Bladoria- Night of The Fall

I clutch the spear wound in my side, chest heaving, nose full of smoke. Screams echo from the burning hovels around me, the spark of steel ringing in the darkness between the flames. I lean against a timber wall and pull my hand from the gash. There’s a small splatter of red against my white palm. Cut must not be too deep—barely bit through the leather. I try to smile. My first battle wound. Swordfather will be pleased.

I exhale, cough, then drag my shaking legs forward, sword at the ready. The man who cut me lies slumped nearby, his entrails decorating the ashen ground. Looking at his crumpled body makes my stomach twist. I’ve never killed a man. Not until now. I’ve dreamed of it, spent nearly all my fifteen summers training for it. But the feeling of my blade as it slipped into him, the look of wide-eyed horror in his eyes. No one ever told me about that.

The narrow streets press in tighter, flames wiping out, hissing like the tongues of devils. A large part of me screams to flee, but my brothers trusted me to take up the rear. They’re fighting still, I can hear steel clashing off in the darkness. And Father wouldn't run. He'd face our enemies head on. Great Bear and Wolf, give me strength.

“I am no coward,” I mumble to myself. All the years spent training with Swordfather were for this moment. The bruises and late nights swinging my sword, the hard sparring. It all led me here. “I am no coward.”

Still sucking down the fear, my blood quickens as I advance into the smoke. But before long my steps slow. Bodies lay scattered ahead, eyes and mouths agape, blood running into the soil. My boot taps against metal. A halberd. The man holding it is on his side, his grip on the weapon weak, his breath shallow. His other hand cradles a glistening tear in his belly. He blinks up at me, eyes foggy, sweat smeared ash on his lips. He’s one of the Bladorians. An enemy.

With a shaking hand, I raise my sword.

There’s a boom, then the world twists, red and black, then red again. I taste dirt. My body rolls. A scattering of stars blinks down at me. I try and take in a breath but something hard hits me in the stomach and I twist, teeth rattling. A man stands over me, red bearded face snarling. The tip of his raised spear glistens, flames dancing on the metal.

My sword cleaves straight through his ankle, and he goes down with a cry. I roll to my feet, Swordfather’s lessons ringing in my ears. Never drop your sword. No matter what. I arch my back, readying the lung. Always strike with accuracy, with purpose. The tip of my blade finds his heart. Kill with neither pleasure nor regret. He gurgles something, perhaps a name, the spear falling from his grip. Warriors aren’t born. They are forged.

The man falls to his side, his eyes drifting from me to the halberd wielding warrior. He tries to speak, but the words fail him. His eyes flutter, then fade with a shallow final breath. Standing over him, I notice his spear has four heads. A pitchfork.

My insides writhe and I turn away, blood slick blade held loosely at my side. Something tells me the battle ahead must be close to finished. Chief Braniel will be calling the warriors back to the longships soon. They’ll come through and see my blade is red. The chief will make me a warrior then. No. I am a warrior now. Sucking in a breath, I set my stance. There could be more Bladorians in the shadows.

“Monster…” The warrior with the halberd grunts, eyes wet. “Beast.”

I move to speak, but the words catch in my throat. This man is an enemy. My enemy. But the deep sadness in his eyes, the cold glare fixed on me. It gives me pause.

“I…” he coughs. “Will…” He tries to move, but winces in pain, the gash in his belly oozing red. Still staring at me, his head slowly sags to the side. After a few moments his wheezing breath slows, then is no more.

“A quick raid.” That’s what Chief Braniel said when we spotted the shore. “In and out. Take what we can and kill anyone stupid enough to get in the way.”

“I guess that makes you stupid,” I mumble to the two bodies at my feet, mind drifting.

A distant howl snaps me back to attention. I turn, listening. Another howl pierces the night, feral and hungry. More join with the ravenous chorus until even the whipping flames are drown out, the air thick with cries. I inch forward and spot Wolf-brother Galmar in the smoke, dual axes at his side, the wide blades dripping with gore. I make to call out to him, but he rushes into the void, howling like a beast. Bodies lay scattered behind him, bloody and torn. I look over them quickly, sighing with relief when I see that none are ours. We caught the village by surprise, attacking at night, setting some of the houses on fire to cause chaos. But it looks like the fires got out of hand. Flames leap from seemingly all sides, and the smoke thickens by the second. I swivel, searching for my brothers.

A hunched man stumbles from the darkness. “Water,” he rasps. “Water.”

I step back.

He looks up at me, chest seared black, a long gash down one cheek. “Water…please.”

“I…I don’t have any water.”

His hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, the grip firm. “Anything please, the burns…”

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“I’m sorry.” I try and pull back but he’s too strong. “Let me go.”

“Dariel, have you seen Dariel?” He looks about frantically, wrinkled face puckered in pain. “Dariel!” he calls. “Son where are you!”

“Let go of me!” I jerk with all my strength, freeing myself just in time for the old man’s head to explode.

His body falls forward, blood splattering my face. I blink and Wolf-brother Einer is there pulling his greatsword from what’s left of the man’s head. “Kasten,” he sighs. “If that man had come at you with a weapon, you’d be gutted right now.”

I stare down at the shape below me, head split like a log. “He didn’t seem like a threat,” I manage to get out amidst the smoke burning my lungs and the blood stinging my eyes.

“Bladorians are always a threat.” His dark eyes bore into me, and I’m forced to look away. “But I see your blade is no longer clean.” A hand grips my shoulder. “You’re a man now, Kasten. And that means you no longer have room for mercy.”

I wipe the blood from my eyes with the back of my hand. “I know.”

A roar pierces the air. “Wolf-brother,” I say. “What is that?”

“A signal the hunt has ended.” He steps past me, frowning. “And a signal to begin the feast. Come.”

With hunched shoulders, Einer leads me back the way I came. Along the way I realize the streets are filled with more bodies than I first noticed. Men, women, children. Only a few with armor or weapons. “Bladorians are like rats.” Wolf-brother Galmar once told me. “They like to scurry and hide. That’s why we have to be swift.” He grinned then. “Get them before they scatter. But you’ll see after you go on your first raid.”

Rats. Faces glare at me from the shadows. Huddled shapes move through the alleys, down the streets, ducking into the few buildings that escaped the flames. Einer growls at the few who get too close, his greatsword motivating them to clear away. A carpet of their dead stretches before us, yet so many more flank the darkness. Rats.

“Wolf-brother Einer,” I cut in. “Why do they not attack?” They outnumber us. Even half of them would be enough. “Are they cowards?”

Einer stops suddenly, his body a black silhouette against the flames. “Cowards now, maybe.” He turns, grime smeared face thick with sweat. “But fear may sharpen them.” He sighs, shaking his head. “We should not have come to this place.”

We pass more fleeing Bladorians as we continue. Most pay us little mind, too preoccupied with the dead or dying. But when we turn a bend in the road, a boy stands in our way. He’s small with puffy, fat cheeks and red hair that drifts lazily in the breeze. His clothes are torn and there’s a bloodstain on the front of his shirt. A short length of steel glints in his right hand, most likely a dagger.

“Move,” Einer commands. The boy does not budge. Instead, he tentatively takes a step toward us.

Closer now, I can see thin lines down his dirty face where tears have marched. And despite the look of determination in his eyes, his body shakes. Fear or rage, I cannot tell.

“So be it,” Einer lowers his stance for a lunging attack.

“Wait.” I put a hand on Einer’s back.

“Remember what I told you about mercy?”

“I know.” I step past Einer and the boy pauses. “But I have not been made warrior by the chief. I am no man. Not truly. Not yet.”

The boy regards me with a mixture of disgust and curiosity. I step toward him, my sword held to the side in a show of peace. I’m not sure why, but the thought of killing this boy sours my stomach. Rat or no.

“Let us pass,” I say. “Please. There’s no need for you to join the others.” I nod at the bodies littering the street behind me.

“Kasten,” Einer says. “What are you doing? This is foolish.”

I ignore him, taking another slow step toward the boy. “Dying for nothing is the worse thing you can do.” More of Swordfather’s teachings. I can see the old man now, curved practice sword in hand. Would he let this boy go? “Fighting a battle you can’t win. Dying for nothing. There is no honor in that.”

“There’s justice!” the boy says, his voice cracking.

“You can’t find justice if you’re dead,” I cut in.

The boy shifts his feet, eyes darting from me to Einer. “I’m not a coward.” He sucks back tears. “I’m not.”

“That’s right,” I reply easing my way around the child, Einer following my lead. “You’re brave. Very much so.” I’m opposite where I started now, having fully circled around the boy.

“I’m…I’m not a coward.” He takes a quick step forward and for a second I worry he’ll get to me before I can react. But he faulters, tears streaming down his face. His dagger hits the dirt with a soft thud. “Not a coward. Not.”

Einer nudges my elbow. I stick close to him as we head downhill. The boy remains, staring at us through his tears. When we reach the base of the hill, Einer stops and grips my arm so tight I’m afraid the bones will burst.

“Why did you do that,” he says through clenched teeth. “Are you a fool? Take a knock to the head?”

“I didn’t see why we had to kill him. Look, if you're mad I showed merc—”

“That wasn’t mercy.” He steps away and ungrasps my arm, leaving it numb. “One of the others might see that boy on the way to the longships. His death will not be swift. Not when The Beast blood is raging inside them.” He sighs and rubs his temples. “Worse yet is if that boy lives.”

“How?” I shake my head. “That child is no threat.”

“He isn’t now, Kasten. But what about tomorrow? What about ten summers from now?” He peers at the scarlet horizon. “We raid too much this season. Range too far from Hafthan, setting our fangs against everyone. I fear we planted many seeds this day.”

“Seeds?”

“Yes. From which will sprout a tempest.” He takes a long breath, then regards me with an expression I cannot place. “But that, as always, will be for the youth to weather.” He motions for me to follow. “But still, why did you stop me? Why that boy?”

I stop, the answer not coming to me right away. “His face,” I reply.

“His face?” Einer scoffs and raises a brow.

“It was…” I glance over my shoulder, the screams and flames drawing further away. “Innocent.”