by Damon Glatz
The sunrise over the sea was unlike anything Ohitekah had ever seen before. The sun cast a long red trail across the water that shimmered like a banner, as if it wanted them to change course and sail into the sun itself.
“Land ho!” a sailor shouted. In front of them were the first specks of the chain of islands the Vatnics called home. Ohitekah could see some ships out in the distance. The closer they sailed the more ships began to sprinkle the waters around them. King’s Rock was the largest island to the north of the group. The islands did not have a sandy beach like the mainland did. They had black cliffs that dove straight into the crashing waves. The islands were tall and the land itself towered over the sea like the Great Wall. He could see houses and large building at the top of the cliffs. They sailed straight to the largest of the islands, passing between some smaller ones. At the base of the cliff there was a huge docking station for ships, twenty times larger than the one in the village earlier. From there he could see the carved paths leading up the cliffside and into the center of the island.
“Man the oars, raise canvas.” Captain Olaf shouted.
The men went below deck and began to row the boat into the port, the white sail folded up. The ship smoothly pulled up alongside the wooden platform in the water.
Ohitekah, distracted by the tranquility of the journey, forgot this was an attack. He looked at the men around him. They were getting themselves pumped up, some actually jumping up and down. They wanted to fight. A few were clashing axes among themselves to warm up. Some of them had been waiting years for this moment. Ohitekah looked to Red and Lance. Red noticed Ohitekah’s concern.
“Let them handle it, Nicholas knows what he is doing.”
Ohitekah stepped out of the warrior’s way.
The vessel was tied down and Olaf jumped onto the dock alone. A harbor master approached him.
“Docking fee is ten silver pieces. King’s tax has been raised to—" Olaf took off his metal gauntlet and punched the man in the face, knocking him out cold. Nicholas and the rest of the men jumped off the ship and onto the dock, shouting, weapons drawn.
“There is no more king’s tax!” Nicholas yelled, the men cheering with him. “To the Hall of the King, men!” They charged up the platform and began to run up the cliff trail. Some of the men on other ships ran and joined the mob. Red, Lance, and Ohitekah followed behind cautiously.
Nicholas led the charge up the trail and through the capitol. As they ran through the streets their numbers grew as people followed to join the fight. Word spread quickly through the city.
Nicholas the Brute was back, and he was there for vengeance.
Chapter Twenty-Eight:
The Bone-Breaker
There, at the highest point in the city, was the Hall of the King, a large wooden longhouse. Shields decorated the outside walls, its doors closed. There were Vatnic men guarding the outside, loyal to Ivan. They had armed themselves and were ready to defend the hall.
Nicholas’ men roared and clashed into the guards. They all battled, screaming and swinging whatever weapons they had. Nicholas definitely had numbers on his side. They pushed their way to the hall entrance, cutting down all who were loyal to Ivan. Nicholas’ men burst through the closed doors, taking on more guards inside. They fought the men inside and paved a path for Nicholas. Nicholas, with his hands holding his great steel sword, walked straight through the path of chaos on either side. Inside the long open hall were tall wooden columns carved with the Sea Serpent spiraling up them. There was a decorated wooden throne covered in brown and red furs. Sitting in it was a horrifying monster of a man.
His hair and beard were long and black. On his hair rested a golden crown that circled his head. His eyes were grey, piercing and soulless. It was hard to imagine someone who was larger than Nicholas, but the Vatnic king was exactly that. His black robes fell to the floor as he stood up, revealing his massive brawn.
The fighting throughout the room slowed to a stop. Nicholas’ men were victorious. Only the king and his personal guard remained.
“I never thought you would return, son of Bjorn.” His voice was booming and monstrous. It had a low guttural growl to it, as if a lion was speaking through him. Ivan held out his hand, and a Vatnic guard handed him a large steel axe. “I accept your challenge, if only to have the sword you stole from the true king. You will die here, fittingly, where your father died.” He raised his black axe in a fighting position, standing in front of his throne.
“My only regret is not killing you years ago.” Nicholas lifted his blue crystal-like steel sword, the carved Vatnic runes glistening in the torchlight. Ivan stepped down from his throne and into the center of the room.
The past fights Ohitekah had seen were very different than this. Usually the combatants studied each other before attacking and formed a strategy. These two were in a hurry to begin.
Nicholas rushed forward and swung his great sword, and Ivan blocked it with his axe. Ivan punched Nicholas hard with his gauntlet, and Nicholas stumbled back.
“Your bloodline is weak, and your ideals are weak. With me, our kingdom is the strongest it has ever been!” Ivan swung his axe at Nicholas’ face, Nicholas stepped back and it missed.
“A true king can be powerful without being a tyrant, our kingdom deserves better than a murderer like you.” Nicholas went for a stab. Ivan deflected it with the handle of his axe and returned with a missing swing.
“Come on, Nicholas,” Ohitekah shouted from the crowd clogging the entrance to the hall. Lance and Red stood in the doorway together, watching quietly, both of them seeing much more than the fight itself.
Nicholas is losing, Lance studied. Ivan is clearly the stronger and more experienced fighter. The idiot will have to rely on his speed, which isn’t much. But seriously, who fights with an axe?
Nicholas needs to stay focused, remember why he is fighting, Red thought to himself. After all this work, he better win.
Nicholas let out a grunt and chopped down with his blade. Ivan caught it with his battle-axe. The king swung at Nicholas as if he was chopping down a tree, this time Nicholas blocked it with a loud clang. Each time Nicholas made a good swing or block the crowd would cheer. It was clear everyone wanted him to win.
Nicholas grew tired, the sword heavy in his hands. The fight was dragging on, and each swing halved the energy he had left. He hadn’t fought another Vatnic in years. His body wanted to rest, have a drink.
Ivan wasn’t slowing down. Each chop was harder than the last. This man was brutal.
The sword grew denser in his hands struggling to keep it off the ground.
For all this time, Nicholas had thought he had nothing left. He had lost his family, his home, his life. He looked around, that wasn’t true anymore. He had a new family, Ohitekah, Red, Lance. A family that fought by his side, stopped at nothing to save him time and time again. They were all here for him, they gave so much to bring him this far, and he couldn’t let them down now. But above all else, he was fighting for a promise. A promise he made to Ohitekah, to help him once this was done. This fight was bigger than Nicholas. He needed to win to keep that promise.
“Getting tired, lad?” Ivan taunted. “Your old man fought better than you, but he was still too weak to be king.” Ivan lifted his axe in the air and hammered it down on Nicholas who barely blocked it, staggering back. He lacked enough energy to hold his sword.
Ivan let out a low laugh and raised his axe again. Nicholas was much too weak to block the heavy blow again on this strike, he had to do something else. Ivan held the axe above his head, and flexed to bring it down one last time.
With his last burst of energy, Nicholas grasped his sword and thrust it deep within Ivan’s exposed chest. The room fell silent. Nicholas pulled his blade out, no longer blue.
Ivan fell to a knee and coughed up blood. Nicholas stood there watching, waiting for him to make a move.
Red watched him closely. Lance shook his head. Ohitekah was ready to let out a cheer.
&nb
sp; “You’re gonna need to do better than that,” Ivan spoke, and lifted up his axe.
“How can he still fight?” Ohitekah exclaimed. “He was just stabbed in the chest?” He was in disbelief.
Ivan swung his axe like a mad man. Nicholas barely blocked the attacks, stunned by his ability to keep fighting. Ivan was battling as fierce as ever.
“It is a last stand,” spoke Red to Ohitekah. “When a great warrior is backed into death’s corner, he will use everything he has to win. Nicholas better act quickly.”
Lance nodded. “It’s still only a matter of time until he bleeds out.”
The next axe swing grazed Nicholas’ shoulder. Protected by his armor, he got lucky. A little lower and he would have lost the arm. Ivan coughed up more blood and began to stumble. He tried to say something but it was just a garble of red vomit. The blood on his chest was dripping onto the floor.
“Finish it!” a man yelled from the crowd. The rest cheered.
Ivan fell to the ground, now too weak to continue. Nicholas kicked him over with his boot. He studied his face. In a man’s last moments, he could see everything about him: his hate, his anger. This man needed to die. Nicholas frowned, lifting his sword, and walked to Ivan’s side.
“For my family… Old and new.”
Nicholas sliced through the air and Ivan’s head dropped to the floor. The room roared. Nicholas bent over and took the crown off the floor. He walked up to the throne and sat down, placing the gold and fur crown on his own head. The room cheered and flooded into the hall. Ivan’s body was taken up and carried out of the room. Despite how the Vatnics felt about him, he was still going to be treated to a proper burial tomorrow with the rest of his men.
Nicholas stood and raised his hand, silencing the room.
“I did not take the throne for its power or for control. I took the throne because Ivan needed to be stopped, and our people deserve peace. I have traveled the world over, and the other kingdoms have much to offer. This is a new world, and we have the power to bring it out of the darkness of the past. Tomorrow...” Nicholas looked to his friends, to Ohitekah. “We end the ancient rituals of blood sacrifices.” He looked at his men in the room, his throne room. They stared at him, waiting for his decree.
“Tomorrow, we are going to slay the Mythic of Water!” The room was stunned, the men aghast. “We are going to be liberated from the tyranny of the gods, just like I have liberated you from the tyranny of King Ivan. Ivan was right about one thing. The Vatnics are the strongest we have ever been in history, and tomorrow we are going to prove it.” The men began a resounding cheer of shouts. “But for tonight,” Nicholas interrupted, “we drink for our victory. Prepare a feast in the mead hall!”
The crowd let out a roaring cheer and stampeded out of the hall. Only Red, Lance, and Ohitekah remained. Nicholas took a moment to walk down from his new throne. He approached his friends.
“Thank you all, all of you have a welcome home here on my islands.” Nicholas smiled. “I could not have done any of this without you, lad.” Ohitekah smiled. Nicholas looked and acted very majestic with that crown on. Ohitekah hoped he would still be the lighthearted friend he had come to know. Nicholas gave him a big hug and lifted him off the ground. “Once my business is finished tomorrow, we will travel back to the plains and finish what we started.” He said quietly enough for just Ohitekah to hear. They exchanged looks of joy.
The mead hall was only slightly smaller than the Hall of the King, resting at the bottom of the hill. The building was packed to the brim. Every man, woman, and child from the islands must have been celebrating here in the hall. One long table stretched down its center. There were smaller round tables around the rest of the open room. The walls were covered in large tapped barrels, the men running back and forth filling up goblets. Women walked around with more goblets for the men who didn’t want to get up. Nicholas was sitting in the middle of the long table surrounded by old friends and empty tankards. They had been singing and slamming mugs on the table for hours now. They began singing a new song together that only they could imagine sounded good. Lance, Red, and Ohitekah sat down at their own table alone.
Lance was sipping a tankard with restraint. “Tastes like garbage,” he sneered, resting it on the table. “Ashland ale is far superior. These poor people don’t know what they’re missing.” Despite himself, he waved a woman over for a refill.
Ohitekah looked at his untouched tankard, then took a tentative sip. “Ughh...” He sat it back down with a shiver. The taste was bitter, and it bubbled in his mouth. He had to force it down.
“Told ya,” said Lance before taking another sip.
“Now here’s the life of the party!” Nicholas belted out as he stumbled over to their table. He grabbed Ohitekah by the scruff of his collar and lifted him into the air with one hand.
“This is Ohkaka-whatever,” he proudly shouted, momentarily silencing the room. “This lad saved my life and now we all drink to his name!”
The whole room raised their goblets and shouted “To Ohkakawhatever!” Every man had their own way to shout the foreign name and it simply became an unintelligible garble of shouts that hurt Ohitekah’s ears. Nonetheless, he was touched. Nicholas lowered him back into his chair with a thud.
“Now drink, lad. You too, lads, King’s orders.” He roared in laughter in reference to Lance and Red, who, in comparison to the rest of the room, were sober as priests.
“I have been drinking,” Red mumbled, raising an empty goblet. “Mythics are physically unable to get drunk. That would be quite the weakness.”
“Huh?” Nicholas asked as he struggled to stand.
Ohitekah forced down a few big gulps of the burning liquid, feeling pressured. Nicholas opened his eyes wide. “Atta boy.” He slapped Ohitekah’s back harder than ever, almost causing him to spit the brew out. Nicholas stumbled back to his seat to find it occupied, he lifted the man out of the chair and threw him across the room. He flew and crashed into a table, spilling drinks everywhere.
Ohitekah watched in horror, expecting a large fight to erupt. The whole room began to laugh, including the man with the now bruised back. Nicholas called for another round.
“I’m surprised you managed to get that garbage down, boy.” Lance smiled.
“Well, at least the Vatnics are happy with their new king,” Red said, looking at the merry men. Nicholas stood up on a table, kicked off everything around him, and led the men in another drinking song. He conducted the chorus with two goblets of mead, spilling them everywhere.
“They seem happy to me,” Ohitekah added. “This is where he belongs, and these people needed a good man to lead them.”
Red nodded.
“I don’t know how I ended up in the corner? Don’t they know I’m the prince of Ashland?” Lance was beginning to slur his words. “I could come here tomorrow, and conquer this place... like that.” Lance snapped his finger, staring at Ohitekah. “Then I would make them all drink better ale. Ashland ale… Then I’d go home.” He downed another tankard and slammed it on the table.
“So Mythics can’t get drunk?” Ohitekah asked Red, ignoring Lance.
“Correct. Our bodies are gifted the powers of the gods. Our mental clarity remains acute despite what mortal brews we drink.” He stared down into his goblet “I was never one for drinking anyway…”
“I wonder how Nicholas would be if he could never drink again. It’s part of their culture, you know?”
“I agree. I wonder how things will turn out tomorrow, if they even can bring down the great Mythic of the Sea.”
Lance chimed in, “These sea sailors won’t know what hit them, they don’t have what it takes. Now Ashland knights, led by me... no problem.” He rocked back on his chair.
“We will have to see how they fair,” Red spoke quietly.
Chapter Twenty-Nine:
The Blue Demon
Ohitekah awoke with a slight headache. The bed he slept in was incredibly soft and warm, with plenty of fur blan
kets to sleep under. He had gotten over his fear of sleeping on heights and fell asleep quickly last night. He had a room to himself in a Vatnic inn. The Hall of the King was being cleaned and renovated for Nicholas to move into, and considering the men to do it were hungover the work was delayed. Ohitekah did not want to fight the Water Mythic today, he just wanted to go back to sleep.
“You up, lad?” Lance said, peeking into his room. “They are eager this morning and they may leave without us if we do not hurry.”
“Oh… I am awake. Thank you.” Ohitekah sat up quickly. Lance was starting to grow on him. Maybe he wasn’t as cold as he liked to let off, and he really wasn’t as bad a man as he let on to be. Ohitekah suited up, preparing his bow and sword. Then he got dressed in his usual tribal clothes. Lance was already in his armor. They walked out of the inn together and to the bustling docks where they had landed earlier. People were frantically moving about, preparing the ships for battle. Some boats were arriving full of sailors from other islands that wanted to join the fight.
Nicholas was on the largest ship, shouting orders. He was in his old armor, but now wore a thick black cape as well as his crown. Ohitekah was not sure what Nicholas’ plan was today, but he was certainly building a large navy. Every sailor and warrior in the kingdom wanted a piece of the action. None of them seemed afraid. If anything, they were all excited. They were going to go down in history as the men who defeated a Mythic, just like Red did. For most of these men, it was the most important day of their lives.
Red walked up behind Lance and Ohitekah.
“I don’t think they grasp what they’re getting into,” said Lance, shaking his head. “Ivan went down surprisingly well. No slip ups, no betrayals or anything really exciting. It was too easy. Honestly, it was disappointing.” He tapped his fingers on the hilt of his sword with a frown. “I think this will be harder, much harder.”
