Mighty Hammer Down

by David J Guyton

  Chapter 5

  Rommus woke up to the annoying sounds of birds chirping. He shouldn't have been sleeping, but staying up so late the night before had drained him, and he must have fallen asleep while relaxing in his woods. He called them his woods because no one else ever visited them as far as he knew. Most people were content living in the city with all the pretty marble and gold, but he was just as happy to be leaning against a tree and sitting in the lush green grass. The fact that humans built the giant structures in the cities was amazing, but the pristine beauty of nature was equally impressive to him. He smiled to himself as he thought maybe the gods felt like they were in competition with the creations of man.

  He wondered for a moment about those jealous gods. If they really were up there in the Land of the Gods, it wasn't likely that they cared much about what the hands of man had built, but he wondered how they viewed mankind in general. If someone was up there pulling the strings, what was the overall intent? Was there an agenda? What reason would the gods have for humans at all, let alone their pathetic little problems and desires?

  No matter what answer he got, he was never satisfied. He would have stopped wondering about it years ago, but there was always one thing that gnawed at him, keeping the questions alive. The complication was that if there were no gods, and no being created the world and everything in it, then where did everything come from? Both scenarios left him feeling empty and uncomfortable. Either the strange truths of religion were true, or he was very alone in the world, with no purpose and no hope for a life beyond this one.

  Then again, he didn't need the absence of the gods to make him feel that way. He felt as if he were high above the waters of fate, on some slippery bridge made of wood and rope where he could not get a firm hold. Those waters were calm pools when he was younger, but they were now raging torrents of icy ambiguity. He had dreamed of that bridge and the water all throughout his life, and he had recently come to the conclusion that since he couldn't swim, the water represented failure. Nothing frightened Rommus Tirinius, no man or weapon made him hesitate with fear, but he was terribly afraid of that failure. It was intangible. It could not be touched or studied. It was an enemy that offered no soft underbelly to pierce to drive it back or destroy it. It was always there, always lurking, always waiting for its chance to strike again and devour any hope he had left.

  He wasn't afraid of dying. He figured if he died, then whatever waited for him on the other side was the unalterable truth, gods or no gods. But he had no map to guide him here in this world. No matter which way he pointed his ship, he was sinking, and nothing he could do would stop the black waves from taking him. He wished desperately for a goal, a shining light to bring him back to the shores. No light ever came.

  He made an attempt to clear his mind of his troubling thoughts, but it had proven to be more and more difficult with each passing year. He was a man that people used to look up to, a man who had an answer for everyone. People trusted him and sought his guidance at each crossroads in their lives, from soldiers and neighbors, to strangers and friends. He was happy to help, and he believed he was providing those people with the advice they needed to not only be happy, but to become the architects of their own fate. He had watched many people change for the better, and he was proud of what he had accomplished.

  Recently, however, that power had slipped from his tight grip. It was a slow decline, hardly noticed at first, but before he was aware of it, no one came knocking on his door. No one asked for advice, and on the rare occasions it was given, it was met with a sharp and cold retort. He eventually succumbed to his own fate, which was to recede to a dreary and silent world of his own. He had reached out from that world before. He tried to tell them he was sinking, but no one listened. It was probably the fact that while these people no longer respected him or cared for his opinion, they thought he was too strong to be in any position where he himself might need help. Sometimes all he wanted to do was talk to someone and organize his thoughts while he spoke. He might as well tell the wind or the stars. No one heard him.

  He did have Mirra and Pirius. Both of them were kind to him for the most part, but neither wanted to hear his troubles. Pirius always busied himself with women, and Mirra was great at avoiding particular subjects. He let her get away with avoiding questions, although he wasn't sure why. Perhaps he was afraid that the truth might sometimes be harder to swallow than a lie. But as much as he doubted her, he still trusted her. She had her quirks, just like he did. Certainly she was off somewhere thinking about how odd he was, and what it would be like when they eventually got married.

  Marriage was something she had brought up a few times, but he never did. He was uncomfortable with the idea of placing his happiness totally in the hands of another. The whole idea was absurd as far as he was concerned, but the fact that she cared enough about him to apply her subtle pressures on the matter brought him small flashes of joy in his darkness. He never told her no, but he never told her yes either.

  He sniffed at the smells of nature; the grass, the dirt, the fresh air. He watched the dark green leaves of the trees sway slowly in front of the bright blue sky. No cloud ruined the perfection by marring the perfect blue or blotting out the sun. Was this perfection a reminder that things will be better? Or was it a smug slap in the face from the gods telling him that no matter how beautiful things seemed, there was always suffering underneath it all?

  He took a deep breath as he watched a flurry of excited insects in the distance. Insects were such a nuisance. He accepted them as a necessary part of nature, but they always seemed to be crawling on him or in his food or stinging him. Maybe the gods thought humans were the same sort of nuisance.

  He froze when he realized that insects don't flutter like that unless they are disturbed. It could be that some animal was moving through the trees, but with the attempts on him and his father, he was not taking a chance. In all his years he had never seen anyone in his woods, but that didn't mean he wasn't followed. He stayed low and moved around to the back of the tree he was sitting under. There wasn't anything better in the immediate area to hide behind so it would have to do. Thankfully he thought to bring a knife this time, and he pulled it from his belt and studied the woods beyond the opening in front of him.

  A snap of a twig got his attention. He looked to where the sound came from, but then he quickly looked behind him, making sure that there wasn't another attacker ready to surprise him from the rear. He saw nothing in either direction. He held his breath as he listened, not wanting to miss a sound.

  No enemy made himself-or herself- known. He thought briefly about how such a beautiful woman could so coldly try to kill his father, but before he could clearly picture her face, the sound came. It was a low, booming rumble, less like a sound and more like a feeling. It was as if the ground beneath him shuddered with rage. The waves of that anger thundering through him to his very soul.

  Suddenly, fear struck him. He had to pause a second to believe what he was feeling. This wasn't a fear one might feel while in battle or before being robbed. This was not a fear for one's life, but for one's soul. He couldn't make sense of it, but he tightened his grip on his knife, determined to stand his ground. He would at least see his enemy before he ran from him.

  The rumble changed into a strange howling song. It seemed as if the trees sang the tormented song of the dead, struggling to convey the terror felt in the world beyond. He thought he heard human voices in the cries, but he couldn't be sure. The whole world shook with the terrible and violent sound.

  Suddenly the sky turned black as death. The grass and trees were all still lit brightly by the sun, but the sky above looked as dark as a starless night. Terror struck him when he beheld the sight. This was another enemy he could not face. This was something that might steal his soul or worse. He ran.

  Pain flashed through him as he hit his head when he tripped. He dropped his knife, and clawed at the dirt to find it as he looked to the blackness above him. The blow to the hea
d must have disoriented him because the sky seemed to churn and boil between the trees. The tormented sound was louder and grew into a piercing shriek that deafened him. He struggled to stand, but a great weight fell upon him, smothering him and crushing him against the ground.

  He fought to breathe. The sound had shifted into a sick laughter echoing through the forest. He found it difficult to keep his eyes open, and he wondered if he was about to die. Mirra immediately came to his mind and a sadness came over him. He would never see her again. She would never know what became of him; no one was going to find his body out here. He hoped that she would not feel too much pain when she realized she had lost him. He hoped she could find happiness again.

  He felt a strange tingle in his blood; a soft, burning sensation dancing inside him. At first he thought it was death itself, finally coming to free him from the agony, but it somehow calmed him. It soothed his torture, growing stronger against the oppressive horror and feeding him strength. He still felt the overwhelming weight crushing him, but the laughter in the skies had ceased. An angry roar is all he heard from his unseen enemy in the heavens.

  He opened his eyes and everything was back to normal. The birds chirped merrily as the sun shone bright again in the clear blue sky. The insects fluttered here and there in search of food or mates. The trees and grasses turned softly in the breeze again. Air rushed into his lungs when he remembered to breathe, filling him with life again. He stood up clumsily, and fell dizzily back to the soft ground. He closed his eyes and relaxed to gather his strength and his wits. When he opened them, he saw his knife that he had dropped. He took hold of it and slid it into its sheath. Sitting up, he shook his head to clear it. He wondered for a moment if he had tripped and hit his head, causing the strange vision he had just experienced. Whatever the truth was, he didn't think staying there was a good idea. He finally stood up, and awkwardly began walking back to Brinn.

  Soon he was having trouble remembering the vision at all. He tried to go over it in his head, but pieces seemed to be missing. He assumed it must have been some kind of dream because of the way it was slipping from his mind. Just like a dream, the visions had faded, but a feeling remained. It was a strong emotion, but he could not put a name to it. Eventually he pushed the whole event to the back of his mind as he took in the beauty of his surroundings, strolling lazily back to Brinn.