid.

  You will have me still, Northman. I will be with you—always. Aiding you. Guiding you. The voice in Ronan’s mind answered, chuckling.

  Silence, you bastard. You have brought me nothing but grief.

  Oh? Think of the times I have saved your life—more than a dozen times, I believe. I molded your anger into a weapon that could cut through flesh like a warm knife cuts through butter. You would not live still if it wasn’t for me.

  Lies, Ronan mouthed.

  Don’t tell me you have forgotten the time I woke you before that dagger slit your throat as you slept? Did I not enhance your every step, every reflex? Did I not help guide your blade as it swept through the air, cutting flesh into tiny pieces? You severed our pact, and that left you nothing but a tired old man, slowly rotting away in that broken body of yours, fearing every shadow. Break down your walls, and you will be complete again. Become the man you were meant to be—a force of nature to be feared and revered. Not… this.

  I don’t need you anymore, Daemoni. I am strong—stronger than I have ever been. My body might have withered, aye, but that is not what strength is about. My mind is strong; I have no need for more, Ronan answered, gritting his teeth. Time and time again, the voice in his mind pestered him, seducing him. How many more years—decades—could he take it?

  You are a fool, Northamn; you need me more than ever. In fact, let me prove it to you right now, my cynical half. Men surround your group as we speak. Men with foul breaths and ill intentions. More than a dozen, I believe.

  Ronan’s legs stiffened, fingers itching closer to his axe.

  “What is it?” Rust whispered, suddenly alarmed as well.